Eleanor

Living in Cedar Springs was like breathing inside a glass box: you see the world outside, but you can't touch it. I was the perfect daughter. The only one who couldn't make mistakes. My parents always said I was a gift from God, and frankly, sometimes it sounded more like a curse. Daughter of the most respected pastor in town, raised in the shadow of sermons and appearances, I don't remember ever making real choices in life. They came ready-made, packaged with bows of "family pride" and "divine will."

Business Administration college? My mother's choice. Caleb, my boyfriend since I was fifteen? The church's choice. My future wedding? A combination of tradition, faith, and lack of options. And me…? I just followed. Because disappointing my parents was a kind of pain I didn't know how to bear. But the truth is, I hated all of it.

I hated the boring routine, the silent pressure, the looks watching every step. My days were all the same, and my dreams—those I hid even from myself—were always out of reach, until I decided to do something just once, nothing grand, but my own mistake, if that was the case. On the next church trip, I would lose my virginity with Caleb. Yes, that's right, it was supposed to be a gift, a surprise. He kept pressuring me, saying that we were going to get married anyway, so what was the problem? And, after much thought, I came to the conclusion that maybe this was my only act of freedom: to give what everyone wanted to take from me. Only by my own choice. I just had no idea that, that night, what I would lose would not only be innocence, but the life I had known until then.

Arriving in Chicago was like breathing real air for the first time. The city was everything Cedar Springs wasn't: alive, noisy, colorful. While the church group checked into the hotel, I smiled to myself, feeling that spark of freedom burning in my chest. For the first time, I felt good about a decision of my own. My plan was simple: Caleb, hotel room, a moment just for us, and maybe, who knows, the beginning of something different. But it only took a second for everything to fall apart. I saw him when I turned the corner of one of the hotel floors, returning before dinner to talk to him. The scene was as quick as it was cruel: he was kissing my best friend against the wall, laughing, both so comfortable that they didn't even notice I was there.

"Caleb! Calm down, what if Eleanor shows up?"

"She'll never do anything," I heard him say, laughing. "Eleanor is so afraid of disappointing her parents that she doesn't even have the courage to touch me."

It was as if something inside me tore. My heart broke in silence, like everything I did. I didn't cry or scream, I just left aimlessly, without a plan, with my soul in ruins. I walked through streets I don't even know the names of. The lights of Chicago seemed to mock me, all flashing with an intensity I never knew existed. And then, there, in the middle of the sidewalk, I stopped in front of a tattoo parlor.

I took a deep breath.

"Ah… they don't know what I'm capable of," I whispered to myself.

And I went in.

The place smelled of ink and defiance. The tattoo artist looked up, surprised by my firm expression—or maybe by my church girl dress.

"On the groin," I said, before I changed my mind. "Something small, delicate, but striking."

The tattoo artist quickly understood what I wanted, and it was good that it was a woman who would do it. I don't know if I would be comfortable with a stranger so close to such an intimate part of me. Before the needle started, I accepted a beer they offered me, my first. The taste was bitter, strong, strange. Like everything I was becoming that night. I was filled with pride when I saw the tattoo marked on my skin, and I felt alive.

When I left there, a small tattoo burning on my skin and my head spinning, I smiled. For the first time, really, but it still wasn't enough. I wanted more, I wanted to get completely lost—and not in tears, but among lights, music, and oblivion. That's how I met Sasha and Riley, two strangers who seemed to have come straight out of a magazine, or a life I always wanted to live. It wasn't long before we were laughing like old friends, with too many drinks in our hands and too much glitter in our eyes. They pulled me into a nightclub as if I already belonged there, as if the real world didn't matter. And that night, I surrendered to my rebellion for real.

"So you saw the idiot kissing your best friend?" Sasha asked, indignant, while throwing her red hair back.

I nodded, still half dazed by everything. The music vibrated on the walls, the floor shook under my feet, and the taste of the sweet drink still burned in my throat.

"And he still said that? That you would never have the courage?" Riley added, looking at me as if I were a war-surviving warrior of a holy war.

"Well, today you're going to show that idiot what courage is," Sasha concluded, handing me another drink.

The liquid burned as it went down, but I didn't care. The alcohol was already running wild in my body. I felt light—wrong, yes, but light and alive, so alive.

"You know what I think?" I began, my voice slurred, but firm. "That I'm going to choose the most handsome guy in this club and I'm going to kiss him. In front of everyone."

"Oh, yeah?" Sasha raised an eyebrow.

"You?" Riley mocked, smiling. "The princess of the church group?"

"The ex-princess," I replied, laughing. "Wait and see."

I turned and let my eyes run through the room. Colored lights danced in the environment, and bodies moved to the rhythm of the heavy beat of the music until my eyes stopped.

He was leaning against the counter, his back partially turned to me, talking to a girl who seemed to be more focused on him than he was on her. Tall, imposing, wearing black, with a well-groomed beard and shoulders too broad to be ignored. His face was serious, almost bored, as if that place wasn't worthy of his presence. And, somehow, that made him even more irresistible.

"That one." I pointed with what was left of my courage.

"Which one?" Sasha squinted.

"The Greek god in the corner."

"You're kidding!" Riley laughed. "This man isn't even from this astral plane."

"It's him." I turned my glass over, feeling the liquid ignite me inside. Without thinking, I walked over to him. My steps were determined—or at least they seemed to be, even with the dizziness dancing around me.

I touched his arm.

He turned slowly, as if he didn't expect to be interrupted. And then our eyes met, intense, confused blues.

I moved closer and signaled for him to bend down for a second. I thought he would refuse, but for some reason, he bowed, curious. His face was inches from mine, and even with the loud music, it seemed like the world went silent.

I looked deep into his eyes.

And I asked, without hesitation:

"Would you spend the night with me?"

Noah

I assumed the position of CEO of Blackstone Industries at twenty-four, half the board doubted me, the other half tried to take me down before the first meeting. Today, they all call me Mr. Blackstone with respect, with fear, as it should be. My father, Blackstone, built the empire, and I transformed it, I grew up hearing about profits, mergers, investments, and how the world swallows the weak, I learned early on that either you step on someone, or you get stepped on, and I was never the type to accept being bossed around.

I started as chief operating officer at twenty-one, while my college peers went out drunk in fraternities, I was already making decisions that moved millions. My mother, Victoria, is the balance that my father doesn't have, intelligent, elegant, subtle like a silver knife. My younger sister, Ivy, is the only one capable of making me smile sincerely. She's 22, talks too much, and is always dragging me into social situations that I'd rather avoid. Like the nightclub that night.

I was only there to pick up Ivy, who had disappeared with a group of friends after saying she was "just going out for dinner." It was past midnight and my cell phone was vibrating with alerts about meetings the next day, I should have been sleeping or, at most, having sex with some redhead or other, but there I was: surrounded by sweat, alcohol, and needy people trying to fill their voids with dancing. Relationships? Love? Those things are for those who have time or for those who need distraction, I don't have room in my schedule for that. They've already pressured me to marry, of course "It's time to start a family, secure heirs, consolidate the Blackstone name," my father would say, between one cigar and another, but marrying for convenience is something that even my ego can't accept, I could even play at being engaged if it were advantageous for business, but emotions? Commitment? That's weakness disguised as romanticism.

I was already at the tenth bar that night, ten!

That's right, ten different establishments, all packed with drunk people, smelling of cheap vodka and uncontrolled hormones, and still no Ivy. If my sister thought she was going to make me run all over Chicago after her without consequences, she was very mistaken, she was going to pay for it, dearly, I seriously considered cutting off her black card for a week or making her do an internship in the tax sector, that would be punishment indeed. The blonde next to me wouldn't stop talking, she was on monologue number three about how every decent man was already committed or emotionally unavailable, funny, I was there in silence, available and clearly bored. I shook my head, pretending to listen, while I swirled the ice in my glass, it was time to go, to get out of there and, who knows, find another more civilized place where I could track down my damned sister.

That's when I felt a light touch on my arm.

I turned around with the automatic intention of rejecting yet another approach, but I stopped. She wasn't like the others, first: clothes weren't revealing at all, a simple long black dress, somewhat old-fashioned, no neckline, no glitter, no effort to attract attention, and yet, she did. A lot. Second: her face was pretty, no, pretty was an understatement, she was stunning, one of those rare beauties that can't be bought, that aren't manufactured, fair skin, eyes that seemed a little lost and a little determined at the same time, loose hair, with that natural air of someone who wasn't trying to impress anyone, and perhaps because of that, impressed even more. Third: she was drunk, that was evident, the smell of the drink mixed with the sweet perfume, her eyes a little heavy, but her mouth? Firm. Smiling, and then came what I least expected.

She gestured with her finger, asking me to lean down. For some reason that I still don't understand, I obeyed, perhaps because of the audacity, perhaps because no one had ever approached me that way or with that courage. When I leaned in, she looked at me as if she already knew me, as if she had chosen me as one chooses a destiny.

And then she said, in a drunken but absurdly clear voice:

"Would you spend the night with me?"

For a second, I thought I had misheard.

But no, she said exactly that out of the blue, in the middle of the chaos, as if it were the most normal thing in the world, and the most curious thing? I was about to say no.

But then she completed, seriously, as if it were a challenge:

"Because if you don't want to, I'll choose another."

Oh, no, darling, not that, if she wanted to ignite my curiosity, she succeeded. And, honestly? To hell with logic.

I looked again at that woman with angel eyes and a tempting proposal.

"Yes." I replied, as if I were closing a contract. "Let's go."

She didn't hesitate when I offered my arm.

She walked a little crookedly, stumbling slightly, but didn't complain about anything. She was the type of drunk who was determined, the worst category. The one who knows exactly what she wants, even if she stumbles over her words, I led her to my car, I had also been drinking, but I was sober enough to continue being a man, I still knew the difference between right and wrong, but that night wasn't made of rules.

"What's your name?" I asked, just out of formality.

She smiled.

"You don't need to know."

"And are you…?" I hesitated.

"Nineteen," she replied quickly, as if guessing what I was going to ask. "I'm already of age, worried man."

I laughed lightly, she had sharp answers, even though her eyes were a little glazed, that put me on alert, but also made me more curious.

We arrived at the hotel that I used to frequent when I wanted discretion, a place that knew my name, my car, and that never asked questions, I took the usual room without plans, without messing around. When the door closed behind us, something changed, she stopped in the middle of the room, her eyes scanning the environment with childish curiosity as if it were the first motel room she had ever set foot in, as if everything there was exotic and new.

I found it strange, she approached the bed slowly, as if she were exploring a new dimension.

"Is this your first time?" I asked, more seriously than I expected.

She looked at me, said nothing, just nodded, as if she were ashamed, damn it. I stepped back, running my hand through my hair.

"You're too drunk to consent, and it's your first time."

But before I could continue, I heard the zipper of her dress.

She let it fall to the floor with a theatrical delicacy. And then she began to walk towards me, that scene with her hair loose over her shoulders, her skin illuminated by the indirect light of the room, the newly made tattoo since it was still partially visible with the protection, in the curve of her groin a small drawing in black, did she get it done today? An act of rebellion etched on her skin.

She was an angel but not one of those who sing in heaven, she was the type of angel who was expelled for being too good at provoking sin, she stopped right in front of me, looked me in the eyes and with a low, almost broken voice, asked:

"Am I pretty?"

I took a deep breath.

"You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

She smiled.

A small, shy, but real smile.

And then, she touched my face with both hands.

"Can I kiss you?"

I shouldn't, but I didn't say no.

"You can."

And before our lips met, she murmured:

"Sorry if I'm clumsy… I don't have much experience with kissing."

And then she kissed me.

It was surreal, nothing like the technical and repetitive kisses of the women who had been in my bed before, there was no rehearsal, no intention, just truth. Her mouth was warm, sweet, uncertain

and yet, it seemed like the eighth wonder of the world, a kiss that didn't seek to conquer me, but to give me something pure, a kiss that dismantled any armor and I, a man who thought he had seen everything, realized at that moment that I was wrong. She didn't know it, but she had just destroyed all my certainties with just a touch of her lips.

Noah

She kissed me as if she were discovering the world with the same thirst as someone who had never known the taste of freedom.

And I… I was never one for patience, but that night, I had it. Not by choice, because her body forced me to adore every second. Her skin was warm and soft like freshly unwrapped velvet, it smelled like something sweet and slightly citrusy, maybe the shampoo she used, maybe it was just her, the kind of scent that stuck in your memory and left you longing even before it was gone. I kissed her neck slowly, she let out a sigh,

and that's when I knew: I was screwed, I nibbled her ear, and she trembled, smiled slightly, half shy, half surrendered, and that shyness, so sincere, lit me up in a different way. It wasn't empty lust, it was hunger, hunger to discover what else she hid behind that innocent look and that daring tattoo.

"You're delicious," I whispered.

She hid her face in my neck, laughing softly, cute.

My hands explored every curve, every line, every inch as if I were touching something sacred, and maybe I was because the way her body reacted to my touch was almost divine. Her moans were low, sweet, but with a wild edge that drove me insane, she moaned my touch as if it were a sin, and maybe it was, but what a tempting sin.

I went down with kisses, exploring her body with my lips, each place eliciting a new reaction, the tips of her fingers clenching in the sheets as if the pleasure was too great to contain.

When she finally arched in my arms, feeling her first climax, I felt invincible, I had never touched a woman like that. Never with so much care, never with so much desire to memorize every expression.

Then came the moment.

I knew, it was her first time, and no matter how drunk she was, there was clarity in her eyes when she looked at me and whispered that she wanted to continue, I went slowly, with more delicacy than I ever imagined I had, my cock went in very slowly inside her, very slowly it was torturous and agonizing, I had to stay calm or I would cum before I even got all the way inside her, she shed some tears and I kissed each one of them.

"It's okay," I murmured against her skin.

And then I finally went deep inside her, she was hot, tight, and innocent, and even so, her greedy pussy swallowed me whole, I barely had room to move, the sensation of her skin against mine was insane.

Her small, soft breasts fit perfectly against my chest, the curve of her waist, the firmness of her thigh, the heat between our skins.

When my hands squeezed her waist and then her butt marked by the pressure of my fingers, she let out a moan that took away any control I had. I tried to be gentle, but I had already lost my mind, so my body lost control and I started pounding deep inside her, the sound echoed throughout the room, I opened her legs as wide as possible and I didn't even need to make an effort since she herself was holding her legs open completely, it was a delicious sight, I devoured her breasts, sucking and leaving bite marks, I want to mark her body like a farmer marks cattle to show that it is his property, I know it's a somewhat strange thought, but that's exactly what I wanted. I don't know how she didn't faint, but she was even wilder than me, we fucked everywhere in that room, doggy style, missionary, 69 standing up in the bathroom, I had never cum so much in my life and even so I was still hard, throbbing for her and she begging for more and more until finally exhaustion caught us and we fell on the bed.

She was beautiful, but there, under me, surrendered, shy and daring at the same time, art, and at that moment, I knew no matter the name, that woman would never leave my head.

The silence was comfortable, the kind of silence that came after a hurricane when everything was still in place, but different. We were both panting, sweaty, with our bodies intertwined on the rumpled sheets of the room, her hair was spread on the pillow like a painting and her eyes, still half-closed, shone with a tenderness that disarmed me more than any moan she had let out, I hugged her, pulling her closer, and gently ran my fingers over her bare back.

"Does it hurt anywhere?" I asked, my voice still low and hoarse.

She turned her face to me, with that silly smile of someone who has just crossed an invisible line.

"My whole body is throbbing…" she replied in a sweet voice, a little slurred, and let out a shameless giggle.

I smiled too, she was adorable in an innocent and mischievous way at the same time, a rare type.

"I should have taken it easier on you," I whispered, before kissing her lips calmly, as if I had all the time in the world.

She sighed against my mouth, but said nothing, so I pulled away a little and asked:

"Do you want to take a shower?"

She wrinkled her nose and made a cute face.

"I don't even have the strength to move a finger."

I let out a low laugh.

"Then, sleep, I'll go to the pharmacy to get an analgesic and the pill," I added in a lower voice.

She looked at me for a second, her eyes becoming a little more alert, but just nodded her head without drama, without questions, that surprised me.

"Promise you'll stay here until I get back?"

She raised her pinky, like a child making a pact of secrets.

"I promise."

I smiled, put on my clothes hurriedly and gave her one last kiss on the forehead before leaving, the perfume of her skin stuck to me.

I don't know why, but something squeezed in my chest as I left the room. I took the car, found a 24-hour pharmacy, bought what was needed, I was fast, very fast.

Back at the hotel, I went straight to the room, feeling that strange anxiety growing in my stomach, an urgency that made no sense at all, I opened the door and found the room empty. The sheets still rumpled, the mark of her head on the pillow, her dress was no longer on the floor, she had left without a note, without a name, without anything. I stood in the middle of the room, with the pharmacy bag hanging in my hand, the only thing left of her there was the scent in the air and the memory of her touch on my skin.

And for the first time in a long time, I felt something like frustration, I didn't know who she was, but I knew that, somehow, that woman wasn't going to leave my head anytime soon.