Chapter 5
AURORA
This is it.
I stand outside the address Axel sent me—a building so tall I have to crane my neck to see the top—and try to remember how to breathe.
Fifty-third floor. Penthouse.
My phone buzzes.
Axel: You coming up or are you going to stand outside all night?
I look up, scan the building. Somewhere up there, he's watching. Waiting.
Me: Checking my options. Maybe I'll just go home.
Axel: Liar.
Me: How do you know?
Axel: Because you want this as badly as I do. Now stop stalling.
He's right. Damn him.
I smooth down my dress—black, simple, the kind that's easy to take off—and walk through the doors.
The lobby's all marble and gold, the kind of expensive that makes you whisper. A doorman nods at me like he was expecting me. The elevator's glass and chrome, and when I punch in the penthouse code, it shoots up so fast my stomach drops.
What am I doing?
I'm about to lose my virginity to a man I've known for three days. A man who just got out of prison.
A man who makes you feel alive for the first time in your life.
The elevator opens directly into his penthouse.
I step out and—
Holy shit.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the entire city. Modern furniture that screams wealth. Kitchen with marble countertops. The living room is enormous.
And Axel, standing by the windows in dark pants and a white shirt rolled to his elbows, watching me like I'm the only thing worth looking at.
"You came," he says.
"You doubted I would?"
"Little bit." He crosses to me, and my breath catches because he moves like water, all controlled power. "You look terrified."
"I'm not terrified."
"You are a terrible liar." He stops in front of me, close enough that I can smell him—that same cologne, smoke, and wood, and something darker. "Your hands are shaking."
I look down. He's right. I clench them into fists.
"I'm nervous," I admit. "Not terrified. There's a difference."
"Tell me the difference."
"Terrified means I want to run. Nervous means I'm afraid of disappointing you."
His expression softens. He takes my hands, uncurls my fists, and brings them to his mouth. Kisses each palm.
"You couldn't disappoint me if you tried."
"You don't know that."
"I know you came here even though you're nervous. I know you kissed me first at that gallery. I know you're brave as hell, and that's sexy as fuck." He pulls me closer. "I know I'm going to make this good for you. That's a promise."
Oh.
"Axel—"
"We don't have to do this tonight," he says. "We can just talk. Watch a movie. I can make you dinner and we can—"
I kiss him.
Cut off whatever careful, gentlemanly thing he's about to say, because I didn't come here to talk. I came here to finally check off number seven on my bucket list with a man who makes my whole body come alive.
He groans into my mouth, his hands going to my waist, pulling me flush against him. I can feel him already—hard, thick, pressing against my stomach through his pants.
"Aurora," he breathes against my lips. "If we do this—if we go there—I need you to tell me what you want. What feels good. What doesn't. Can you do that?"
"Yes."
"And if I do something you don't like, you'll tell me to stop?"
"Yes."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
He studies my face for a long moment, looking for doubt. Finds only determination.
"Fucking hell," he mutters. Then he's lifting me, and I wrap my legs around his waist on instinct. "You're going to ruin me."
"Good."
He carries me down a hallway, into a bedroom that's all dark wood and white sheets. Sets me on the edge of the bed like I'm something precious.
Then he kneels.
What—
"Axel, what are you—"
"Taking off your shoes." He's already unbuckling the straps on my heels, sliding them off one at a time. His hands linger on my ankles, my calves. "Then I'm going to undress you. Slowly. Is that okay?"
My mouth's gone dry. "Yes."
He slides his hands up my legs, finds the hem of my dress. "Lift your arms."
I do. He pulls the dress over my head, and then I'm sitting there in nothing but black lace underwear and a matching bra.
His eyes go dark.
"Fucking sexy," he breathes.
I should feel self-conscious. Should cover myself, make some joke to break the tension. But the way he's looking at me—like I'm art, like I'm sacred—makes me feel powerful instead.
"Your turn," I say.
He stands, starts unbuttoning his shirt. I watch his fingers work, watch the fabric part to reveal skin and muscle and scars I want to ask about but don't.
The shirt hits the floor. Then his hands go to his belt.
"Wait," I say.
He freezes. "You okay?"
"I want to do it."
His jaw clenches. "Aurora—"
"Please." I slide off the bed, stand in front of him. "I want to touch you."
For a second, I think he'll say no. Think he'll take control, do it himself, keep that careful distance he's been maintaining.
Then he nods.
My hands shake as I reach for his belt. Unbuckle it. Unzip his pants. He's watching me the whole time, and I can feel the tension radiating off him, feel how much control it takes him just to stand there and let me explore.
I slide his pants down.
Hot damn.
He's big. Bigger than I expected. His boxers can barely contain him, and there's already a wet spot where—
"You're staring," he says, voice strained.
"You're huge."
"Is that a problem?"
"I don't know yet." I look up at him. "Will it fit?"
Fuck I sound like a little girl.
Something in his expression cracks. He cups my face, kisses me soft. "We'll make it fit. And if it hurts, we stop. Understand?"
"Okay."
"Say it."
"If it hurts, we stop."
"Hmm. Good girl."
The praise does something to me. Makes heat flood between my legs, makes me want to earn more of it.
I hook my fingers into his boxers and pull them down.
He springs free, and—
Holy shit.
Thick. Long. A bead of moisture at the tip that makes my mouth water for reasons I don't fully understand.
"Can I—" I reach out, hesitate. "Can I touch you?"
"Fuck yes." His voice is wrecked. "Please."
I wrap my hand around him, and he's hot. Silky skin over steel. He hisses when I stroke him, experimentally.
"Like this?" I ask.
"Harder."
I squeeze, stroke again. He groans, his hips jerking forward.
"You're going to make me come if you keep doing that," he warns.
"Is that bad?"
"Not bad. Just—I want to be inside you when I come. Want to feel you."
The words make me clench. I let go of him and step back.
"Then take me to bed."
He doesn't need to be told twice. He lifts me again, this time laying me on the sheets like I might break. His hands find my bra, unhook it with practiced ease, and then my breasts are bare.
He stares.
"Axel—"
"Give me a second." His hands hover over them. "I'm memorizing this. You, like this, in my bed. Need to remember it."
Why does that hurt?
Because tomorrow afternoon I'll be gone. This will be a memory for both of us, nothing more.
I push the thought away, arch my back. "Stop memorizing and start touching."
He grins. "Bossy."
"You like it."
"I fucking love it."
His mouth finds my breast, and I cry out. He sucks, licks, bites gentle enough to tease but hard enough to make me squirm. His hand works the other one, rolling my nipple between his fingers until I'm panting.
"Axel—please—"
"Please what, baby? Tell me."
"I need—I need more—"
His hand slides down my stomach, hooks into my underwear. "These need to go."
"Yes."
He pulls them off, and then I'm completely naked. Spread out on his bed while he kneels between my legs, still half-dressed, looking at me like he wants to devour me whole.
"You're soaked," he says, running a finger through my folds. "I love how you get all wet and bothered for me. I think of it way too often."
"Yes—oh God—"
He slides one finger inside me, pumps slow. "We need to make sure you're ready for me. Don't want to hurt you."
"You won't—"
"I will if we don't do this right." He adds a second finger, and I feel the stretch. It's not painful, just... full. "That's it. Take it. Let me open you up."
I'm writhing, moaning, making sounds I don't recognize. He works me with his fingers, adding a third, and the stretch is more intense now. Pleasure mixed with pressure.
"How does that feel?" he asks.
"Good—it feels good—"
"Think you can take me?"
"Yes."
"Not yet." He pulls his fingers out, and I whimper at the loss. "One more thing first."
Then his mouth is on me.
I scream.
His tongue finds my clit, and pleasure explodes through my whole body. He licks, sucks, works me with his mouth while his fingers slide back inside, and it's too much. Too intense.
"Axel—I can't—I'm going to—"
"Come," he orders against my skin. "Come on my tongue, Aurora. Want to taste you."
I shatter.
The orgasm rips through me harder than the others, leaving me sobbing and shaking. He works me through it, drinking down everything I give him, and when I finally come down, I'm boneless.
"Good?" he asks, crawling up my body.
"I can't feel my legs."
He grins. "Perfect." He reaches over to the nightstand, pulls out a condom. "Ready?"
Am I?
This is it. The moment I've been looking toward to for years. Number seven on my bucket list. Losing my virginity to someone I choose.
And I chose him.
"Yes," I say. "I'm ready."
He rolls on the condom and positions himself between my legs. His head presses against my entrance, and my breath catches.
"Look at me," he says.
I do. His eyes are dark, intense, locked on mine.
"If it hurts—"
"We stop. I know."
He pushes in. Just the tip, and already it's a stretch. My body resists, and I tense.
"Breathe," he murmurs. "Relax for me, baby. Let me in."
I try. Take a deep breath, force my muscles to unclench. He pushes deeper, and there's pressure, fullness, a sharp pinch that makes me gasp.
"You okay?" He's frozen, watching my face.
"Keep going."
"Aurora—"
"Please. I want all of you."
He groans, pushes deeper. The pinch becomes a burn, and tears spring to my eyes. But underneath the discomfort, there's something else. Something that feels right, like my body was made for this. Made for him.
One more push and he's fully seated inside me.
We both freeze.
"Fuck," he breathes. "You feel—you're so tight—"
"Is that good?"
"That's fucking perfect." He stays still, lets me adjust. "How do you feel?"
I take inventory. The burn is fading, replaced by fullness. Pressure. The feeling of being completely connected to another person.
"Full," I say. "Really full."
"Does it hurt?"
"Not anymore." I shift my hips experimentally, and we both groan. "Move. Please move."
He pulls back slowly, pushes back in. Sets a careful rhythm, watching my face for any sign of pain.
But there's no pain now. Just pleasure building with every stroke, every slide of him inside me.
"More," I gasp. "Faster—"
"You sure?"
"Yes—please—Axel—"
He loses control.
His hips snap forward, harder now, deeper. He's fucking me properly, and it's everything. The fullness, the friction, the way he's grunting against my neck like he can't help himself.
"So good," he's muttering. "So fucking good—you're taking me so well—"
I wrap my legs around his waist, pull him deeper. He hits something inside me that makes me see stars.
"There—right there—oh God—"
He angles his hips, hits that spot again and again. I'm climbing, pleasure building higher and higher until I can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything except feel.
"Axel—I'm going to—"
"Come for me, baby. Come on my cock. Want to feel you."
I explode.
The orgasm crashes over me so hard I scream his name, my body clenching around him. He groans, thrusts harder, chasing his own release.
"Aurora—fuck—I'm—"
He comes with a shout, hips stuttering, and I feel him pulse inside me even through the condom. He collapses on top of me, both of us sweaty and shaking.
We lie there, breathing hard.
"Holy shit," I finally say.
"Yeah." He lifts his head, looks at me. "You okay?"
"I'm perfect."
"Did I hurt you?"
"No." I touch his face. "You were perfect too."
“Good, because we’re just getting started.”
The evil grin on his face says everything because he pulls out carefully, and I wince at the sensitivity. He disposes of the condom, and suddenly he thrusts into him hard and fast and he is moving again and we are at it again.
This man is going to be the death of me.
I wake up to sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows.
For a second, I don't remember where I am. Then I feel the soreness between my legs, the weight of an arm across my waist, and everything comes flooding back.
Axel.
I turn my head. He's asleep beside me, silver hair mussed, face relaxed in a way I haven't seen before. He looks younger like this. Less dangerous.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand.
Dad: Car picks you up at 2pm. Be ready.
Reality crashes back.
I check the time. 9:47 AM.
Less than five hours.
Five hours before I go home, before I step back into the life I've been avoiding. Five hours to pretend I'm not falling for a man I can never have.
I slip out of bed carefully, trying not to wake him. Gather my clothes, get dressed in the bathroom.
When I come out, he's awake. Sitting up in bed, watching me.
"You're leaving," he says.
It's not a question.
"I have to."
"When?"
"This afternoon. Two o'clock." The words taste like ash. "My father's sending a car."
His expression hardens. "So this is it."
"This is it."
Silence stretches between us, heavy and painful.
"Aurora—"
"Don't." I finally look at him.
His jaw clenches. "We have five hours."
"I know."
"Come here."
"Axel—"
"We have five hours left, Aurora. I'm not wasting them." His eyes lock on mine. "Come here. Please."
I should leave now. Should end this before it hurts worse.
But I cross the room. Climb back into his bed. Let him pull me into his arms.
"Five hours," he says against my hair. "Then what? We just pretend this never happened?"
Yes. No. I don't know.
"Then we go back to our lives," I say quietly. "And we remember this for what it was. Something beautiful that was never meant to last."
I can see the war in his eyes. I wish he’d argue for me to stay.
But instead, he murmurs. "Five hours. I have five hours to imprint myself into your memory.”