MATURE CONTENT AHEAD. RATED 18
Three years ago…..
Narrator
She sat at the edge of the bed. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, fingers fidgeting together, eyes searching his.
He stepped closer, slow, careful like a man approaching something sacred.
"Tell me you're not ready and I'll retreat." His voice was low, like velvet wrapped in fire.
She nodded. It was small but sure. Her lips gently parting into a whisper. "It's not that... I'm just…. Sebastian, it's my first time."
"Shhh," he place a finger over her lips, his eyes searching hers. "I know. And I understand." he said, his voice a calming whisper. "I've got you. We do this together. Nothing else matters. Just us. Okay?"
She nodded, her breath catching as he leaned in and kissed her—soft, slow, lingering. A kiss that tasted like promise.
His hands moved to her waist, thumbs caressing the curve of her hips through the thin fabric of her Palazzo shorts.
He gently slid it off her waist, down to her feet and away, revealing her piece by piece—not just to him, but to herself. As if he were unwrapping something precious.
He helped her out of the pink crop top she was wearing, "You're beautiful," he breathed, eyes roaming over her bare breasts like he was seeing art come to life.
He kissed her—first her mouth, then her jaw, down her throat, his lips warm and purposeful. Her breath grew shaky as he took his time, letting his mouth explore her skin like a slow prayer.
He kissed her breasts, her stomach, the sensitive spot just beneath her ribs, and lower—pausing at her thighs, his hands splayed gently on either side.
She trembled, not from cold, but from everything—fear, desire, the weight of the moment.
He guided her onto the bed, laying her down with reverence. Her breath was quick now, eyes wide with vulnerability. He kissed her again, slower this time, his hand brushing her cheek, grounding her.
"Breathe," he murmured as he took off her underwear—the last piece left on her body. "Just breathe."
She tried. Inhaling. Exhaling.
He watched her like he was memorising her. His gaze never once sliding away from hers as he took off his tank top and tossed away the bandana around his head.
He got out of bed to take off his shorts and boxer. He reached for a foil of protection and slid it in. He got back to bed, kissing her slowly, learning her like a language, mapping her with his mouth.
Her body trembled beneath him—not from fear, but from the sheer newness of it all.
Every touch sent a ripple across her skin. Every kiss lit something behind her ribs.
He whispered to her as he moved lower—telling her she was beautiful, telling her she could stop him any time.
But she didn't want him to stop. She wanted more. And when she said his name—soft and unsure, he answered with lips on her thighs, and a low reverent sound from his chest.
He was careful. His fingers found hers as they intertwined. The other supporting his weight.
The first press of him was tender but—intense, stretching, burning, real.
She gasped in pain when she felt her blockage tearing off and giving way for something penetrating. Her nails, digging into his back.
He stilled instantly, pausing for a while. "You're okay. I've got you." He murmured.
She nodded, clung tighter. And when he moved again, slow and shallow, she exhaled like she'd been holding her breath her whole life.
It wasn't perfect. It was honest. Gentle thrusts. Quiet moans. Her body learning him, his body revering hers.
When she came—surprised by the rush of it, he kissed her through it, holding her like something fragile and powerful all at once.
He followed soon after, with a groan that sounded like surrender, forehead pressed to hers, his chest trembling with the effort of holding back and the relief of letting go.
He traced circles on her hip. She smiled without thinking.
"You okay?" He asked.
She stare into his eyes, panting like she just finished a decathlon. "I'm better than okay."
They lay tangled in sheets and silence. His arm wrap over her like a shield of protection.
*******
"…My mom had me when she was barely nineteen. At that time, she was in her second year of college," Sebastian explained, his fingers slowly combing through her long, dark hair. His tone was calm, but there was a shadow of old bitterness beneath it.
"She was set up by her late twin sister, who colluded with some thugs to ruin her…."
Elizabeth's eyes widened. She covered her mouth in shock.
"Oh my… I'm so sorry, I didn't know your mom had a twin, let alone this kind of conspiracy. I can't imagine the burden she must have carried at that age."
"Yes," he continued. "They were identical twins—so alike, it was almost impossible to tell them apart. My mom was two minutes older than her late sister—Cecilia. Aunt Cecilia was… unpredictable. You could never guess what she'd do next. She was a fashionista, like you," he added with a faint smile, leaning in to press a light kiss to her lips.
"But Aunt Cecilia was also a jealous, envious woman. Always jealous of my mom. And when Mom had to marry first, it was like she signed her own death warrant on Aunt Cecilia's paper."
Elizabeth's brows furrowed, her finger tracing idle shapes across his torso.
"She was cruel."
He chuckled softly, though it held no amusement.
"No… she was evil. She destroyed my mom's first marriage—ruined it completely. Before then, Mom, Grandma, and Grandpa had taken me to Grandpa's cousin—my godfather." He glanced down at her, a small smile tugging at his lips.
"You'll meet him someday. He's a good man."
"Really?" she asked, her voice curious.
"Yeah. He's Antoni's father."
"Oh…" she nodded, suddenly understanding how it all connected. "You and Antoni must have come a very long way."
"From my mother's father's side, Antoni and I are third-generation cousins. But we're more like brothers—we grew up together," Sebastian said. "When I was seven, I realized Aunt Cecilia was toxic to my mom. So, when I discovered my godfather's underground organization, I begged him to let me in. I didn't join for protection… I joined because of her. I knew one day, I would take revenge for the pain Aunt Cecilia caused her."
Elizabeth tilted her head, her voice small, almost like a child watching a tense movie.
"Were you able to fulfill your mission?"
Sebastian's gaze met hers, steady and certain. He leaned on his supporting arm so he could face her fully.
"Yes. I made sure of it. And today, Mom is happily married again to my stepdad."
She smiled warmly, snuggling closer until her head rested against his chest.
"I love that story. I almost cried."
He smirked knowingly.
"You sure did." His lips brushed her forehead—an unspoken promise in the gesture. "I love you."
"I love you too," she whispered back.
He paused for a moment, looking down at her with a spark of mischief.
"Do you want to go sea biking with me?"
"Sea biking?" Her brows knit slightly as she looked up at him.
"Yes…" he murmured against her lips, stealing a soft kiss. "I've got a WaveRunner and a Jet Ski. Let's shower first, then head to the beach."
Elizabeth sat up, holding the sheets tightly against her chest.
"Ouch…" She winced, feeling an ache deep in her thighs.
His expression immediately shifted to concern as he cupped her face.
"What is it?"
She bit her lip.
"I can't move. My thighs ache."
When she glanced down, the faint trace of red on the sheets made her freeze. Heat rushed to her cheeks.
His gaze followed hers, softening when he noticed the mark.
"Oops… Sebastian is to be blamed. Anyway, it's okay. I'll carry you."
Her eyes widened.
"Huh?"
Before she could protest, he had already scooped her up into his arms, carrying her toward the bathroom.
"Geez, you're really something," she muttered, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck.
He grinned down at her.
"At least I'm something to you."