We stumbled through the front door, laughing so loudly that the sound echoed off the marble floors and high ceilings.
I couldn't even remember what was so funny anymore—something about a waiter at the restaurant who kept calling Stefan "sir" with increasing desperation every time he asked for more bread…
Or maybe it was the story Stefan had told about his first job interview when he'd accidentally called the CEO by the wrong name for twenty minutes straight.
"My stomach hurts from laughing," I gasped, leaning against the foyer wall for support. The wine had made everything soft around the edges, pleasantly blurred. "And I think the alcohol is making me sleepy."
"Sleepy?" Stefan protested, his eyes bright with an energy I'd never seen in him before.
Gone was the tired businessman, the patient husband enduring a loveless marriage. In his place stood someone younger, more alive, the mischief in his expression making my heart flutter dangerously.
"We're having such a good time, and you're thinking about sleep? Absolutely not."
He grabbed my hand, his fingers warm and certain around mine, and pulled me toward the living room. "We're continuing this evening. I know exactly what we need."
I let him lead me, too happy to resist, too tipsy to remember why I should.
Stefan got hold of another bottle of wine—Eleanor had been saving it for special occasions. One glass became two. Two became the rest of the bottle.
The conversation flowed freely, loosened by wine and the strange intimacy of shared secrets.
We talked about childhood memories, shared embarrassing stories—like his disastrous attempt to learn guitar in college, my brief and humiliating foray into competitive debate.
The flirting became impossible to ignore. We'd stopped pretending, stopped couching our words in plausible deniability.
When Stefan's hand found my knee, I didn't move away. When I leaned into him, he wrapped an arm around my shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"You know, I feel so natural around you," Stefan admitted, his breath warm against my hair.
Our eyes met. The air between us felt electric, charged with months of suppressed wanting, years of stolen glances and buried feelings. Stefan's gaze dropped to my lips, and I stopped breathing entirely.
"So am I," I whispered back.
The kiss started slow, soft, tentative—like he was testing the waters. Stefan’s lips brushed against mine in a way that was almost polite, like he didn’t want to scare me off.
But the second I leaned in, threading my fingers through his hair, that softness disappeared.
Stefan’s tongue plunged into my mouth like it owned the place, hot and demanding, and I moaned into him, my hands clawing at his shirt like I wanted to rip it off him.
His hands were everywhere, on my waist, in my hair, cupping my face—like he couldn’t decide where to touch me first.
My nipples were hard enough to cut glass, and when he pulled me closer, I could feel the thick bulge of his cock pressing against me through his pants.
“Shit,” I whispered against his mouth, my voice shaky and desperate.
Stefan didn’t wait for an invitation. His hands slid under my shirt, and I gasped as they found my tits. He squeezed them hard.
“You’re so freaking perfect.” His voice was low and rough, and then his mouth was on my neck, sucking and biting in a way that made me squirm.
Then reality pierced through the haze.
"Wait," I breathed, pulling back despite every nerve in my body screaming in protest. "Stefan, wait."
He stopped immediately, his hands freezing where they'd been exploring the curve of my waist. Concern replaced desire in his expression, his brow furrowing as he searched my face.
"I just..." I struggled to form coherent thoughts through the fog of wine and wanting.
"You're vulnerable right now. You just found out about Eleanor, and you've been drinking, and I can't be sure you're not just trying to numb the pain or…"
"Lila." Stefan cupped my face in his hands, forcing me to meet his eyes.
His gaze was clearer than I expected, more present, more certain. He stroked my cheek with his thumb, the gesture so tender it made my eyes sting.
"I'm doing what I've wanted to do for longer than I care to admit. What I couldn't let myself want because I was trying to be honorable, to be appropriate, to be everything I was supposed to be."
My heart pounded so hard I was sure he could feel it against his palms. "You wanted me?.. This whole time?"
"Exactly. If anything, I'm terrified I'm taking advantage of you. You're young, and you're living in my house…"
I silenced him with a kiss. Softer this time, but certain.
"I want this," I said against his lips. "I've wanted this since I was nineteen years old, watching you walk through Harper's door. I want you, Stefan. Just you."
Something broke open in his expression. He didn’t waste no more time.
His pants hit the floor, and holy shit, his cock was a masterpiece—thick and hard, the vein running along the length of it pulsing like it was alive.
I licked my lips, wanting to taste him, but he pulled me back, his hands sliding down to my hips.
“Not yet,” Stefan murmured, his voice full of promise. “I want to make you come first.”
He pushed me down onto the couch, my back hitting the cushions as he knelt between my legs. He hooked his fingers into the sides of my panties and pulled them down slowly.
“You’re so wet already…” he said, his voice thick with desire, and then his mouth was on me, his tongue lapping at my folds like he was starving.
I gasped, my back arching as he devoured me, his tongue flicking my clit in quick, teasing strokes that had me digging my nails into the couch.
He sucked my clit into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it, and I cried out, my hips bucking against his face.
“Fuck, Stefan, don’t stop,” I begged, my voice breaking as he slid two fingers inside me, curling them just right to hit that sweet spot.
One moment—and he was on me, his cock pressing against my entrance.
Stefan slid into me slowly, inch by torturous inch, and I whimpered, my body stretching to take him. When he was finally buried to the hilt, he paused, his forehead pressed against mine, our breaths mingling.
“You feel so damn good,” he groaned, his voice shaking with restraint. I wrapped my legs around his waist, and he did, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back into me.
The rhythm was brutal, each thrust hitting me deep, and I moaned his name, my fingers digging into his shoulders. He fucked me like he’d been waiting for this his whole life, like he wanted to ruin me for anyone else.
“You’re so tight,” he growled, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to leave bruises.
He didn’t stop. He kept fucking me through it, his thrusts growing faster, harder, until he finally came with a groan that sounded almost pained, his cock pulsing inside me as he filled me up.
We collapsed together, a sweaty, sticky mess, and he wrapped his arms around me, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
“Fuck,” I whispered, my voice hoarse.
“Yeah,” Stefan agreed, his chest still heaving. “Fuck.”