Present Day
The screams of excited people and the loud, throbbing beat of the club vibrated through Rhea's body, echoing in her head as she spun. A blur of motion in the pulsating lights, her laugh was a wild, almost reckless sound that barely muffled the doctor's calm words echoing in her mind: "One month, Ms. Rhea. You have about one month left."
She brought the bottle of beer to her mouth, gulping it hurriedly. The burning sensation crawling down her throat was a sharp contrast to the doctor's icy words.
This is it then, she thought, the bottle heavy in her hand. All those years, dragging myself through law school, pushing past the grief of losing Mom and Dad... just for this? Death? She chugged, the alcohol a desperate attempt to drown the truth.
What did he call it again? Her mind was a hazy mix of flashing lights and jumbled thoughts. Ah, yes! HCM—Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy. Something about my heart rupturing. Whatever. It doesn't matter now. There's no need to dwell on it, not when I'm dying soon anyway. So, starting from tonight, I'm going to live my life to the fullest—enjoying all that I've always deprived myself of.
The thought sparked a bitter memory.
For the past five years, since her last messy breakup, Rhea hadn't so much as looked at a man. She'd buried herself in books and her studies, systematically excising every shred of a social life.
But tonight? Tonight would be different.
She was going to make all of her to-do list come to pass.
From the least of them—going to a club, then to a spa and being massaged by a hot guy—then moving to the last: having sex with her perfect man. He had to have long, shoulder-length hair, a strong body, beautiful eyes, and smell nice.
I must certainly not die a second-class virgin. She thought, as she stumbled, pushing through the dense crowd, her eyes scanning for the bar.
"I need a strong drink!" she muttered, glancing at the bottle in her hand as she staggered towards the bar.
"Two shots of tequila, please!" she shouted to the good-looking bartender the moment she reached the bar, leaning on the counter with both arms as she waited for her order.
"Coming right up, beautiful," he replied, his smile easy.
Rhea scoffed to herself as her thoughts flashed to her best friend, Tia, who would definitely be shocked by her, for her strange decisions. She remembered the day at her apartment, the morning after her breakup, as she cried, vowing never to love or date again until she met the right person. Even as Tia tried everything in her power to help her socialize—inviting her to blind dates, to high school reunions, even to clubs—Rhea refused.
But here she was gulping down both shots.
The moment they were passed to her, she was greeted by a burning sensation that settled deep inside her.
After drinking, she turned towards the cheering crowd again, staggering back into their midst.
"Ooh!" she exclaimed excitedly, jumping with the rhythm of the beat, whipping her head side to side, her hair flipping dramatically with each move. As she intoxicated herself with drinks and fleeting fun, she felt the burden of her inevitable death lighten.
Suddenly, her heels caught, buckling beneath her and sending her lurching toward the cold, sticky floor. Her heart slammed in her chest as she anticipated her body hitting the cold floor, sending bone-cracking pains through her.
But before she could fall, a strong, warm hand clamped around her waist, yanking her back. She collided, face-first, against a broad, solid chest.
"Are you okay, Ms.?" A voice, soft yet resonating with unexpected depth, rumbled through her—a vibration that went deeper than just sound, sending chills up her spine.
"I'm sorry!" she slurred, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. But her eyes couldn't quite picture his face; the alcohol and the blinding club lights obstructed her vision. All she could perceive from the man before her was his intoxicating, sweet smell. He carried a warm, intoxicating scent—the kind that wrapped around her senses and filled her head until she couldn't think of anything else. It left her in a dazed stupor, making her feel even more intoxicated.
"You smell nice, Stranger!" She leaned in, throwing her arms around his neck, inhaling his scent deeply. "And delicious." Rhea stood on her toes, trying to reach the man's height. "What's your name, stranger?" she asked, grinning.
"Miss, why don't you stand upright first, then we can talk," the man replied, gently holding her hands still around his neck as he took a step away from her.
"I don't want to!" Rhea retorted, stepping forward, leaning back into his body, rubbing the side of her face on his chest with her hands still clasped around his waist, holding him tight.
The man said nothing but sighed, a small smile cracking on his chiseled face. "You sure never change." He said, crouched down, effortlessly scooping her up and placing her on his left shoulder. "But we don't have enough time...left."
As Rhea continued to bounce on the man's shoulders, she burst out laughing—a frantic, childlike giggle. She wasn't scared; she felt drawn to him, feeling safe.
As they kept walking, Rhea sensed the beats and noise of the club fading. She didn't care. She was with a mysterious person who made her feel as if all her burdens had been lifted and, strangely, better.
By the time the man stopped, they were in a room. She couldn't make sense of what was in the room, but she knew it was cold—a stark difference from the bustling club's warmth. It smelled of mild, flowery air freshener and was quiet, save for the rustling of clothes—her own. She was then gently placed on a soft surface.
She felt his hands brush her lips, then move to her hair, tucking it gently behind her ears, as if she would shatter if he wasn't careful.
The next thing she felt was the wetness on her lips; it tasted like honey and vanilla. She opened her lips to savor the taste, as her mouth was invaded by a strangely smooth and hot tongue intertwining with his.
Her breath hitched as she felt cold hands on her breasts, a stark contrast to the heat building within her. His fingers brushed her hardened nipples, sending jolts of tiny electrical sensations through her veins.
She pressed forward against him, claiming his lips, matching the hunger she felt radiating from him. She threw her arms around his neck, combing her fingers through his hair, as she shifted onto his lap.
He removed his lips from hers, trailing them down to her collarbone, one palm spread across her back and the other at the back of her neck. His lips found purchase at the side of her neck, as his tongue mapped her soft skin.
Rhea moaned, closing her eyes, leaning her head to the side, giving him more access.
He placed her gently on the bed, taking one of her breasts into his mouth.
Rhea inhaled sharply at the contact of his mouth housing her breast. As he sucked on it, bit on it, his fingers played with the other nipple.
He moved to her belly button, kissed it, then traced downward to her clit.
Her mind was everywhere. She couldn't even think straight, not with the loads of drinks in her system, and certainly not with this intoxicated stranger between her thighs, making her feel like this.
The moment Rhea felt his breath between her legs, she spoke. "Wait! I don't think we should do that. Just put it in," she demanded.
But he said nothing. Instead, he buried his head between her thighs, claiming her hardened clit, sucking on it.
"Fuck!" Rhea cursed, growling under her breath.
He slid his tongue into her, bringing his fingers to her throbbing clit, sucking and circling it simultaneously.
"Please, please stop!" Rhea begged, reaching for his hair, pressing his head in, moving her hips to his rhythm.
"I'm sorry, I can't fulfill your request," he said. "I've hungered for you...across lifetimes." He increased his pace, brushing her nipples with his fingers.
"D-don't s-stop," she stuttered, groaning.
He moved his lips back to her clit as he slid his finger into her. Her trembling intensified, a violent shiver coiling through her as her body tightened, a silent scream building in her throat.
The world narrowed to the aching pressure between her thighs, pulling her to the brink. When he felt the shift, the frantic quickening of her rhythm, he buried himself inside her.
"You've held on well," he stated, kissing her forehead.