**Chapter 7: After Eight**
The rain had stopped by the time Ava left the dorms at 7:45 p.m., but the air still hung heavy with damp earth and streetlight glow. She wore a simple black turtleneck sweater (strategically high enough to hide the faint mark on her collarbone), dark jeans, and the same leather jacket from the bar night. No makeup beyond a swipe of gloss. She told herself it was casual. Practical. Not an invitation.
Her phone stayed silent in her pocket. No last-minute texts from Liam. No panicked "where are you?" from her mom. Just the soft click of her boots on wet pavement and the low hum of traffic in the distance.
Sebastian's loft was only a fifteen-minute walk from campus if you cut through the side streets. She knew the route by heart now. The same iron gate. The same buzzer panel. She pressed 4B without hesitation.
The lock clicked open almost immediately.
She took the stairs instead of the elevator—needed the extra seconds to breathe, to feel her pulse settle into something less frantic. By the time she reached his door, it was already cracked, warm light spilling into the hallway.
She pushed it wider.
Sebastian stood in the open-plan kitchen, sleeves rolled, pouring two glasses of red wine from a bottle that looked expensive even from across the room. He didn't look up right away—just finished the pour, set the bottle down, then lifted his gaze.
"You came," he said quietly.
"You thought I wouldn't?"
"I thought you might talk yourself out of it between office hours and now." He picked up both glasses and crossed to her. Handed her one. Their fingers brushed. Deliberate.
She took a sip. Cabernet—deep, velvety, tasting of black cherry and a hint of smoke. It warmed her from the inside out.
"I almost did," she admitted. "Twice."
"What stopped you?"
She met his eyes. "I kept thinking about what you said in lecture. About desire that refuses to stay buried. I'm tired of burying mine."
He exhaled—a sound that was half laugh, half surrender. Then he set his glass on the side table, took hers from her hand, and set it beside his.
"Come here."
She stepped into him.
This time there was no desk between them. No thin walls. No ticking clock. Just the quiet apartment, the soft jazz playing low from hidden speakers, and the slow burn that had been simmering since the storage closet.
He kissed her like he'd been starving for it.
Hands framing her face, thumbs stroking her cheekbones, mouth moving over hers with slow, deliberate hunger. She rose on her toes, fingers threading into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against her lips. The sound vibrated through her.
He walked her backward—past the couch, past the bookshelves—until her back met the cool glass of the window. City lights glittered behind her like scattered sugar. His body pinned her there, solid and warm, one thigh sliding between hers so she could feel the hard length of him pressing against her hip.
"Tell me what you want tonight," he murmured against her throat. "No games. No pretending."
She tilted her head back, giving him more skin. "Everything. I want everything you've been holding back."
He smiled against her pulse—slow, wicked. "Careful. I don't do halfway."
"Good."
He peeled her jacket off first, letting it drop to the floor. Then the turtleneck—slowly, reverently, like unwrapping something fragile and priceless. When her bra came into view (simple black lace, nothing flashy), he traced the edge with one fingertip, watching goosebumps rise in its wake.
"Beautiful," he said, voice rough. "Every inch."
He kissed down her chest, lips brushing the swell above the lace, then lower. When he tugged the cup down and took her nipple into his mouth—warm, wet, sucking gently—she gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders. He lavished attention on one side, then the other, until she was trembling, thighs pressing together for friction.
"Bedroom," he said, lifting her effortlessly.
She wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her down the short hallway. The bedroom was dark except for the glow from the city outside—no overhead light, just moonlight and streetlamps painting silver stripes across the king bed.
He set her down gently, but didn't give her time to think. Hands at her jeans, unbuttoning, unzipping, sliding them down her legs along with her underwear in one smooth motion. She stepped out, bare now except for the bra he hadn't bothered to remove yet.
He knelt.
The sight of him on his knees in front of her—tall, powerful, eyes locked on hers—sent a fresh wave of heat through her core.
He hooked one of her legs over his shoulder, opened her with gentle fingers, and leaned in.
The first lick was slow—flat tongue dragging from entrance to clit, tasting her like she was the finest vintage he'd ever sampled. She moaned, loud enough that he chuckled against her.
"Quiet, sweetheart. Neighbors."
She bit her lip, tried to obey.
He didn't make it easy.
He ate her like a man who'd been denied dessert for years—long, savoring licks, circling her clit with the tip of his tongue, then sucking gently until her hips bucked. Two fingers slid inside her, curling just right, stroking that spot that made stars burst behind her eyelids. She fisted his hair, thighs shaking, trying not to scream.
When she came, it was sudden and shattering—back arching off the bed, a choked cry escaping despite her best efforts. He didn't stop until the aftershocks faded, lapping softly, drawing out every last tremor.
Then he rose over her, shedding his own clothes with quick, efficient movements. Shirt. Slacks. Boxers. All gone.
He was beautiful—broad shoulders, defined chest dusted with dark hair, the hard planes of his stomach leading down to where he stood thick and ready. She reached for him, fingers wrapping around his length, stroking slow. He hissed, hips jerking into her touch.
"Condom?" she whispered.
"Drawer."
She let him go long enough for him to grab one from the nightstand, roll it on with practiced ease. Then he settled between her thighs, bracing on his forearms so he could look at her.
"Last chance to say stop."
She pulled him down, kissed him deep—tasting herself on his tongue, salty-sweet and intimate.
"Inside me," she breathed. "Now."
He pushed in slow—inch by careful inch—giving her time to adjust to the stretch, the fullness. When he was seated to the hilt, he stilled, forehead pressed to hers, breathing ragged.
"You feel…" He swallowed hard. "Like home I never knew I was missing."
She clenched around him. "Move."
He did.
Slow at first—long, deep rolls of his hips that dragged against every sensitive spot inside her. Then faster. Harder. The headboard tapped the wall in rhythm. She met him thrust for thrust, nails raking down his back, legs locked around his waist.
He shifted angles, hitting deeper, and she cried out—sharp, needy.
"Right there," she gasped.
He stayed there, relentless, driving her higher until she was trembling again, so close.
"Come with me," he growled against her ear. "Let me feel you."
One hand slipped between them, thumb circling her clit in tight, perfect strokes.
She shattered.
Hard.
Clenching around him, crying his name into his shoulder to muffle the sound. He followed seconds later—hips stuttering, low groan rumbling through his chest as he pulsed inside her, burying his face in her neck.
They stayed like that for long minutes—sweat-slick, breathing hard, tangled together like they'd never let go.
When he finally pulled out, careful and gentle, he disposed of the condom and came back with a warm washcloth. Cleaned her tenderly, pressed soft kisses to her inner thighs, her stomach, her breasts.
Then he gathered her against his chest, pulling the comforter over them both.
"Stay," he said. Not a question.
She curled into him, head on his shoulder, listening to his heartbeat slow.
"I'm not going anywhere."
He kissed her temple. "We're playing with fire, Ava."
"I know."
"Tomorrow you'll sit in my class again. Liam might be watching. People might start noticing."
"Let them."
He tightened his arm around her. "Brave words."
"Brave feelings."
Silence stretched—comfortable, sated.
Then he spoke, quieter. "I've never done this before. Not like this. Not with someone who makes me want to burn every rule I've ever followed."
She lifted her head, met his eyes in the dark. "Me neither."
He brushed hair from her face. "Then we do it carefully. But we do it."
She nodded.
They fell asleep like that—limbs entwined, city lights flickering across the ceiling, the taste of each other still lingering on their tongues.
Tomorrow would bring consequences.
But tonight?
Tonight was theirs.
And it tasted like forever.
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