Sarah
After that fiery kiss, the taste of his lips rooted itself in me like an echo unwilling to fade. Amid the frenzy of parties, I chased the memory of that flavor, but no touch, no stranger's sigh could fill the void he left. Each encounter, each embrace became a silent tribute to a haunting memory—a forbidden sweetness of desire that refused to die.
One night, as music pulsed with relentless beats, my eyes found him again. Nael, in his loose clothes and serene posture, moved with the calm of someone guarding a secret. His magnetism—a controlled force—contrasted the whirlwind of impulses I carried. I couldn't resist. As the party raged around us, I waited for his moment of solitude.
In a dimly lit hallway where noise dissolved to distant whispers, I reached him. Guiding him to a bedroom, I locked the door behind us, sealing a silent pact. The air thickened with anticipation and palpable hunger. He stared at me, dark eyes glinting with surprise and inquiry, breaking the silence:
"Why do you do this?"
His voice, calm yet provocative, reverberated off bare walls, challenging the intimacy. A mischievous smile curled my lips before I replied, low and firm:
"Because I want to, and no one tells me otherwise."
Before his words could vanish, impulse took over. I stepped closer, pressing my body against his, feeling the tension of muscle beneath his shirt. My hands explored, seeking answers and forgotten pleasures.
Nael didn't retreat. Instead, his fingers gripped my waist with a firmness that sealed our connection. He pulled me into a kiss—a collision of souls where time suspended. Our lips danced, laden with unspoken questions and passion spilling into every gesture. The outside world shrank to this moment, where desire became language and every touch told stories never to be forgotten.
There, in that silent room bathed in soft light and muffled music, it was just us. Two universes colliding, defying rules, letting desire write its own decrees.
His warm fingers traced my skin, matching the kiss's intensity until breath fled. Drunk on impulse, my trembling hands slid beneath fabric, unbuttoning his pants with urgency. What I uncovered left me speechless: thick, imposing, awakening a hunger that made my mouth water—every inch a promise of untamed pleasure.
Nael smiled faintly, a knowing complicity, as if aware of what came next. Almost reverently, I knelt, my mouth exploring every contour of his body. His ragged groans filled the room, mingling with ragged breaths. His hand found my hair, tugging gently as I lost myself in his bittersweet, addictive taste—strange, as if his very skin held the essence of dark chocolate. Each touch ignited a fire I could barely contain.
When I finally mounted him, my legs trembled under anticipation's weight. Our union was slow, agonizingly delicious, each movement choreographed to tear through desire into ecstasy. The fit, precise and burning, filled me like no one ever had. Pleasure—intense, multiplied—swept through me with thrice the force I'd known, surrendering me to a moment where time dissolved, leaving only raw, untamed passion.
"My God…" I whispered, pain and pleasure merging as if virginity were stolen anew, nearing climax with the first thrust. As my body yielded to his overwhelming size, surprise fused with a fire searing every fiber.
I moved with the fervor of discovery; each thrust sent pulsing waves of delight, time condensing into eternity. Nael tried to control the rhythm, gripping my hips, but I refused submission. I'd command this wild, intimate game.
When climax struck, my body arched, a pure, uncontrollable cry escaping my lips. I lost myself in him, every sensation fusing our worlds into ineffable ecstasy.
Afterward, spent and enchanted, I lay beside him, our breaths composing a symphony of calm and craving. Nael watched me calmly, yet his smoldering eyes hid secrets I dared not unravel.
"That was… incredible," he said, voice tinged with awe and surprise, as if his body struggled to comprehend what transpired.
I smiled enigmatically, a smirk of mystery and newfound freedom. Rising slowly, I adjusted my clothes, grasping for the outside world.
"This changes nothing," I declared, firm in knowing that no matter the flame, life—with its unshakable games and secrets—moved on.
I stood, leaving him there as my fingers fumbled with his zipper. I wanted nothing but visceral desire, an insatiable thirst for *him*. No room for games or affection—only primal instinct, brutal contact that sated me.
It happened again. Each encounter surrendered to raw need, no pretense of emotion. Clothes, labels, the rest of him meant nothing; his lips and cock were the only reality worth exploring.
Pleasure unfolded without artifice—consummation of a desire ignoring sentiment, focused on the fleeting and physical. Without vows or love's lies, our exchanges became inevitable impulses, where only intensity and brutality made me feel alive.
---
The situation unraveled on a cloudy afternoon at the university. I lingered in a discreet corner when Nael appeared, emerging from shadows of the past. His eyes widened at the sight of me with another boy, a mix of jealousy and hurt erupting like a volcano.
"You can't just show up with someone else!" he snapped, indignation sharp in the tense hallway silence.
Adrenaline surged. Cold-eyed, I retorted:
"You think you can control my life?"
My words cut like blades. Driven by incomprehensible rage, I swung. Time stretched—my fist veered, striking a wall that shattered on impact.
Nael stood motionless, anger dissolving into bitter resignation. The once-defiant glint in his eyes now held unexpected vulnerability, as if this moment irrevocably divided expectation from reality.
I stepped back, fury still pulsing in my hands, the bitter taste of conflict lingering. The hallway, once witness to our games, now felt a merciless court judging desires and disillusionments.
Nael murmured something lost to the wind. In his closed-off gaze, I saw irreversible change—a part of him no longer the man I knew. Amid debris and broken hearts, our game ended abruptly, leaving memories of desire and jealousy clashing in a dangerous, inexorable dance.
---
The night everything changed began with the familiar chaos of a college party—flashing lights, carefree laughter. Ivan, the arrogant youngest son of the Russian Mafia's capo, had summoned me. I accepted, lost in thoughts of Nael, bringing Nayara—my best friend and secretly Nael's sister. She knew instinctively what brewed between us, her eyes promising contained fury if he were harmed. After all, she was heir to the *Order of Assassins*, a living legend. Friends tagged along.
Amid drinks and wild dancing, my mind wandered to Nael—his mystery, the danger in his gaze. But Ivan, ever insistent, led me to a bedroom. There, in a game of rushed touches, I tried to placate him. He was passable, but nothing like the fire Nael ignited. Frustrated, I whispered we return to the party, leaving Ivan irritated and unfulfilled.
Descending, the crowd swayed between euphoria and disarray. Then, my eyes found him: Nael.
Even in loose clothes and feigned indifference, something had shifted. An aura of danger and power radiated from him, as if his essence had redrawn boundaries. He glanced away, addressing Nayara coldly:
"Let's go home."
Ivan, ever the provocateur, didn't hesitate. With disdain, he mocked Nael, insults hinting at his mother. A taut string snapped.
In an instant, Nael struck, turning taunts to violence. A single punch shattered Ivan's nose, the crack mixing with muffled gasps.
When Ivan, dazed and bloodied, tried to retaliate, Nael moved like lightning. His arm bent at an impossible angle, ribs cracking, silencing the room.
The corridor froze. Every gaze, every breath, locked in tension.
Nayara, amid the crowd, smiled approvingly—a grin acknowledging Nael's hidden prowess.
I looked to her, pleading for intervention, but heard only resigned murmurs:
"He's finally showing what he's capable of."
Nael dropped Ivan like a worthless toy.
"Don't test my limits again. Next time, I'll send you to meet your maker," he declared, voice icy and final.
Turning to Nayara, he repeated:
"Let's go home."
I stood paralyzed, heart erratic. For the first time, I'd faltered. Perhaps I'd underestimated Nael—the enigma now wielding power beyond my grasp.
Amid screams and tension carving the air, I knew my life—and desires—would never be the same.
As the party disintegrated into disbelief and pain, Nael's gaze revealed irrevocable change. Something within him solidified; the game we'd played now bore truths. Torn between rage and awe, I felt the weight of a fate sealed without warning.
---
At Black Industries, days unfold surprisingly. Witnessing our technological leaps, I feel both accomplishment's lightness and the burden of making the impossible routine. Relentless pressure hones my instinct to win.
My children shine uniquely. Nael, though degree-less, displays intellect rivaling PhDs—a silent enigma with unparalleled potential. My pride in him is palpable, even as he prefers solitude to acclaim.
But calm never lasts. A new threat looms: the mafia, their father's old "family," discovered Nayara's resurgence. They demand her marriage to the capo's son. I refuse—Nayara owns her destiny; I'll never let her be bartered.
To seal alliances and showcase underworld dominance, I must attend a dinner with all illicit factions. They also want Nael—the "vanished" son now glowing with latent power. Refusal is impossible; tomorrow's diplomatic facade will test everything.
Preparing for the inevitable, tension mounts. Corporate and shadow worlds intertwine in a delicate power balance. This dinner isn't mere intrigue—it's a minefield where words and gestures alter fate.
In my office's gloom, finalizing details, a question echoes: *How do I protect those I love without sacrificing all we've built?* Tomorrow, under enemies' and allies' scrutiny, the game renews. I'll fight—not just for my empire, but Nayara's freedom and a future where no one dictates my destiny.
---
The office lay in subtle shadow, a lone lamp outlining elegant furniture and echoes of triumphs past. Summoning Nael and Nayara, my voice betrayed underlying tension:
"It's time you met your father's family," I declared, authority lacing each word.
Nayara reacted first, arms crossed in defiance:
"I won't get involved with the mafia."
I expected her tone, the defiance. She couldn't escape the inevitable.
"This isn't a request. Even without this dinner, you must face this history. However hypocritical and vile, it's unavoidable."
Turning to Nael, silent and calculating—always reserved, yet intense—I challenged:
"And you, Elyon? What do you say?" *Elyon*—the name reminding me he's still my son.
His gaze chilled, forged by the Order's training. Soft yet certain, he replied:
"They'd better leash the capo's brother. If he crosses me, I'll blow his brains out."
Threat and confidence cut the air. Silence broke only by my racing heart as Nayara watched, torn between admiration and worry.
"At least dress decently," I pressed, lightening the mood.
"Wear the black outfit I bought. Show your true self."
Nael hesitated, as if the order held deeper weight. With a near-imperceptible nod, he agreed:
"Fine. By tomorrow night, my hair will be long again. No more hiding."
Stunned, I whispered: "Really?"
He flashed a cryptic glance before leaving.
Alone, tension swirling like smoke, I faced Nayara—her stance now weary.
"What changed him so suddenly?"
She sighed. "A woman."
"All boys go through it," I dismissed, though sensing his transformation ran deeper.
Nayara frowned. "She's my best friend and messed up. I don't know if I'm angry or not."
"Do what's right," I murmured, leaving her to decide as tension ebbed.
Outside, the world conspired with secrets. Tomorrow would bring forced reunions, mafia threats, and Black Industries' relentless march. Protecting my children, letting them choose their paths, remained my duty—no matter the cost.
As night fell, I glanced at Nael's empty chair. The future loomed uncertain, shadowed with challenges—and the certainty that safeguarding my children's freedom would always be my greatest charge.
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