Adam reached for the zipper at the back of Sofia's dress, his fingers steady but reverent, as if he was undoing something sacred. His eyes never left hers, not even for a second. There was no rush in his movements, only silent intensity as if he were memorizing every flicker of emotion that crossed her face.
Sofia's breath hitched. Her instincts told her to turn, to run, but she couldn't. Not when his gaze held her so firmly. It was like gravity pulling her in, rooting her to the spot. She had never let anyone see her like this, much less undress her. But there she was, vulnerable and trembling, and still she didn't stop him.
When the fabric slid off her shoulders and pooled silently at her feet, Adam exhaled sharply. His jaw clenched, his control fraying. She stood in front of him, bare, radiant, and real. And for the first time in his life, Adam Ravenstrong had to fight not to lose himself.
"You are beautiful," he murmured, voice low, almost pained.
He stepped back and slowly removed his own clothes. Sofia couldn't look away. Her eyes roamed over his sculpted chest, the hard lines of his abdomen, the quiet strength in the way he moved. He was a man carved from fire and shadow, and the sight of him made something inside her ache in a way she didn't fully understand but craved.
He was so big, it sent a flicker of fear through her—wondering if she could even take all of him. But the heat pooling between her thighs and the aching throb of desire made her delirious, craving him in a way that unraveled every shred of doubt. Her body yearned for him—aching, ready, desperate to feel him completely.
She had never wanted anyone this way.
When he closed the distance between them again, his hand brushed her cheek, featherlight. Then he kissed her—slowly, deeply. His mouth moved with agonizing precision like he was savoring her, trying to learn every breath, every tremble. Her heart was pounding. Her body was burning.
And still, he didn't rush.
His hands roamed slowly, reverently, exploring every curve of her body like he was memorizing her by touch alone. He traced her collarbone with his fingertips, kissed a path down the line of her neck, and let his lips linger against her shoulder. Each caress was deliberate, unhurried—meant to savor, not to claim.
When he finally guided her toward the bed, her breath hitched. His hands slid down her back, drawing her against the heat of his bare chest. Their bodies fit together like a secret waiting to be unlocked.
He laid her down gently, hovering over her, his gaze dark and molten. His fingers laced with hers as he pressed a kiss just below her navel, then moved up, worshipping every inch of her skin. The way she arched into him, the soft gasp that escaped her lips—it nearly broke his restraint.
But just as he positioned himself to take her—just as her body opened to him, trembling with anticipation—he froze. His muscles tensed, his breath caught mid-thrust, and he became completely still, like a man battling something invisible and fierce. The heat between them remained, pulsing and urgent, but his eyes met hers with a sudden, burning intensity that was no longer just desire—it was conflict. Restraint.
For a heartbeat, nothing moved. The air itself seemed to pause. It was as if he realized something dangerous. And it stopped him cold.
His breathing was ragged now, his body trembling with tension.
"You're so tight, are you a virgin?" he asked, voice hoarse, disbelief and something unspoken flashing across his face.
The question pierced her, deeper than she expected. There was no judgment in his voice, only surprise. But still, it made her feel exposed.
"So what?" she whispered, blinking back the sting. "Does that make me pathetic?"
Something shifted in his expression. The tension in his shoulders melted into something softer. Fiercer.
"No," he said. "It makes you rare."
"Then take me," she whispered, her voice sultry and breathless as she looked up at him through heavy lashes. Her fingers trailed slowly down his chest, deliberate and daring. "I'm yours tonight, handsome… every inch of me."
And then, as if her words had ignited something inside him, Adam leaned in and kissed her again. And this time with a deeper hunger, a possessive reverence that made her toes curl. Every touch, every whisper against her skin sent her spiraling. He was fire and control, and she was unraveling beneath him.
It was fierce. It was unforgettable. And in that moment, she knew—nothing would ever be the same again.
The beautiful stranger she met at the club had become so much more than a fleeting escape. He didn't just kiss her, he unmade her. With every touch, every breathless whisper, he took down the walls she had so carefully built. And when he finally claimed her, it wasn't rushed or careless. It was gentle. Reverent. As if he knew without words how sacred the moment was for her.
He moved with the patience of someone who didn't just want her body, but her surrender. And she gave it willingly, completely.
Sofia had imagined what it would be like countless times. But nothing compared to the way it actually felt. His warmth wrapped around her, his skin against hers igniting something she never knew she craved. Their bodies moved in perfect rhythm like they'd been made for each other, like the universe had conspired to lead them to this single, breathless night.
She had never felt so alive. So cherished. So undone.
And when they reached the edge together, when the stars seemed to blur behind her closed eyes, it wasn't just pleasure, it was something more profound. Euphoric. Like her soul had taken flight and found a home in his arms.
Afterward, he didn't say a word. He didn't need to. He simply pulled her closer, cocooning her in the safety of his embrace. His chest rose and fell beneath her cheek, and his heartbeat became the lullaby that carried her through the silence. One arm draped possessively around her waist, the other tangled gently in her hair.
She could still feel the weight of his touch on her skin as his breathing slowed, slipping into sleep, Sofia lay awake for a while, wrapped in warmth and disbelief.
She had given him something no one else had touched. Not just her body, but her trust. And somehow, even in the strangeness of it all, despite not even knowing his name, she didn't regret it.
Not even for a second. Because at that moment, beneath the moonlight streaming through the window, she had felt beautiful and wanted, even if just for one wild night.
Sofia lay still, her gaze tracing the angles of his face in the soft morning light. His features were almost too perfect—strong jaw, dark lashes resting against his skin, lips slightly parted in sleep. She reached up and gently brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead, memorizing the way he looked at peace. Her fingers trembled slightly as she touched his cheek, not wanting to wake him, yet unable to stop herself.
His arm was still draped possessively around her waist, anchoring her to him. The sheets were tangled around their bodies, but beneath the covers, they were still bare—skin to skin. She could still feel the imprint of his touch, the burn of his lips, and the way her body had opened for him like a bloom in fire.
She smiled faintly.
She was no longer a virgin.
The thought should have terrified her. But instead, it brought an unfamiliar calm. He hadn't taken anything from her. She had given it—freely, completely. And strangely, she didn't regret it. Not at this moment. Not while she was still cocooned in the warmth of his embrace.
But peace didn't last forever.
Sofia's smile slowly faded as reality settled over her like a cold shadow. Her heart ached even before she moved, even before she left the safety of his arms. Carefully, she shifted out of his hold, untangling herself from the blankets with the quiet precision of someone trying not to wake a sleeping memory.
She sat at the edge of the bed for a moment, her back to him, staring at the floor as shame and uncertainty clawed their way up her throat. Her body still hummed with echoes of last night, but her mind was racing now, sharp and cruel.
What had she done?
He was never meant to matter.
It was supposed to be one reckless night to forget everything—to numb the pain John left behind, the humiliation, the grief. She had gone to the club because her heart was broken. And then... then she'd found him.
The stranger who touched her like she was fragile and kissed her like he wanted to break her apart.
But now?
Now the fire had cooled and left her bare.
"I don't belong here," she whispered to herself, rising from the bed and picking up her dress with trembling hands. The room was elegant, too elegant. The man behind her belonged to a world of black cards, luxury cars, and power-laced silence.
She was just Sofia, a woman who was drowning in debt, heartbreak, and the remnants of a ruined promise.
And worst of all, she had initiated it. The seduction, the dance, the kiss. All of it. She had wanted to feel wanted, desired, and alive.
But now she had to go before he woke before his eyes lost the warmth they held last night. Before he could look at her with indifference, like a night that didn't matter.
Because of rejection, she could not bear it again. She knew he would throw it at her face that she was just another woman who wanted to get under his pants, and it terrified her more than anything.
She quickly put on her clothes and tiptoed after she looked at him one more time and closed the door making sure without making a noise.
She had just reached the bottom of the grand staircase when it hit her—her purse was missing. She paused, breath shallow, scanning the vast, echoing foyer. It wasn't on the console table where she thought she'd left it last night, and her heart sank. She had no money. No phone. Nothing but the crumpled dress she held tightly to her chest and the shame she tried to suppress.
She hesitated, one foot poised on the marble floor. A part of her wanted to run back upstairs and search for it, but pride shoved her forward. She couldn't go back. Not after slipping out of his bed like a thief in the night.
Her bare feet made soft, almost guilty sounds on the polished marble as she walked toward the main door. The morning light was filtering in through the tall windows, casting golden hues across the expensive furniture and curated artwork that lined the halls. Her breath caught.
The house was breathtaking. From the glint of gold in the chandelier to the silk wallpaper and the grand piano that rested beneath a crystal skylight—it was wealth beyond imagination. This wasn't just a home. It was a statement.
Every inch of it screamed power. Legacy. A life built on privilege she could never touch.
And her? She was just a mistake from a night he might already regret.
Sofia blinked hard, trying to shake off the sting of that thought as she slipped on her heels, one last trace of herself she was grateful to find by the door. She winced slightly at the blisters forming on the backs of her feet, another reminder of how far out of place she was in his world. And just a few more steps to get out.
But as she reached for the door, another hurdle met her—reality. She didn't have cab fare, and the mansion was in the kind of gated, private estate where public transportation didn't dare venture.
Swallowing her pride like a bitter pill, she turned to the man stationed just beyond the heavy iron gates—one of the private security guards who looked more suited to guarding diplomats than dealing with runaway guests.
"I—I'm sorry," she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "Would it be possible... could you lend me money for a cab?"
The guard raised a brow, surprised. But to his credit, he didn't ask questions. He simply nodded and disappeared into a side office.
Sofia stood there, arms wrapped tightly around herself, blinking back the humiliation burning behind her eyes. She couldn't believe this was her tiptoeing barefoot out of a stranger's mansion, asking for cab fare like a runaway.
But she wouldn't cry, she had enough.