Isolde opened her eyes to a ceiling she didn't recognize. The pale morning light filtered through poorly drawn curtains, casting light streaks on the white sheet that barely covered her naked body. She blinked, confused. Her body felt heavy, aching in places she'd never really noticed before. Residual heat still pulsed between her thighs.
Or… ?
She turned her head. A student room, posters peeled off the walls, desk cluttered with law books and spiral notebooks, the smell of cold coffee and men's laundry detergent. The king-size bed smelled of sex and sweat and…Henry.
The images flooded in suddenly, brutal, without filter.
Classes finished. The solitary walk near the buildings under construction, the construction site deserted at this hour. The metallic sound of a falling bar. A silhouette in the shadows. Then firm hands grab her by the waist, pin her against a concrete partition still warm from the sun. Henry's mouth on hers, ravenous. His own surprised moans turning into pleas. His clothes torn off, unceremoniously torn. The brief pain, then the pleasure which explodes, violent, uncontrollable. Her nails digging into his back. Her cries muffled against his shoulder. And then… black.
"No…" she whispered, her cheeks burning. "I couldn't… Could I?" »
"Obviously yes. »
The deep, amused voice startled her. Isolde turned her head abruptly.
Henry stood in the doorway, shirtless, black sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Her shoulder-length black hair, usually neatly combed back, now fell in messy strands across her forehead. Without glasses, his green eyes seemed more piercing, almost predatory. The tribal tattoo that ran across his oblique abs was on full display, as were the two metal bars that pierced his nipples – details she'd never noticed in daylight.
He was… dangerously handsome. A bad boy from a film that she would never have dared to watch until the end.
Isolde felt her pulse speed up despite herself.
Henry crossed his arms, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"If you want more, just say so. »
She blushed from ear to ear, pulled the sheet against her chest like a paltry shield.
"I…I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. »
He laughed softly, taking a step forward into the room.
"Come on, stop acting innocent. Are you really going to make me believe that thirty seconds ago you weren't ogling me like you wanted to do it again right now? »
He punctuated his sentence with an insolent wink.
Isolde, mortified, pushed back the sheet and tried to get up. Error. His legs immediately gave way, soft as cotton. She sat back on the mattress with a little muffled cry.
Henry chuckled, a deep, satisfied sound.
"Looks like I went a little hard, huh? » He approached slowly, towering from his height. "But if the roles were reversed, you would understand. It's not every day that you touch a virgin... and she turns out to be so... enthusiastic. »
He reached out to caress her cheek with the back of his fingers.
Isolde stepped back quickly, pushed his hand away.
"Don't touch me. »
She grabbed the clothes lying at the foot of the bed – black leggings, an oversized gray sweatshirt, new panties still labeled. A silent apology for her family that she had left in tatters on the construction site.
She dressed quickly, her back turned, her cheeks burning.
Henry didn't move, just watched her with his arms crossed.
When she was finished, she walked towards the door without a glance.
"Isolde. »
She stopped, stiff.
"That was great," he murmured, lowered. And you know it. »
She didn't answer. Opened the door. Disappeared.