Meryl's POV
I fled to my bedroom, my pulse hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird desperate for escape.
My mind was spinning out of control.
Everything that happened in the kitchen moments ago replayed in vivid detail. The way his hands explored my body, the pressure of his hard frame against mine, his voice commanding me like I belonged to him completely. He hadn't even taken me fully, yet somehow he'd already claimed every inch of my soul with his words, that predatory stare, that raw need radiating from him.
I couldn't stop replaying his touch, how his fingers traced me through the thin fabric of my underwear like he could sense everything I felt, the way he groaned when he discovered how ready I was for him, how he whispered against my ear about wanting to destroy me.
Now I was alone in my room, but it provided no relief. My thoughts consumed me entirely, I couldn't prevent my thighs from clenching together, couldn't stop my hands from trembling with the desperate urge to finish what he'd started. But my own touch would never be sufficient, nothing could satisfy me except him.
I let my palm drift downward. I was still completely drenched, still throbbing with need.
The silk slip I'd chosen was deliberately provocative, I'd put it on hoping for exactly this outcome. I peeled away my underwear because I craved nothing standing between me and my fantasies.
My breathing became shallow as I traced lower. Every nerve ending was on fire, so prepared for him. I pictured him looming above me again, imagined him forcing my legs wide and witnessing the effect he had on me, imagined him calling my name again, that same untamed intensity blazing in his eyes.
"God," I breathed, catching my bottom lip between my teeth as my fingers explored deeper.
Then came the rap on my door.
I went completely still.
My heartbeat stuttered, my lungs seized.
I rose to my feet, somehow my body recognized him instinctively. It was Andre.
We had the house to ourselves.
I stood on unsteady legs. My entire frame hummed with anticipation as if I'd been preparing for this encounter my whole existence, and even the whisper of silk against my sensitive skin made me gasp, my center pulsed with desperate want. I grasped the door handle and pulled it open.
He stood before me looking absolutely lethal and completely consumed by whatever flame was devouring him from within. His shirt gaped open, barely clinging to his broad shoulders, his belt dangled unfastened, his jeans rode low on his narrow hips, his chest heaved as though he'd just sprinted up several flights of stairs. But this wasn't fatigue etched across his features.
This was pure starvation.
His gaze found me, and time suspended itself.
"You're a goddamn temptress, aren't you?"
He advanced, forcing me backward, slamming the door shut with one hand while his other already reached for me. I wavered slightly, my knees threatening to buckle.
"I can't get enough air," he snarled. "Not when you stare at me like that, not when I know you're soaking wet beneath this scrap of nothing."
My lips parted, a soft whimper escaped. He hadn't even made contact yet and I was already teetering on the edge.
His palm seized my chin, compelling me to meet his eyes.
"Tell me to walk away, Meryl," he rasped, his tone rough, fractured, as if he was barely maintaining control. "Because if you don't, I'm going to completely wreck you."
His torso pressed against mine, solid and rapid, as though he was battling something primal that was already breaking free. His jaw worked, his eyes dark and fierce, almost frantic.
"I've been commanding myself to avoid you from the moment I entered this house. Every single night I promised myself I'd maintain distance. That I'd ignore how you watched me. That I wouldn't lay a finger on you, regardless of how desperately I craved it. But you... you make restraint impossible. Wandering around in those tiny slips, pretending you don't understand exactly what you're doing, gazing at me like you're starving for something. And Christ, I want to be that something so damn badly."
He leaned closer, his forehead nearly touching mine, his breath ghosting across my mouth. His voice became a whisper, one that shook with barely contained desire.
"Say it, Meryl. Order me to leave. Because if you don't... I swear I won't hold back this time."
"I... I-" I stuttered, my voice quaking.
His mouth found my ear.
"You crave it," he murmured. "Admit it."
"I-I crave it."
"Say you want me buried deep inside you."
I moaned. "I want it... I want you inside me, please."
He growled and shoved me onto the mattress. My nightgown bunched up, my legs fell open, and I watched his eyes turn absolutely feral.
"Meryl... Christ..." he muttered. "You're so fucking ready for me."
He sank to his knees between my thighs, parted me with two fingers.
"Look at this," he said, sliding a digit through my wetness. "You're drenched, all because of me."
I arched my hips, whimpered.
He pushed one finger into me, slow and thorough.
I gasped.
Then he added another.
His thumb traced lazy circles on my most sensitive spot while his fingers curved inside me. I was trembling, gasping, pleading without forming words. Thought abandoned me, only sensation remained, every nerve blazed.
Then he withdrew his fingers and tasted them.
"Perfect," he said. "Intoxicating."
He freed himself from his jeans.
His length stood thick and demanding between us, veins prominent, tip flushed, moisture beading at the crown.
"You're going to take every inch," he said. "All of it, and with every stroke I want you to remember that no one else will ever claim what's mine. You belong to me."
He positioned himself. One gentle push. Just the head.
I cried out.
"Too intense?" he asked.
I shook my head. "More."
He pressed deeper.
I moaned louder.
"More... Please..."
Then he thrust completely home.
I screamed. The fullness, the stretch, it was overwhelming, too much, absolutely perfect.
He remained motionless, buried completely, jaw clenched.
"Fuck," he hissed. "You're incredible, so tight, you were created for me."
Then he began to move. It was powerful and deep.
Every thrust sent lightning through my veins. My nails carved into his back, my legs locked around his waist, my body clung to his as if I'd been waiting for this moment forever.
"I fantasized about this," he panted. "Touching myself like a desperate fool while you slept nearby, aching to take you until you screamed for me."
"Andre," I gasped.
He drove harder.
"Louder."
"Andre!"
He groaned. "Yes, let everyone know, let them understand you're mine now."
He reached between us and circled my center rapidly.
I exploded.
My climax struck like lightning. My body seized, my vision blurred, I screamed his name again, louder, rawer.
He continued moving, seeking his own release.
Then he spilled inside me and collapsed beside me. He drew me close. My head settled on his chest, our breathing mingled, his hand traced my spine gently.
His lips brushed my hair. His eyes widened as if reality suddenly crashed over him.
He went rigid.
Then slowly, his gaze dropped, and he noticed it.
The crimson.
A small, undeniable mark on the sheets between my legs.
Andre's entire body turned to stone.
His breath caught. His eyes went wide as if someone had stolen all oxygen from his lungs.
And then, he tore himself away from me as if my skin had become toxic.
"No..." he whispered, retreating. "Oh God. No- no..."
He shot up so quickly the mattress shook beneath me. His hand raked through his hair in one desperate, jerky movement. His face contorted with guilt, shame, horror.
"You were untouched?" he choked out. His voice completely empty. "You-you were a virgin?"
I remained silent.
I couldn't speak.
My throat felt constricted. My body still shook from everything he'd made me experience. But none of that mattered now. Not when I saw how he stared at me, like he'd committed an unpardonable sin.
"Jesus. Meryl..." he mumbled. "I should never have-damn. I shouldn't have touched you. I shouldn't have come here. I shouldn't have allowed this."
He stepped back again. His palm dragged down his face, rough and trembling.
"This was wrong." He spoke more to himself than to me. "A stupid, selfish mistake. I lost myself. I shouldn't have..."
He fell silent. His eyes flicked back to the blood. Then, to me. I had pulled the sheet up to my chest, clutching it desperately as if it could somehow keep me whole.
Then, he did something that destroyed me more than his words.
He reached for his wallet.
Hands trembling, he extracted a thick stack of bills.
And without meeting my eyes, without pause, he flung it onto the bed.
The money landed near my hip. Right beside the crimson stain.
"I'm so sorry," he muttered.
I recoiled.
Tears burned behind my eyes.
His jaw tightened. His voice dropped, low and broken. "I'm sorry."
Then, he turned, walked to the door, opened it.
And just before he disappeared, he whispered it once more. Barely audible.
"I'm sorry, Meryl."
Just like that... he vanished.
And he never returned.