We didn’t talk much during the drive to his place.

The silence wasn’t heavy, though. It wasn’t the cold kind that clamped over your chest and made you count streetlights just to have something to do with your hands.

It was the quiet of two people holding themselves together with brittle thread and instinctively knowing that words would only tear it.

I sat angled toward the window, city lights dragging against the glass like the last remnants of something I hadn’t named yet. His car was dark, sleek, and somehow smelling faintly of leather.

I didn’t need conversation. I needed the kind of space where no one expected me to smile. Where no one asked why my hands shook against my lap, why I kept pressing my nails into my palm like if I pinched hard enough, I’d stay tethered to something real.

Nicholas didn’t ask.

He just drove, one hand easy on the wheel, the other resting loosely on the console between us, not crowding me, not touching. Just there.

When he pulled into a private underground lot, the car slid to a gentle stop like it already knew how to treat this night.

I followed him up a short flight of steps, past glass doors that opened with a whisper of brushed steel. His place was high, the skyline framed like art in every window.

But it wasn’t cold like I expected.

It was beautiful, yes — all clean stone and low light and the faint scent of cedar and soap — but not empty. Not staged. Lived-in, but untouched in a way that made my throat ache unexpectedly.

He pushed the door open and stepped aside.

I paused. My toes curled against the seam of the threshold.

He said nothing, he simply waited.

The way you wait for a deer to step out of the woods when you’re lucky enough to spot it.

I walked inside.

The door clicked shut behind me with a hush so soft it almost didn’t sound real.

I drifted toward the nearest window, shoes dangling from my fingers now, toes curling against the smooth, cool floor. My reflection floated against the glass, blurry and too thin around the edges. The city sprawled beyond, indifferent and endless.

Behind me, Nicholas moved, not toward me, but across the room. Giving me space without even asking.

“You okay?” he asked after a moment, voice pitched low, almost too gentle for someone who looked the way he did.

I nodded before I really thought about it. I wasn’t sure it was true, but tonight felt like a night for lies that didn’t hurt anyone.

I turned to face him.

He was leaning casually against the far end of the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest. His jacket had come off somewhere between the elevator and here, leaving his shirt open just enough at the throat to be distracting.

He watched me, not with hunger or impatience, but awareness.

Like he was seeing me in a way I hadn’t been seen in years.

“You’re staring,” he said, mouth curving into something half amused, half pleased.

“Maybe I’m deciding if you’re real or maybe I’m just drunk,” I said, lifting my chin slightly, emboldened by the way he looked at me like I was something rare, not something broken.

He pushed away from the counter with a slow grace that made heat climb my neck.

“I’m real and yes, you’re drunk,” he said. “I’ll prove it if you need convincing.”

I huffed a quiet laugh that surprised even me. “You always this good at making strangers feel like they belong?”

He shrugged, stepping closer, a casual invasion that didn’t set off a single alarm in me. Just the opposite. My heart skipped unevenly.

“Only the ones who look like they’ve been pretending not to need anything for a very long time.”

The words hit so hard and so deep I had to look away, embarrassed by how easily he’d cracked something open inside me.

“What if you’re a dangerous guy?” I said, more breath than voice.

Nicholas smiled, slow and devastating. “Only if you want me to be.”

He reached out, slow enough that I could have moved away if I wanted to. His hand brushed a strand of hair away from my face, fingertips grazing my temple, lingering against my jaw.

“You’re gonna have to tell me if this isn’t what you want,” he said.

The words landed somewhere low and molten inside me.

I didn’t move.

Just lifted my face and whispered, “Don’t.”

The kiss started slow. His lips pressed against mine with purpose, his tongue slipping in, exploring, patient. Every movement was deliberate, like he was taking his time, making sure I felt every inch of him.

His hands slid down my arms, rough and steady, pulling me closer. I felt the hard length of him pressing against my stomach, his body firm and unyielding.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he growled into my mouth, his voice low, sending a shiver down my spine.

His hands worked their way to my jeans, slipping them off with precision, like he knew exactly how to make me tremble. My panties followed, and the cool air against my skin made me gasp.

He didn’t wait. His eyes locked on mine as he knelt between my legs, and without a word, his hands spread me open. His mouth came down on me, and it wasn’t gentle. It was forceful, possessive. He licked, sucked, and didn’t stop until I was shaking, begging for more.

“Fuck, yes,” I moaned, my hands in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him on. My body arched, desperate for more, and when I came, it was hard and fast, my legs trembling.

But he wasn’t done. He didn’t stop, not even when I begged. He kept going, relentless, until I was begging for him to ease off, my body overstimulated.

Finally, he pulled back, his lips glistening. He stood, stripping off his jeans and boxers. His cock was thick, hard, and he stroked it once, twice, his eyes on me.

I licked my lips, wanting to taste him, but he had other plans. He grabbed my hips, flipping me over so my ass was in the air. His hand slapped my cheek once, hard, and I gasped.

“You’re mine,” he growled, and then he was inside me, filling me in one smooth thrust. My body bucked against him as he set a brutal pace, fucking me hard, the sound of our skin slapping echoing in the room.

He reached around, his fingers finding my clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts. I came again, screaming his name, my pussy tightening around him as he fucked me harder.

He growled as he came, filling me completely, before collapsing on top of me, his breath hot against my neck.

We stayed like that, both of us trying to catch our breath.

***
The next morning, I woke first. The light came through the blinds, soft, hazy. Nicholas was still asleep beside me, his face relaxed. I sat up slowly, feeling the unfamiliar sheets beneath me, smelling him, the cedar, the night.

I grabbed my dress, gathered my things without making a sound. No panic. No guilt. Just quiet.

I wrote two words on a flyer, set it under a coffee mug: Thank you.

And then I left.

By noon, I was signing the lease for a small apartment two blocks from the river. It wasn’t perfect, but it was mine.

No furniture yet, just me sitting on the floor with a warm mug, for the first time in a long time, not waiting for approval. Not trying to be enough for anyone else. Just existing.

Mine.