Office Hours After Dark.

by Dweller_From_Hell

Summary:

Rey Kenobi is use to boring boarding school life.
Then Professor Ben Solo walks into the English department—tall, sharp-tongued, devastating in a three-piece suit—and suddenly the syllabus isn’t the only thing she wants to study.
He’s brilliant. He’s older. He’s off-limits.
And he looks at her like he’s trying very, very hard not to cross a line.
What begins as a slow, dangerous game of glances and double-edged questions becomes a simmering pull neither of them can resist. After one charged moment behind his office door, the rule they break turns into a secret they can’t stop touching.
But desire has consequences.
And in a place full of watchful eyes, whispered rumors, and jealous rivals, Rey and Ben’s after-dark meetings might burn down more than just their self-control.
Forbidden. Addictive. A spark that refuses to stay quiet.
Some lessons aren’t meant to be taught—only felt.

Notes:

Another hot and steamy story for you lovely ladies ;)

Chapter 1

Rey dashed through the echoing hallways of the boarding school, her sneakers squeaking against the polished wooden floors. The bell had rung five minutes ago, and she cursed under her breath for oversleeping after that late-night cram session. Her backpack bounced against her back as she rounded the corner to the English classroom, heart pounding not just from the run, but from the dread of facing Miss Jullian's stern glare.

She pushed the door open quietly, slipping inside like a shadow. The room was abuzz with murmurs, students huddled in clusters, no one at the front. No chalk dust in the air, no sharp voice calling for order. Rey blinked, confusion washing over her as she scanned the empty teacher's desk.

Weaving through the desks, she made her way to her usual spot beside Rose, dropping her bag with a thud.

"Where's Miss Jullian?" Rey asked, leaning across the table, her voice a hushed whisper.

Rose leaned in, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Apparently she quit," she whispered back, scandal lacing her tone. "Rumors are flying that she was sleeping with a student. Can you imagine?"

Rey's eyebrows shot up. "No way. Miss Jullian? The one who quotes Shakespeare like it's her religion?"

"I heard it was Josh from Biology lab," Poe chimed in, leaning over Rose's chair with a grin that screamed trouble. His hair was tousled as always, like he'd just rolled out of bed after charming his way through morning detention. "Guy's got that brooding artist vibe. Figures she'd go for it."

Finn, seated behind them, snorted softly, shaking his head.

"You guys and your gossip. Probably just her getting tired of grading our essays. But yeah, the whole school's buzzing about it."

"So who is teaching us now?" Rey asked, glancing toward the door again. The class was getting rowdier, a few kids tossing paper wads across the room.

Rose shrugged, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger. "No idea. Principal said something about a replacement starting today, but that's all I've got. Hope it's not some ancient relic who drones on about grammar."

Poe smirked, nudging Rey's arm.

"As long as it's not another stick-in-the-mud like Jullian. We need someone who can make Romeo and Juliet actually fun. You know, less tragedy, more... passion."

Rey rolled her eyes, but a flush crept up her cheeks at the word. Passion. The group had been thick as thieves since freshman orientation—Rose with her quick wit, Poe's endless charm, Finn's steady reliability, and Rey right in the middle, the glue holding their chaos together. They'd survived midnight snack raids, dodged curfews, and shared secrets under the covers in the dorms.

The door swung open with a decisive creak, silencing the room like a spell. In strode a man who looked like he'd stepped out of one of those brooding romance novels Rose devoured. Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair that fell just a touch too long over his forehead, framing sharp, intense features. His suit was tailored perfectly, hugging his frame in a way that made Rey's breath hitch. Charming didn't even cover it—he exuded an effortless magnetism, like the air around him crackled with unspoken promises.

He set a leather briefcase on the desk with a soft thud, his movements deliberate, almost predatory. Dark eyes scanned the room, lingering just a second too long on each face, as if assessing secrets. Rey felt those eyes slide over her, and her stomach flipped. Hot. Drop-dead gorgeous, the kind of handsome that made your pulse race and your thoughts wander to places they shouldn't in a classroom.

"Good morning," he said, his voice deep and smooth, carrying a hint of gravel that sent a shiver down Rey's spine. It wasn't the dry lecture tone she expected; it was intimate, like he was sharing a private joke. "I'm Professor Ben Solo, your new English professor. It seems Miss Jullian has... left us under unexpected circumstances."

A ripple of whispers spread, but he raised a hand, silencing them without effort. His lips curved into a faint, knowing smile—romantic, yet edged with something darker, more mysterious. Like he knew exactly why Jullian had bolted and found it amusing.

"We'll dive into the syllabus tomorrow," he continued, leaning against the desk, arms crossing over his chest in a way that accentuated the strength beneath his shirt. "For today, let's discuss what draws us to stories. Not the plots or the morals, but the pull—the forbidden desires, the stolen glances, the moments that make your heart race."

Rey's pen froze mid-scribble. Forbidden desires? She glanced at Rose, who was biting her lip to stifle a giggle, and Poe, who raised an eyebrow suggestively. Finn just looked intrigued, but Rey... Rey couldn't tear her eyes away from Professor Solo. The way his gaze swept the room again, pausing on her desk this time, felt deliberate. Electric.

As he launched into a casual breakdown of classic literature's undercurrents—love affairs hidden in sonnets, betrayals wrapped in poetry—Rey found herself leaning forward, hanging on every word. His voice wove through the air, flirty almost, challenging them to see the heat beneath the words. She imagined those long fingers tracing lines on a page, or... no, stop. But the thought lingered, naughty and insistent.

The bell rang all too soon, jolting her back. Students shuffled out, buzzing with excitement over the new prof. Rey packed slowly, stealing glances as Solo organized his papers.

"Miss..." He glanced at the seating chart. "Kenobi? You arrived late. Everything alright?"

Her eyes widened. How did he know? He wasn't even here?

Her face screamed puzzled, dear in headlights.

"Uhh..." she froze.

"Relax. You ran past me in the hall." he points to the hall outside the open door.

His tone was professional, but there was a flirtatious lilt, a spark in his dark eyes that made her cheeks burn. Up close, he was even more striking—stubble shadowing his jaw, a faint scar above his brow adding to the mystery.

"Just... overslept," she managed, her voice steadier than she felt. "Sorry, Professor."

He nodded, that smile returning, slow and disarming. "No apologies needed. See you next class."

Rey hurried out, heart hammering, Rose linking arms with her in the hall. "Girl. Total heartthrob."

"Shut up," Rey laughed, but her mind was already racing ahead to tomorrow. Professor Solo wasn't just a teacher—he was a temptation, wrapped in charm and shadows.

 

The sun hung high over the boarding school's sprawling lawns, casting a golden haze that made the grass look like a plush carpet begging for lazy afternoons. Lunchtime had spilled everyone outside, clusters of students dotting the green expanse with blankets, laughter, and the crinkle of sandwich wrappers. Rey, Rose, Poe, and Finn had claimed their favorite spot under the shade of an ancient oak tree, its branches twisting like protective arms overhead. The air smelled of fresh-cut grass and the faint tang of cafeteria food—today's special, mystery meatloaf that no one dared to unpack fully.

Rey stretched out on her back, the cool blades tickling her arms as she propped herself up on her elbows before fully reclining. She slipped on her oversized sunglasses, the dark lenses shielding her eyes from the glare and, more importantly, from the prying glances of her friends. Her uniform skirt rode up just a bit on her thighs, but she didn't bother adjusting it; the breeze felt too good, whispering secrets against her skin. In her hand, she absentmindedly twirled an apple, taking a slow bite that crunched satisfyingly. The morning's events replayed in her mind—Professor Solo's voice, that lingering look—and she let out a soft sigh, hoping the sunglasses hid the flush still warming her cheeks.

Rose sat cross-legged beside her, picking at a salad with plastic fork in one hand and her phone in the other, scrolling through what Rey knew was probably the school's unofficial gossip forum. Her curls bounced as she leaned forward, eyes alight with that familiar spark of scandal. Poe lounged on his side, propped on one elbow, devouring a sandwich with the enthusiasm of someone who'd skipped breakfast. Crumbs dusted his shirt, but he didn't care, his grin wide and infectious as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Finn, ever the practical one, sat with his back against the tree trunk, unpacking his lunch methodically—apple, yogurt, a neatly wrapped sub—while half-listening, his expression a mix of amusement and mild exasperation.

"Okay, spill," Rose demanded, setting her phone down with a dramatic flourish. She nudged Rey's leg with her foot. "You've been quiet since English. Don't think those shades are fooling anyone. Professor Solo? Total smoke show. Did you see the way he filled out that suit? Like, hello, tailored to perfection. I bet he works out. A lot."

Poe chuckled, swallowing a mouthful before jumping in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that carried across the grass.

"Oh, come on, Rose. It's not just the suit. It's the whole vibe. That hair? Just messy enough to grab onto. And those eyes—dark, brooding, like he's seen things. Secrets. The good kind, you know? The ones that make you wonder what he's like when he's not quoting poetry. I mean, the guy's got that mysterious edge. Bet he's got stories that'd make Miss Jullian's scandal look like a playground crush."

Rey bit her lip to stifle a laugh, keeping her gaze fixed on the clouds drifting lazily above. She could feel the heat rising again, not from the sun this time, but from the way their words painted pictures she was already sketching in her head. Professor Solo leaning over his desk, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle, his fingers tapping rhythmically as he spoke. She shifted slightly, crossing her ankles to quell the restless tingle building in her legs.

"You two are ridiculous," Finn interjected, though a smile tugged at his lips as he peeled his apple. "He's a teacher. New one, sure, but still. And Rey, you're awfully quiet. Hit by the hot prof lightning or what?"

Rose gasped theatrically, clapping her hands together.

"Wait, Rey? Spill! What he say to you after class? I saw you lingering. Oh my god, was it flirty? Like, 'Miss Kenobi, your essays are as captivating as you are' kind of thing? Because if so, I need details. Every. Single. One."

Poe leaned closer, his elbow brushing Rose's knee as he propped his head on his hand, eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Yeah, Rey. Come on. The man's got that whole romantic hero thing going on. Charming smile, but with a dark twist—like he'd sweep you off your feet one minute and then pin you against a bookshelf the next, whispering sonnets while... well, you know." He waggled his eyebrows, popping a chip into his mouth with a crunch. "Admit it, you're crushing hard. I saw you staring during that 'forbidden desires' bit. Class just got a whole lot steamier."

Rey finally pushed her sunglasses up onto her forehead, propping herself up on her elbows to level a mock glare at them. Her hair tumbled messily around her shoulders, and she took another bite of her apple to buy time, juice glistening on her lips.

"You guys are the worst. It's not like that. He's... intense, okay? But yeah, he's hot. Drop-dead gorgeous, if you must know. That voice? It's like velvet wrapped around gravel. Makes you pay attention, whether you want to or not."

Rose squealed, scooting closer until their shoulders touched, her salad forgotten.

"Intense is right! Did you catch how he looked at the class? Like he was undressing our souls or something. And that scar on his brow? Adds to the mystery. What's his deal? Divorced? Widower? Secret agent moonlighting as a lit prof? I bet he's got a past—tattoos under that shirt, maybe. Hidden ones. Places you'd have to explore to find out."

Poe nodded vigorously, gesturing with his half-eaten sandwich.

"Totally. And the way he moves? Predatory grace. Like a panther in a classroom. Imagine detention with him. 'Rey, stay after. We need to discuss your... punctuation.'" He deepened his voice to mimic Solo's timbre, drawing out the words with a sultry edge that had Rose bursting into giggles. Finn shook his head, but even he cracked a grin, tossing a grape at Poe, who caught it mid-air and popped it in.

"Stop," Rey protested, but she was laughing now, the tension from morning easing into the easy rhythm of their friendship. She lay back down, sunglasses back in place, but her mind wandered freely. The gossip was fun, light-hearted, but it stirred something deeper—a naughty curiosity that made her pulse quicken. What if Poe was right? What if behind that charming facade was a man who knew exactly how to unravel a girl with words and touches? She imagined his hand brushing hers as he handed back a paper, the warmth of his skin lingering, his breath close enough to feel.

Rose wasn't done, leaning over Rey like a conspirator in a heist.

"Okay, but seriously. The rumors about him? I overheard some seniors in the hall. Apparently, he taught at some fancy university before this. Had a thing with a colleague or something—scandalous exit. Or was it a student? No, wait, that can't be... or can it? God, the mystery. Rey, you're in his class. You have to find out. Flirt back next time. Bat those eyelashes. See if he bites."

"Flirt? With a professor?" Rey's voice rose in feigned shock, but her cheeks burned under the sunglasses. The idea sent a thrill through her, illicit and exciting. Their group had always pushed boundaries—sneaking out for bonfires, sharing forbidden stories in the dorms—but this felt different. Personal. Tempting.

Poe smirked, rolling onto his back beside her, arms behind his head. "Why not? It's a boarding school rom-com waiting to happen. The innocent student and the brooding teacher. Stolen glances in the library, late-night office hours that turn into... confessions. Bet he'd be a romantic. Flowers, poetry, the works. But with that dark side? Intense. Passionate. The kind that leaves marks."

"Because my dad would kill me if I got kicked out of this place for fucking my professor. This place...not cheap" she says sipping her water through a straw.

Finn cleared his throat, ever the voice of reason, though his eyes danced with humor.

"You three are going to get us all in trouble. But yeah, he does seem... different. Engaging. Made me actually want to read the assignment. If Rey's got a crush, though, she's on her own. I'm not covering for any hallway make-out sessions."

The group dissolved into laughter, the sound blending with the distant chatter of other students. Rey closed her eyes behind her shades, letting the sun warm her face as their teasing washed over her. Rose launched into a detailed reenactment of Solo's entrance, complete with exaggerated poses, while Poe added sound effects—deep, rumbling laughs that mimicked the professor's voice. Finn tossed in dry commentary, keeping them grounded.

As the bell loomed in the distance, signaling the end of lunch, Rey felt a shift inside her. The gossip wasn't just idle talk; it was fanning a flame she'd barely acknowledged. Professor Solo wasn't just a replacement teacher—he was a spark, igniting fantasies she'd never voiced. And with friends like these, pushing her toward the edge, who knew how far she'd let it burn?

She sat up slowly, brushing grass from her skirt, her friends still buzzing around her.

"Alright, enough. Next class is math—let's not get expelled before we even get to know the man." But as they packed up, linking arms and heading back toward the stone buildings, Rey's thoughts lingered on dark eyes and whispered desires, the afternoon stretching out with delicious possibility.

 

The final bell of the day echoed through the stone corridors like a merciful release, but for Rey and her friends, it was just the prelude to their least favorite ordeal. The school's biology lab waited at the end of the hall, its door propped open with a faint chemical tang wafting out—disinfectant mixed with the stale scent of preserved specimens from earlier dissections. Students shuffled in with the enthusiasm of prisoners heading to the yard, backpacks slung low, ties loosened, and uniforms rumpled from a long day. Whispers of weekend plans died quickly as eyes landed on the whiteboard at the front, scrawled in Mrs. Price's precise handwriting: Human Reproduction: Interactive Demonstration. Groans rippled through the room like a collective exhale of dread.

Rey trailed behind Rose, her mind still buzzing from the lunch gossip, fragments of Professor Solo's intense gaze flickering in her thoughts. The afternoon classes had dragged—math equations blurring into doodles of brooding figures—but now, as they crossed the threshold into the lab, reality crashed back. Rows of black-topped tables stretched out, scarred from years of Bunsen burners and scalpels, each paired with stools that squeaked under weight. Posters of cellular mitosis and skeletal systems peeled at the edges on the walls, but today, the focus was unmistakably on the two faceless dolls propped upright on the teacher's demonstration table. One male, one female, their plastic bodies articulated at the joints, dressed in nothing but modesty drapes that did little to hide the impending embarrassment.

"Oh, hell no," Poe muttered under his breath as he slid onto a stool at their usual cluster of tables. He dropped his bag with a thud, running a hand through his tousled hair.

"Final class, really? Couldn't they end on something fun, like ecology or whatever? Not this." His whine carried just loud enough to draw a few sympathetic snickers from nearby students, but he slumped forward, elbows on the table, feigning death by boredom.

Rose elbowed him sharply, claiming the stool beside Rey with a dramatic eye-roll.

"Speak for yourself. At least it's not another pop quiz. Though I'd take algebra over doll porn any day." She unpacked her notebook, flipping it open to a fresh page, but her pen hovered idly, more for show than intent. Finn settled in across from them, ever the prepared one, pulling out his textbook and aligning it neatly, though even his composed features twitched with reluctance.

"Come on, guys. It's just biology. We've survived it before." But his voice lacked conviction, and he shot a glance at the front where Mrs. Price adjusted the dolls' positions with clinical detachment.

Rey sank onto her chair last, the metal cold against her thighs through her skirt. She crossed her legs, smoothing the fabric down as she surveyed the room. The class was a mix of juniors and seniors, about twenty strong, all avoiding eye contact with the props. A couple of girls in the back row whispered furiously, one covering her face with her hands, while the boys up front slouched low, pretending to scroll on hidden phones. The air hummed with suppressed laughter and sighs, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like judgmental insects. Rey's stomach twisted—not just from the topic, but from the exhaustion of the day clinging to her bones. Her feet ached from heels she'd ditched in her locker, and the faint ache between her shoulders begged for a hot shower. But beneath it all, her mind wandered traitorously back to English, to Solo's voice dissecting forbidden desires in literature. If only this class had a fraction of that intrigue.

Mrs. Price, a wiry woman in her fifties with a no-nonsense bun and glasses perched on her nose, cleared her throat sharply, commanding attention. Beside her stood Mr. Kane, broader and balding, his lab coat straining at the buttons as he fiddled with a projector remote. They were the school's tag-team for sex ed, a duo that struck fear into hearts with their matter-of-fact delivery.

"Settle down, class," Mrs. Price announced, her voice slicing through the murmurs like a scalpel. "I know this isn't everyone's favourite, but it's essential knowledge. Reproduction is a natural process, nothing to be ashamed of. Today, we'll cover the mechanics using these models." She gestured to the dolls, lifting the drape on the female one to reveal molded plastic contours—breasts, hips, and a removable panel at the pelvis that exposed internal diagrams.

The class's groan deepened into a symphony of discomfort. Poe let his head drop onto his folded arms with a muffled thud.

"Kill me now. Why couldn't it be Solo's class again? At least he'd make it poetic or something." He lifted his head just enough to peek at Rey, his eyes twinkling despite the complaint. "Bet he'd turn this into some steamy sonnet about bodies entwining. Instead, we've got... this."

Rey stifled a snort, heat creeping up her neck as she imagined it—Solo's deep timbre explaining arousal, his dark eyes locking on hers while describing the rush of blood, the swell of need. She shook the thought away, focusing on her notebook where she doodled absent swirls. But Rose caught the flush, leaning in with a sly grin.

"Earth to Rey. Thinking about tall, dark, and literary again? This class might give you ideas for your crush." She waggled her eyebrows, keeping her voice low as Mr. Kane dimmed the lights for a slide show, the projector humming to life with diagrams of chromosomes and gametes.

Finn shot them a warning glance, but his lips quirked.

"Keep it down. Last time, Kane made us pair up for questions." The memory hung unspoken—last year's awkward shuffle where partners avoided eye contact while discussing ovulation cycles. No one wanted a repeat.

Up front, Mrs. Price launched into the lecture, her pointer tapping the board where she'd sketched a simplified reproductive system.

"Let's start with the basics. The male reproductive system produces sperm, which is ejaculated during orgasm to fertilize the egg." The word 'ejaculated' landed like a bomb, eliciting a fresh wave of snickers from the back. Mr. Kane stepped forward, gripping the male doll's arm to demonstrate.

"Here, you see the penis and testes. During arousal, blood flow increases, leading to erection."

He manipulated the doll's lower half, a hidden mechanism allowing the plastic phallus to stiffen slightly, drawing horrified gasps and buried laughs.

Poe straightened abruptly, his face a mask of exaggerated horror.

"Dude, that's nightmare fuel. Why do they make it move?" He turned to the group, whispering fiercely. "Remember that urban legend about the dolls coming to life? This is how it starts."

Rose choked on a giggle, covering her mouth with her hand, while Rey bit her lip hard, holding back a laugh.

As the teachers progressed, removing panels to show fallopian tubes and vas deferens, the class settled into a resigned stupor. Slides clicked by: lubrication, penetration, contraception methods projected in stark bullet points. Mrs. Price's voice droned on, emphasizing consent and health, but the details—"the vagina expands to accommodate the penis during intercourse"—painted vivid pictures that had Rey shifting on her stool.

Her mind rebelled against the clinical tone, twisting it toward something warmer, more urgent. What would it feel like, truly? Not dolls, but skin on skin, breath mingling, the push and pull of bodies seeking release. And Solo—god, why did her thoughts circle back to him? His broad shoulders under that suit, the way his shirt might unbutton to reveal a chest dusted with hair, his cock hardening as he watched her with those piercing eyes.

Rose nudged her again, snapping her out of it.

"You okay? You're redder than the diagram on STDs." She nodded toward the screen where a pie chart of risks glowed ominously. Poe, overhearing, leaned across the table.

"She's fine. Just mentally rewriting this with Professor Hotness as the star. Admit it, Rey—this is priming you for some forbidden fruit."

"Shut up," Rey hissed, but there was no heat in it, just a shared conspiratorial spark. Finn rolled his eyes, jotting notes dutifully, but even he paused when Mr. Kane held up a condom demo on a banana, the class erupting in barely contained chaos.

"Practice safe sex, always," Kane intoned, rolling the latex down with practiced ease, ignoring the wolf whistles.

The hour stretched interminably, the teachers fielding half-hearted questions—

"What about oral?" from a bold senior in the corner, met with a swift anatomical rundown that left everyone squirming. Rey's pen flew across her page now, not with notes, but sketches: abstract lines that hinted at curves and angles, her imagination bridging the gap between plastic props and pulsing reality. The bell finally rang, a glorious chime that had chairs scraping back in unison.

Poe bolted up first, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

"Freedom! Never thought I'd say this, but English sounds like a dream now." Rose gathered her things, linking arms with Rey as they headed for the door.

"That was brutal. But hey, at least we know how not to do it—with dolls."

Finn chuckled, trailing behind. "You three are something else. See you at dinner?"

As they spilled into the hallway, the late afternoon sun slanting through windows, Rey felt the day's weight lift slightly. The sex ed awkwardness lingered like a bad aftertaste, but it stirred questions she hadn't voiced—desires sharpened by the morning's spark.

 

The dormitory wing hummed with the post-class bustle as Rey pushed open the heavy oak door to her room, the faint echo of laughter from down the hall fading behind her. Her muscles ached from the day's confinement—sitting rigid in classrooms, the biology lab's chill seeping into her bones—and the sex ed lecture still clung to her thoughts like an unwelcome fog. She kicked off her shoes in the entryway, toes flexing against the cool tile, and let her bag slump against the wall. Rose's side of the shared space was a whirlwind of scattered books and a half-eaten protein bar, but Rey's corner remained tidy, a small sanctuary amid the chaos. The en-suite bathroom called to her, promising relief from the stickiness of the afternoon.

She stripped methodically, fingers working the buttons of her blouse free, the fabric whispering as it slid from her shoulders. Her skirt followed, pooling at her feet in a navy heap, leaving her in simple cotton underwear that felt too confining after the day's heat. The mirror caught her reflection—hair tousled from running fingers through it during lectures, cheeks still faintly flushed from Poe's teasing. She unhooked her bra, letting her breasts spill free, nipples tightening in the sudden draft from the cracked window. Panties last, tugged down her hips to reveal the soft thatch of curls between her thighs. Naked now, she stepped under the shower's spray, twisting the knob until hot water cascaded over her skin like a lover's urgent touch.

Steam billowed up immediately, fogging the glass door as Rey tilted her head back, letting the stream pound against her closed eyelids. Soap lathered in her palms, slick and fragrant with lavender, and she ran her hands over her body with deliberate slowness—down her neck, across the swell of her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples until they pebbled harder, sending a shiver unrelated to the temperature racing down her spine. The biology class replayed unbidden: the dolls' sterile forms, Mr. Kane's mechanical explanations of arousal, erection, penetration. But her mind rebelled, overlaying the clinical with heat—imagining not plastic, but warm flesh. Professor Solo's hands, large and callused from turning pages or perhaps gripping something more intimate, tracing her curves. His mouth on her skin, teeth grazing as he sucked a mark into her collarbone, his cock—thick, veined, pulsing—pressing against her thigh before sliding deep.

She bit her lip.

No. She shakes her head. Never gonna happen. He's your professor!

The water soothed the tension, loosening knots in her shoulders as she shampooed her hair, fingers massaging her scalp until suds ran in rivulets down her back. By the time she shut off the faucet, her skin glowed pink, body relaxed but humming with unresolved want.

Wrapped in a towel, Rey padded to her closet, droplets scattering across the floor.

 

Dinner at the boarding school meant semi-formal—nothing as stiff as class uniforms, but presentable enough for the dining hall's watchful eyes. She selected a soft green sweater that hugged her figure without clinging, the neckline dipping just low enough to hint at cleavage, paired with fitted jeans that accentuated her legs and a simple silver necklace that rested against her throat. She blow-dried her hair into loose waves, applied a touch of mascara to widen her eyes, and a swipe of gloss to her lips, transforming from weary student to poised young woman. A spritz of perfume—and she was ready, grabbing her keycard before heading out.

The corridors wound downward like a labyrinth, lined with portraits of stern alumni and the occasional burst of evening light from arched windows. The scent of roasting meats and fresh bread grew stronger as she descended the stairs, mingling with the chatter of students converging on the dining hall. Rey slipped through the double doors just as the first wave settled, the vast room alive with clinking silverware and overlapping conversations. Long wooden tables stretched under chandeliers that cast a warm glow, white tablecloths crisp against the polished floors. Servers in crisp aprons circulated with trays, and at the far end, faculty tables held a smattering of teachers nursing pre-dinner drinks.

She spotted her friends immediately—their cluster midway down the main student table, a beacon of familiarity amid the sea of faces. Poe waved her over with exaggerated flair, his plate already piled with garlic bread.

"There she is! Thought the shower swallowed you whole after that bio horror show." Rose scooted over to make room, her own outfit a casual blouse and skirt, while Finn portioned out salad with his usual precision. Rey slid onto the bench beside Rose, murmuring thanks as a server set a plate before her: herb-crusted chicken, steamed vegetables, and a mound of mashed potatoes flecked with chives.

"Don't remind me," Rey groaned, picking up her fork and spearing a carrot. The food was hot, savoury flavours bursting on her tongue as she chewed, the normalcy grounding her after the shower's indulgence. "Those dolls... I mean, come on. Who thought interactive was a good idea?"

Poe leaned in, fork waving like a conductor's baton.

"Right? Kane with the banana demo—classic. But let's be real, if Solo had been teaching it, we'd all be acing the practical."

He winked at Rey, who rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a smile. The group fell into easy rhythm, passing the butter and trading barbs about the day. Rose recounted a mishap in her art class, paint splattering her canvas into abstract chaos, while Finn shared a dry quip about the history teacher's monotone drone. Laughter bubbled up, light and unforced, as plates emptied halfway through the meal—the chicken reduced to bones, vegetables to scraps, and Poe eyeing seconds on dessert.

The hall thrummed with energy: juniors at one end debating weekend hikes, seniors at another whispering about off-campus parties. Rey savored a sip of water, the coolness quenching a thirst that lingered from her earlier thoughts. Conversation lulled to the upcoming English assignment—analyzing passion in poetry—and Poe launched into a dramatic recitation of a line from Byron, his voice pitching low and theatrical.

"She walks in beauty, like the night... but with Solo reading it? Forget beauty, it'd be straight fire."

Rose snorted, nearly choking on her roll, and even Finn cracked a grin.

It was then, midway through the main course with the scent of apple pie wafting from the kitchens, that the doors swung open again. Rey's fork paused mid-air as her gaze drifted toward the entrance, drawn by the subtle shift in the room's atmosphere—a hush rippling outward like a stone in water. There, striding in with effortless command, was Professor Solo—Ben, she reminded herself, the name slipping into her mind from overheard faculty chatter. He moved with that same magnetic grace from morning class, his tall frame filling the doorway, broad shoulders straining the seams of his charcoal button-down, sleeves rolled to reveal forearms corded with muscle and faint scars that begged to be traced.

But he wasn't alone. At his side walked Miss Potts, the history teacher who'd joined last year, her presence turning heads for reasons beyond that. She was in her mid-forties, perhaps, but carried herself with a vitality that defied the years—curves accentuated by a fitted red blouse that plunged modestly at the neckline, revealing the swell of full breasts, and a pencil skirt that hugged her hips and thighs, ending just above the knee to showcase toned calves in heels. Her hair, a rich auburn, fell in loose waves to her shoulders, framing a face with sharp cheekbones, full lips painted a bold berry, and eyes that sparkled with sharp wit. Hot for her age? An understatement; she exuded a seasoned sensuality, the kind that came from knowing exactly what she wanted and how to get it, her laughter light as she touched Ben's arm in response to whatever he'd said.

They conversed easily, Ben's deep voice a low rumble that carried snippets—something about curriculum overlaps, his head tilting toward her with polite interest. Miss Potts nodded, her hand lingering a beat too long on his sleeve, fingers brushing the fabric as if testing its texture. Rey's stomach tightened, a flicker of something sharp and unwelcome twisting through her—jealousy? Possessiveness over a man she'd barely spoken to? Ridiculous, yet it burned as she watched them weave toward the faculty table, Ben pulling out a chair for her with old-world courtesy. Potts settled in gracefully, crossing her legs so the skirt rode up slightly, exposing a sliver of thigh that drew admiring glances from nearby students.

Poe followed Rey's stare, his eyebrows shooting up.

"Well, well. Look who's gracing us with his presence. And with Potts? She's got that whole 'experienced vixen' vibe going on." He nudged Finn, who glanced over briefly before returning to his pie. "Think they're an item? Faculty hookups are the best gossip since Jullian."

Rose craned her neck, whispering fiercely.

"Shh! But yeah, she's stunning. Bet she's got stories that'd make bio class blush. And Solo—god, even at dinner, he looks like he stepped out of a romance novel. That scar on his jaw? Killer."

Rey forced her eyes back to her plate, pushing potatoes around with feigned nonchalance. But her pulse thrummed, imagination igniting despite herself. Ben at the table across the room, his long fingers wrapping around a wine glass, thumb stroking the stem absently. What would those hands feel like on her, pinning her wrists above her head as he kissed down her neck? And Potts—did she know him that way? Shared late-night grading sessions turning into something more, her legs wrapped around his waist as he thrust deep, her moans echoing in an empty office?

The thought soured the food in her mouth, and she swallowed hard, excusing herself to the dessert line under pretense of fetching cobbler. As she moved, Ben's gaze swept the room, locking briefly on hers—dark eyes piercing, a ghost of a smile curving his lips before he turned back to Potts. Rey's breath hitched, heat pooling low in her belly. Dinner stretched on, the gang's chatter a distant hum, her mind tangled in webs of desire and doubt. The night promised dorm-room dissections of the sighting, but for Rey, the real education had just begun.

 

The dining hall's clamor began to soften as plates cleared and desserts dwindled to crumbs, the chandeliers' glow casting elongated shadows across the tables. Rey pushed her half-eaten cobbler aside, the sweet apple filling turning cloying under the weight of her swirling thoughts. Ben Solo's brief glance still burned in her memory, those dark eyes stripping her bare even from across the room. Rose caught her eye, wiping her mouth with a napkin before stacking her utensils neatly.

"Ready to bail? These two are about to start a full-on debate."

She nodded toward Poe and Finn, who had abandoned their pie slices to lean in close, voices rising over the remnants of the meal.

Poe slammed his fork down for emphasis, his face animated with that trademark passion.

"No way, man! The quarterback's arm is gold—did you see that spiral in the fourth quarter? It's all about precision, not brute force like your guy's lumbering runs." He gestured wildly, nearly knocking over Finn's water glass, his dark curls bouncing as he mimed a perfect throw, elbow snapping forward with exaggerated flair.

Finn crossed his arms over his broad chest, his expression set in that stubborn determination that made him a force on the debate team—and apparently in sports arguments too.

"Precision? Please. That run game grinds defenses down. Your boy's all flash, no sustain. Last game, he fumbled twice under pressure. Real winners power through the line, take the hits, and keep pushing." He jabbed a finger at Poe, his voice dropping to a growl on 'hits,' the two of them inches apart now, oblivious to the amused glances from nearby tables. A couple of underclassmen snickered, but Poe and Finn were locked in, trading stats like punches—rushing yards versus completion percentages, fumbles versus touchdowns—their argument escalating into a playful shove that had Finn's chair scraping back.

Rey exchanged a knowing look with Rose, stifling a laugh as she gathered her sweater.

"Boys and their balls," Rose muttered under her breath, the innuendo hanging just long enough to make Rey's cheeks warm. They slipped away from the table amid the escalating shouts—Poe yelling about 'clutch moments' while Finn countered with 'team synergy'—the girls weaving through the thinning crowd toward the exit. The cool evening air from the open doors greeted them like a sigh of relief, carrying the faint scent of rain on the stone steps outside.

The hallway back to the dorms stretched long and dimly lit, the polished marble floors echoing their footsteps as they fell into step. Gas lamps flickered along the walls, casting a romantic haze over the portraits of long-gone graduates, their stern faces seeming to watch the two girls pass. Rey's heart pounded a little too fast, the dinner's sights replaying: Ben's easy laugh with Miss Potts, the way his thigh brushed hers in imagination alone. She couldn't hold it in anymore—the words bubbling up like steam from her earlier shower.

"Rose!" Rey's voice came out sharper than intended, her hand shooting out to grab her friend's wrist. She yanked Rose sideways, pulling her behind the thick stone pillar that flanked a alcove, out of the direct line of any lingering stragglers from dinner. The wall's shadow enveloped them, cool against Rey's back as she pressed close, her breath coming in quick bursts. Rose stumbled slightly but steadied, her eyes widening in surprise, a strand of her dark hair falling across her forehead.

"What? You okay?" Rose whispered, glancing over her shoulder to ensure they were alone, the hallway's distant murmurs fading to a hush.

Rey's grip tightened, her pulse racing as she leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial hiss.

"I give in. He's hot! Like, problematic kinda hot. Like he is going to affect my grades hot." The confession tumbled out, laced with desperation and thrill, her free hand gesturing vaguely toward the dining hall's direction. Ben's image flooded her mind—those broad shoulders, the way his shirt clung to his chest when he moved, hinting at the hard planes of muscle beneath. She could almost feel the danger of it, the way one lingering look in class might derail her focus, turning sonnets into fantasies of him bending her over his desk, his cock hard and insistent against her ass as he whispered corrections in her ear.

Rose's eyebrows shot up, but a grin tugged at her lips, understanding dawning. Rey paused, the words catching in her throat as vulnerability hit.

"I haven't felt this way about anyone since..." She trailed off, searching Rose's face, the admission hanging unfinished.

"Ever?" Rose supplied softly, tilting her head, her tone gentle but probing, like she was piecing together the puzzle of Rey's sudden intensity.

Rey blinked, the question echoing her own doubt. Had there ever been anyone who ignited this fire? Crushes in middle school, fleeting flings at summer camps—none that twisted her insides like this, none that made her stomach flutter at the mere thought of a voice reading poetry.

"Yeah... ever," she admitted finally, a shaky laugh escaping as she released Rose's wrist, rubbing her arms against a sudden chill.

Rose shook her head, dark curls swaying as she stepped back into the hallway's light, tugging Rey along with a reassuring squeeze.

"Nah, do not suffer girl. This school has plenty of hot ass you can fuck and think of him." Her words were blunt, laced with that pragmatic edge Rose always brought to these talks, no judgment, just practical advice wrapped in mischief.

They resumed walking, the dorm corridor branching off ahead, lined with doors that muffled the sounds of radios and laughter from other rooms. Rose's pace quickened, her skirt swishing against her thighs as she launched into her list without missing a beat, voice animated and unfiltered, painting pictures that made Rey's steps falter.

"Okay, first up: Jack from the lacrosse team. God, that boy's built like a goddamn statue—six-foot-two of pure, ripped muscle from all those sprints and stick checks. Remember the game last spring? Shirtless after the win, sweat glistening on his abs, that V-line dipping into his shorts like an invitation. I bet he'd pin you down on the field house mats, his thick cock sliding into you slow at first, then pounding hard while he grips your hips, leaving bruises you'd wear like badges." Rose's eyes sparkled as she described it, gesturing with her hands to emphasize the width of Jack's shoulders, her own breath quickening at the vividness.

Rey swallowed, the image hitting hard—Jack's rough hands spreading her legs, his mouth latching onto her nipple as he thrust deep, grunting with each snap of his hips. But even as heat bloomed between her thighs, it was Ben's face that overlaid the fantasy, his darker intensity sharpening the edges.

"And don't get me started on Kai, the art studio TA," Rose continued, undeterred, her voice dropping to a husky murmur as they passed a group of freshmen huddled by a vending machine. "Quiet type, but those painter's hands? Long fingers, stained with charcoal, perfect for...finger work. He's got that lean, wiry build—ass firm from climbing ladders for murals, cock probably curved just right to hit that spot inside you. Imagine him in the supply closet, bending you over a table, fucking you from behind while he sketches filthy things on your skin with his thumb." She mimed the motion subtly, a quick circle of her finger that made Rey's core tighten, panties growing damp against her folds.

They turned the corner, the dorm door in sight now, but Rose was on a roll, listing with the enthusiasm of someone who'd mentally ranked the entire male roster.

"Then there's Marcus from debate club—smart as hell, with that jawline that could cut glass and eyes that undress you mid-argument. He's got a swimmer's body, all sleek lines and endurance; he'd eat you out for hours, He's the type to make you cum twice before he even unzips, whispering debate points in your ear like dirty talk while he rails you against the library stacks.'

Rey's mind reeled, each description layering onto her obsession—Marcus's tongue delving into her wetness, lapping at her entrance before sucking her clit, but again, Ben's brooding stare intruded, making her wish for the real thing, the risk, the ruin of her focus.

"Oh, and Theo—the guitarist from band," Rose added, fishing her keycard from her pocket as they reached their door. "Tattoos snaking up his arms, that messy hair you want to yank. He's got a pierced tongue—swear I saw it once—and imagine that metal grazing your nipples, before he buries his face between your thighs. Cock's gotta be pierced too." She unlocked the door with a click, pushing it open to their cozy chaos of beds and posters, but paused in the threshold, turning back with a wink. "Plenty to tide you over, Rey. Pick one, ride him hard, and save the professor for your daydreams. Grades can wait."

Rey followed her inside, the door shutting with a soft thud, her body buzzing from the explicit rundown. The room smelled of Rose's vanilla lotion and Rey's lingering citrus perfume, a safe haven where confessions could simmer. But as she kicked off her shoes and flopped onto her bed, the list faded, replaced by the one face that truly threatened to upend everything—Ben Solo, problematic, intoxicating, and utterly unavoidable.

Chapter 2

The alarm's shrill buzz yanked Rey from a shallow, restless sleep at dawn, her body heavy with the remnants of last night's solo indulgence. Dreams had twisted around Ben's image—his broad shoulders pinning her down, that deep voice murmuring lines from poetry as his hips ground against hers—but reality crashed in with the weight of exhaustion. She dragged herself through the morning routine, splashing cold water on her face in the dorm's sink, the chill doing little to sharpen her foggy mind. Rose, ever the early bird, had already bounced out for her run, leaving a note on the mirror: Don't drool in class, party girl. Church awaits! Rey managed a weak smile, pulling on her uniform—crisp white blouse tucked into pleated skirt, knee-high socks hugging her calves—but the fabric felt constricting, her skin still humming from unspent tension.

By the time she shuffled into maths class, the buzz of Friday anticipation electrified the room. Cameron's party loomed like a siren call, whispers rippling through the desks about the abandoned church just a few streets over, its crumbling spires and shadowed pews promising illicit thrills under the cover of night. The gang had claimed their usual cluster in the back: Poe sprawled with his feet up, Finn sketching plays on his notebook margin, Rose flipping through her phone for party outfit ideas. Rey slid into her seat beside Rose, stifling a yawn that earned her a sympathetic nudge.

"Slept like crap?" Rose murmured, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she leaned in, the faint scent of her citrus shampoo cutting through the chalky air.

Rey nodded, rubbing her temples.

"Blame Solo. Kept me up... thinking." She kept her voice low, but the heat creeping up her neck betrayed her. The class dragged on under Mr. Hargrove's droning equations, the whiteboard filling with graphs that blurred in Rey's vision. Her eyelids drooped, head dipping forward as she fought the pull of sleep, propped up only by the occasional elbow from Finn. Poe shot her a grin, mouthing Church tonight? with exaggerated eyebrow wags, and she forced a thumbs-up, the promise of the party a distant spark in her fatigue.

The bell finally rang like salvation, chairs scraping as students bolted. Rey gathered her books slowly, the gang clustering around her in the hallway's throng. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting long shadows on the linoleum, and the air hummed with weekend fever—girls giggling about outfits, guys slapping high-fives over beer stashes. Poe led the pack toward English, his stride purposeful, but he halted just outside the door, drawing a theatrical deep breath.

"Brace yourselves," he said, exhaling dramatically, his dark eyes twinkling. "Solo's lair awaits. Who knows what literary torture he's cooked up today?"

Rose snorted, linking arms with Rey.

"As long as it's not sonnets. My brain's fried from maths."

Finn chuckled beside Poe, adjusting his backpack, while Rey's pulse quickened despite her weariness. The door to the classroom loomed, and she smoothed her skirt.

They filed in, the room's familiar setup greeting them: rows of wooden desks scarred from years of doodles, the chalkboard wiped clean, and Ben Solo already at the front, leaning against his desk with arms crossed over his chest. He looked devastatingly composed in a fitted gray shirt that clung to his muscled frame, sleeves rolled to his elbows exposing veined forearms, dark hair tousled just enough to suggest he'd run a hand through it moments ago. His eyes scanned the entering students, lingering a fraction longer on Rey—or was that her imagination?—before he straightened, a faint smile curving his lips.

"Good afternoon, class," he began, his voice smooth and resonant, carrying that undercurrent of authority laced with something warmer, more inviting.

"I trust you're all surviving the week. Before we dive in, I've selected our next text. Something to challenge your notions of desire, class, and the raw pulse of human connection." He paused, picking up a worn copy from his desk, holding it aloft like a talisman. The cover gleamed under the fluorescent lights: Lady Chatterley's Lover by D.H. Lawrence. Gasps and murmurs erupted—some shocked, others intrigued—as he continued, undeterred.

"This novel strips away pretense, exploring forbidden passions in a world that deems them obscene. We'll dissect its themes: the clash between intellect and instinct, the body's unapologetic demands. Expect discussions that push boundaries. Questions?"

The room buzzed, a mix of wide-eyed stares and stifled laughs. Rey's heart hammered, her fatigue forgotten in the rush of heat flooding her veins. The title alone conjured images—illicit trysts in wooded glades, a woman's awakening to carnal hunger mirroring her own spiraling fixation. She shifted in her seat, thighs pressing together against the sudden ache building between them, her pussy lips swelling with warmth as she pictured Ben reading those steamy passages aloud, his voice wrapping around words like 'fuck' and 'cunt' with clinical detachment that only heightened the erotic charge.

"Is he really making us read that?" Finn whispered harshly from the desk beside her, his face a mask of mock horror, though his grin betrayed excitement. Poe leaned over, whispering back,

"Dude, it's basically porn with a plot. Solo's either a genius or trying to get fired."

Rose covered her mouth to muffle a giggle, shooting Rey a sidelong glance that screamed this is gold for your fantasies.

Ben's gaze swept the room again, settling briefly on their cluster, and Rey swore his eyes darkened as they met hers, a flicker of amusement—or recognition?—before he launched into the syllabus.

"We'll start with chapters one through five by Monday. Pay attention to Connie Chatterley's internal conflict; it's a mirror to our own suppressed urges." He paced slowly, his trousers hugging the lines of his thighs and the subtle bulge at his crotch, and Rey's mind unspooled: imagining him as the gamekeeper, rough hands, the classroom emptying around them in her fevered vision.

 

The lesson unfolded in a haze for her, notes scribbled half-heartedly as Ben quoted passages, his tone probing, inviting debate. Students piped up—some blushing, others bold—dissecting the scandal of the book's obscenity trial, the raw depictions of sex that had shocked the world. Rey contributed once, her voice steady despite the throb in her core:

"It's about reclaiming the body from societal chains, right? Like, passion overriding decorum." Ben nodded, his approval a warm stroke.

"Precisely, Miss...Kenobi' He said proudly, pointing at her with a ruler.

 

The final bell clanged through the hallways like a starting gun, unleashing a torrent of students into the afternoon light. Lockers slammed, laughter echoed off the stone walls, and the electric hum of weekend freedom pulsed in the air. Rey lingered at her desk in English class, her fingers tracing the edge of her notebook where she'd doodled absent swirls during Ben's lecture on Lady Chatterley's Lover. The words from the book lingered in her mind—raw, unfiltered depictions of bodies entwining, a woman's thighs parting for a man's insistent thrust—mirroring the slick heat that had built between her own legs throughout the hour. She crossed them tighter, the friction teasing her swollen clit through her skirt, but it only amplified the ache.

Ben was at the front, stacking papers with deliberate movements, his broad back stretching the fabric of his shirt. Rey's gaze dipped to the way his pants clung to his ass, imagining gripping those firm cheeks as he drove into her from behind, his cock stretching her pussy wide. She bit her lip, forcing herself to stand before the fantasy took root too deeply.

Before she could escape, Rose's hand clamped around her wrist, warm and insistent, yanking her toward the door.

"We're off to make ourselves drop-dead gorgeous," Rose declared, her voice a triumphant purr that cut through the chatter. She towed Rey along like a woman on a mission, hips swaying with purpose. "I'm definitely hooking up with someone tonight. He doesn't even need a name."

Rose's words hung bold and unapologetic, her grin wicked as she glanced back. Rey chuckled, the sound bubbling up despite the flush creeping over her cheeks. She chased after her friend, skirt swishing against her thighs, the cool air kissing the bare skin where her panties should have been—still absent from her morning rush, a secret thrill that made every step rub her slick folds together.

"See ya later, boys!" Rose called over her shoulder to Poe and Finn, who were shoving books into their bags with lazy grins. Poe waved dramatically. Finn just shook his head, amusement lighting his eyes. The girls burst into the corridor, weaving through the crowd toward the dorms, the promise of the night ahead quickening their pulses.

The abandoned church party was legendary—Cameron's domain, a few streets away in the overgrown lot where ivy choked the stained-glass windows and the bell tower loomed like a forgotten sentinel. Bonfires in the nave, bass-thumping music echoing off vaulted ceilings, bodies grinding in shadowed alcoves. No teachers, no rules, just the raw edge of youth spilling over into drinks, dances, and desperate fucks against cold stone walls. Rey's stomach fluttered with a mix of nerves and excitement; tonight was for letting loose, drowning the week's tensions in alcohol and rhythm, and if luck—or her imagination—smiled, finding a stranger in a dark corner to stand in for the man who haunted her thoughts.

They hit the dorm like a whirlwind, the door banging shut behind them. The room was a cozy chaos: twin beds with rumpled quilts, posters of indie bands curling at the edges, a vanity cluttered with makeup and jewelry. Sunlight slanted through the window, gilding the air with golden motes as Rose dove straight for the wardrobe, flinging open the doors with a flourish.

"Operation Slutty Chic commences," Rose announced, rummaging through the hangers like a treasure hunter. She pulled out a crimson mini-dress first, holding it against her body—the fabric clung like a second skin, the neckline plunging to reveal the swell of her full breasts, the hem barely skimming mid-thigh to showcase her toned legs. "This one's mine. Imagine the hands sliding up under here while we're dancing." She shimmied, the dress whispering against her skin, and Rey laughed, the sound lightening the knot in her chest.

Rey joined the fray, her hands delving into the depths of shared clothes they'd amassed over years of friendship—borrowed pieces that blurred the lines between them. She unearthed a black number, sleek and unforgiving, with lace-up sides that promised to cinch her waist and expose flashes of hip with every twist. It was the sluttiest in her rotation, bought on a dare during a mall trip, never worn but saved for a night like this. She held it up, the material cool and silky against her palms, envisioning how it would hug her curves, the low back dipping to tease the dimples above her ass.

"Yes to that," Rose approved, nodding vigorously as she stripped off her uniform without a shred of modesty.

Both dressed quick, and determined.

"Mirror check," she commanded, dragging Rey to the full-length one propped against the wall.

They stood side by side, assessing their reflections: Rose's curves poured into scarlet temptation, her olive skin glowing against the bold color, full lips curving in satisfaction. Rey's slimmer build turned the black dress lethal—elegant lines accentuating her high cheekbones, the hem flirting with indecency as she turned, revealing the underside curve of her ass. Her nipples hardened visibly through the thin fabric, traitorous peaks announcing her excitement.

"Hot as fuck," Rose declared, spinning Rey for a full view. "You'll have guys tripping over themselves." She winked.

Next came hair and makeup, the vanity becoming their battlefield. Rose claimed the chair first, wielding a curling iron like a wand. She sectioned her dark waves, twisting them into loose, tousled spirals that cascaded over her shoulders, framing her face with wild allure. 'Bedhead but make it sexy,' she muttered, spraying liberally with hairspray that filled the room with a sweet, musky scent.

Rey took her turn, brushing out her lighter locks until they fell in soft, beachy layers. She added waves at the ends, letting them brush her collarbones, the style tousled enough to look effortlessly fuckable—like she'd just rolled out of bed after a marathon session. A quick spritz of perfume followed, jasmine and vanilla blooming on her pulse points: wrists, neck, and the hollow between her breasts.

Makeup transformed them further. Rose went bold—smoky eyes with kohl-rimmed lids that made her gaze smolder, lashes fanned out thick and dark, lips painted a deep berry red that screamed kiss me, bite me. She blended blush high on her cheeks, adding a flush that mimicked post-orgasm glow.

Rey opted for sultry subtlety: winged liner sharpening her hazel eyes, mascara lengthening her lashes to flutter invitingly. She dusted shimmer on her lids, letting it catch the light, and swiped a nude gloss over her full lips, plumping them with a hint of shine. A touch of bronzer contoured her face, highlighting her jawline and the subtle swell of her mouth—ready for whispers or something more carnal.

As they worked, conversation flowed easy and explicit, the dorm a bubble of girl-talk intimacy.

"So, who's your nameless target?" Rey teased, capping her mascara with a click.

Rose smirked into the mirror, outlining her lips.

"Anyone with strong hands and a hard dick."

Rey laughed it off and slipped into strappy heels that elongated her legs. Rose matched with red stilettos, the click of them on the floor a rhythmic promise.

They stepped back, fully armed: dresses hugging every curve, hair wild and inviting, makeup sealing their transformation from schoolgirls to sirens. The mirror reflected two women ready to conquer the night—bodies primed for touch, eyes gleaming with hunger.

"Let's go raise hell," Rose said, grabbing a small clutch with condoms and cash—practicality amid the chaos. Rey nodded.

 

The dorm room buzzed with the afterglow of their preparations, the air thick with the scent of perfume and fresh makeup. Rey smoothed her hands down the front of her black dress one last time, the fabric whispering against her skin. Rose struck a final pose in the mirror, adjusting the neckline of her red dress to let just a hint more cleavage spill forward, her breasts heaving with a deep breath.

"Coats," Rose said suddenly, snapping her fingers as if remembering a crucial detail. "Can't sneak out looking like we're auditioning for a porno."

Rey nodded, the practicality cutting through her haze of anticipation. The summer evening was warm, the sun dipping low but still casting a golden haze over the campus, making bulky coats a dead giveaway. They rummaged through the closet again, pulling out oversized trench coats—Rose's in a neutral beige that draped over her curves like a tent, and Rey's in dark wool that swallowed her slimmer frame. Rey shrugged hers on, the heavy material settling over her shoulders and buttoning up to her chin, hiding the slutty dress beneath. It felt like armor and a cage all at once, the coat's lining brushing her bare thighs and the sensitive skin of her inner legs, a constant reminder of what lurked underneath.

Rose fastened her coat with quick snaps, the bulk making her look comically innocent compared to the vixen she'd been minutes ago.

"Ready to play hooky?" she asked, grabbing a small bag with their essentials—ID, phone, a flask of pilfered vodka from Poe's stash. Rey snatched her own clutch, heart pounding with the thrill of rebellion. They slipped out of the dorm, the door clicking softly behind them, and plunged into the dimly lit hallway.

The corridors of the boarding school were a labyrinth of polished wood and echoing stone, usually bustling but now hushed in the after-hours lull. A few stragglers wandered—study group kids with books under arms, a janitor pushing a mop with lazy strokes—but Rey and Rose stuck to the shadows, heels muffled by the coats' hems dragging on the floor. They moved like conspirators, shoulders brushing as they turned corners, stifling giggles that threatened to bubble up. Rey's pulse raced, not just from the sneaking, but from the coat's confinement pressing against her body, the dress riding up slightly with each step, teasing her ass cheeks.

"Act natural," Rose whispered, linking her arm through Rey's as they approached the main exit. The grand doors loomed ahead, arched and imposing, leading to the sprawling lawns beyond. They pushed through with feigned casualness, the warm evening air hitting them like a slap—humid and alive with the chirp of crickets and distant laughter from the sports fields. Freedom tasted sweet, but it was short-lived.

They burst out too fast, coats flapping, and collided straight into a solid wall of a man. Papers flew in a chaotic flurry, scattering across the stone steps like startled birds. Rey stumbled back, her coat parting just enough at the front to flash a glimpse of black lace against her thigh, but she yanked it closed in panic. Rose let out a sharp yelp, her bag swinging wildly.

It was Ben. Professor Solo, to be precise, his tall frame bent now as he scrambled to gather the mess—loose-leaf notes on Lady Chatterley's Lover, dog-eared pages fluttering in the breeze. His dark hair fell forward, tousled from the impact, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing forearms corded with muscle. Rey's stomach dropped, embarrassment flooding her cheeks in a hot rush. Of all the people to run into, it had to be him—the man who'd starred in her every dirty thought that day, his voice reading those explicit passages still echoing in her ears.

"Oh shit—sorry, Professor!" Rose blurted, dropping to her knees to help, her coat gaping open at the neck as she scooped up sheets. Rey froze for a split second, then joined in, bending low to snatch a cluster of papers near his feet. The position pulled her coat tight across her ass, the dress beneath hiking up dangerously, but she didn't dare adjust. Her fingers trembled as she stacked the pages, catching snippets of text: his cock plunged deep into her soaking cunt, her moans filling the air as he fucked her without mercy. The words blurred with her own racing heartbeat.

Ben straightened slightly, a stack of papers in one hand, his expression a mix of surprise and that signature dark amusement. His eyes—those brown dark eyes—flicked over them both, taking in the bulky coats against the summer warmth. 'Ladies,' he said, voice smooth and low, like velvet dragged over gravel.

"Careful there. You nearly bowled me over." He crouched to retrieve the last few sheets, his pants stretching taut over his thighs, a sight that made Rey's mouth go dry.

They helped him up, Rey handing over a wad of papers with fingers that brushed his accidentally. The contact sent a jolt straight to her core, her pussy clenching involuntarily, slickness gathering between her folds. Rose stood first, brushing off her knees, while Rey lingered, spotting a pen that had rolled under the step. She bent again, deeper this time, her coat riding up her back, exposing the barest curve of her ass cheek to the air—and potentially to Ben's gaze.

"Are you girls heading off campus?" Ben asked, straightening fully now, his tone casual but probing. He adjusted his glasses, peering at them with that knowing tilt to his head, the coats' illogic hanging between them like an accusation.

Rey and Rose exchanged a glance—pure panic in Rey's wide eyes, her heart hammering so loud she swore he could hear it. Rose recovered first, flashing a bright, innocent smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Just heading over to meet our friends at the football field," she lied smoothly, voice steady. "Got a rally going on—pep stuff for the game next week."

"Yeah, we're late so we gotta go," Rey chimed in, her voice a squeak as she finally grabbed the pen. She straightened, handing it to him, their fingers touching again—deliberate this time? No, just nerves. But as she met his gaze, his eyes pinned on her, intense and unblinking. They raked down her body, slow and deliberate, lingering on the way the coat hugged her waist, dipping to the hem where her legs peeked out, smooth and toned. He checked her out, no mistaking it—the heat in his stare stripping away the layers, seeing the slutty dress, the makeup, the hunger she carried for him.

Rey noticed. Her breath hitched, cheeks burning hotter, her nipples peaking hard against the dress's fabric, visible even through the coat if he looked close enough. And he did. His lips curved in the faintest smirk, acknowledging the moment—he knew she noticed, knew the electricity crackling between them. For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to just that: his gaze on her body, imagining what he'd do if they were alone, his hands shoving the coat aside, fingers digging into her hips as he bent her over right there on the steps, cock slamming into her from behind.

Rose's hand clamped on Rey's arm, yanking her away before the tension could snap.

"Bye, Professor!" Rose called over her shoulder, dragging Rey down the steps and onto the grass. They broke into a run, coats billowing like capes, giggles erupting as the distance grew. Rey's laughter was breathless, laced with adrenaline and something darker—arousal pooling hot in her belly, her pussy aching from the brief encounter.

They sprinted across the lawn, the soft earth giving under their heels, the church's silhouette rising in the distance like a gothic promise. The road curved ahead, lined with overhanging trees that cast dappled shadows, the summer air whipping their faces. Rose slowed to a jog, clutching her side, her laughter ringing out.

"He totally checked you out," she snickered, glancing back to ensure they weren't followed. "Did you see that? Eyes like lasers on you. Professor Solo wants a piece of that."

Rey panted, cheeks still flushed, but a grin split her face.

"Shut up," she gasped, shoving Rose playfully. But inside, the thrill ignited her fantasies anew—Ben's stare burned into her memory, his body so close she could smell his cologne, woodsy and masculine. As they hit the road, pounding pavement toward the abandoned church, Rey's mind raced ahead: the party, the drinks, the dark corners. But now, layered over it all, was the image of Ben, knowing, wanting. Tonight, any stranger she pulled into the shadows would wear his face, his hands becoming Ben's as they groped her, fingers sliding into her wet pussy, cock thrusting deep while she moaned his forbidden name in her head.

The church loomed closer, music faintly thumping from within, bonfires flickering through broken windows. Rose linked arms with her again, their coats shed now in the safety of the treeline—dresses gleaming under the twilight, bodies ready for the night's sins.

"Come on, let's get fucked up and forget the close call," Rose said, but her eyes sparkled with mischief. Rey nodded, pulse still racing, the embarrassment morphing into fuel for the fire building inside her.

 

The abandoned church rose like a forgotten relic against the twilight sky, its spire jagged and crumbling, stained glass windows shattered into colorful shards that caught the last rays of sun. Vines choked the stone walls, and the air hummed with the low thrum of bass from inside, vibrating through the ground like a heartbeat. Rey and Rose slowed their run as they approached, breaths coming in excited gasps, the road giving way to a gravel path littered with cigarette butts and empty bottles. The treeline thinned here, opening to a makeshift parking lot where beat-up cars and bikes clustered like predators around a kill.

Rose peeled off her coat first, tossing it over a rusted fence post with a flourish. The beige fabric slumped there, forgotten, revealing her red dress in all its glory—tight and low-cut, the material clinging to her full breasts and flaring at her hips, the hem riding high on her thighs. She shook out her hair, the curls bouncing free, and shot Rey a wicked grin.

"Showtime."

Rey followed suit, shrugging off the wool coat and letting it drape over Rose's. The evening air kissed her skin, raising goosebumps along her arms and legs, her black dress a second skin that hugged every curve—the deep V-neck plunging between her breasts, the fabric sheer enough in the right light to hint at the lace panties beneath. She felt exposed, alive, the earlier encounter with Ben still simmering in her veins like liquid fire. She ran her fingers through her waves, tousling them for that just-fucked look, and linked arms with Rose.

"Let's make this night ours."

They pushed through the creaky double doors at the front, the wood warped and splintered, and plunged into chaos. The church's nave had been transformed into a throbbing den of sin: pews shoved aside to create a dance floor of cracked stone tiles, bonfires crackling in rusted metal drums that cast flickering shadows on the vaulted ceilings. Fairy lights strung haphazardly from the rafters twinkled like stars in hell, and the air reeked of smoke, sweat, and spilled booze. Bodies writhed to the pulsing rhythm of a boombox rigged on the altar—cheesy 80's hits blasting at ear-splitting volume, synth beats and wailing guitars filling every corner.

"Girls!" Poe's voice cut through the din, his shout followed by a whoop as he spotted them. He stood behind a makeshift bar cobbled from an old communion table, surrounded by mismatched bottles and a massive punch bowl bubbling with ominous red liquid. Finn flanked him, shirt already unbuttoned halfway down his chest, his dark skin glistening under the firelight as he ladled punch into plastic cups. Poe's curls were wild, his grin infectious, eyes lighting up as he took in their outfits.

"You two look ready to break hearts. Get over here!"

Rey and Rose wove through the crowd—clusters of students grinding against each other, laughter sharp and slurred, a couple already tangled in a corner pew, hands roaming under skirts and shirts. The music shifted to 'Sweet Dreams' by Eurythmics, the eerie synth hooking into Rey's pulse, making her hips sway instinctively. They reached the bar, Rose leaning in to hug Finn, her breasts pressing against his arm in a way that made him flush and laugh.

"Special punch?" Rose asked, eyeing the bowl with mock suspicion, though her eyes sparkled with eagerness. Bubbles rose lazily, flecked with fruit slices that had long since surrendered to the alcohol.

Poe thrust two cups at them, brimming full.

"The one and only. Vodka, rum, and something Poe found in his dad's cabinet that might be paint thinner—guaranteed to make you forget your own name." He winked at Rey, his gaze dipping briefly to her cleavage before snapping back up. "To epic nights and zero regrets."

They clinked cups, the plastic crinkling, and downed the first round in greedy gulps. The punch hit like a freight train—tart and sweet at first, then the burn of liquor scorching down Rey's throat, spreading warmth through her chest and straight to her belly. She coughed, eyes watering, but the buzz ignited instantly, loosening her limbs, blurring the edges of her earlier embarrassment into something hazy and hot. Rose slammed her cup down empty, demanding a refill, her cheeks already pink.

"Bottoms up!" Finn cheered, pouring more, his arm brushing Rey's as he handed it over. The contact was casual, friendly, but in the humid press of bodies, it sent a spark skittering across her skin. They drank again, faster this time, the alcohol pooling heavy in their stomachs, making the world tilt just a fraction.

The music ramped up—'Girls Just Want to Have Fun' exploding from the speakers, Cyndi Lauper's voice a siren call. Rose grabbed Rey's hand, yanking her onto the dance floor. 'Come on, shake it!' Poe and Finn followed, cups in hand, joining the fray as bodies collided in joyful abandon. Rey laughed, the sound bubbling free as she threw her head back, hips rolling to the beat. The punch sloshed in her veins, turning movements fluid, uninhibited—her dress riding up with each twist, flashing thigh.

Rose danced like she owned the night, arms overhead, ass grinding back against Finn when he pressed close. He didn't pull away, hands settling on her waist, guiding her rhythm as they moved in sync, the friction building heat between them. Poe sandwiched Rey from behind, his chest to her back, breath warm on her neck as he shouted lyrics over the music.

"You're killing it, Rey!" His hands hovered at her hips, not grabbing but close enough to tease, the air charged with possibility.

They drank more—cups refilled mid-dance, punch spilling sticky down chins and onto chests. Rey licked her lips, tasting the sweetness mixed with salt from her skin, her head swimming as the third song hit: 'Take On Me,' the high-pitched wail making everyone scream-sing. She spun away from Poe, colliding with Rose, their bodies pressing together in a sweaty embrace, laughter mingling as they jumped and twirled. The alcohol hit harder now, legs wobbling, vision softening at the edges.

Hours blurred into a haze of motion and melody. 'Don't You Want Me' thumped next, the synth-pop driving the crowd wild, couples pairing off in dark alcoves, moans lost to the music. Rey downed another cup, the punch now mostly liquor, burning her throat raw. She felt gloriously shit-faced—giddy, bold, her inhibitions dissolving like sugar in the bowl. Rose pulled her into a group dance with a cluster of other students, bodies bumping, hands grazing breasts and asses in accidental-on-purpose touches. Finn pressed a fresh cup into Rey's hand, his fingers lingering on hers, eyes dark with shared intoxication.

Poe cranked the volume for 'Billie Jean,' the moonwalk beat impossible to resist. Rey kicked off her heels, barefoot on the cool stone, spinning until the room whirled. Sweat slicked her skin, dress clinging transparently to her curves. She grabbed Rose, pulling her close, their foreheads touching as they swayed, hips grinding in playful mimicry of sex.

"This is fucking amazing," Rey slurred, voice thick, the words tumbling out unfiltered.

Rose nodded, eyes glassy, a trail of punch smeared on her collarbone.

"Best night ever. Who's next on the dance card?" She glanced at Poe, who was pouring shots now, his shirt discarded somewhere, muscles flexing as he laughed with Finn. The boys were as wrecked as they were—Poe's movements loose, Finn's grin lopsided, both of them shirtless in the heat, sweat tracing paths down their torsos.

As 'Every Breath You Take' slowed the tempo to a sultry crawl, the group collapsed against a wall, passing a bottle around. Rey's head lolled back, the vaulted ceiling spinning above.

Rose nudged her, offering the bottle.

"More?" Rey took a swig, the burn sealing the night in her blood. They were absolutely shit-faced—limbs heavy, laughter endless, the church a pulsing heart of forbidden fun. The music looped back to upbeat frenzy, pulling them up again, ready to lose themselves completely in the rhythm, the drinks, the promise of whatever came next.

 

The night had spiraled into a feverish blur, the church's stone walls echoing with the relentless pulse of 80's anthems that bled into one another like smeared paint. Hours had slipped away in a torrent of laughter, spilled punch, and grinding bodies, the air thick with the musk of sweat and desire. Rey and Rose stumbled out the back door, the creak of the hinges lost to the thumping bass of 'Tainted Love,' their legs unsteady from the alcohol that sloshed in their veins like an endless tide. The porter loo—a battered portable toilet shoved against the church's rear wall, its blue plastic scarred and graffiti-tagged—loomed like a sentinel in the shadows, the only semi-private spot amid the chaos.

Rey leaned heavily against the cool metal side, her black dress hiked up scandalously high on her thighs, one heel dangling from her fingers as she balanced barefoot on the gravel. Her head spun, the world tilting in lazy circles, and she tipped back the small bottle clutched in her fist—some cheap vodka she'd swiped from Poe's stash earlier, the label half-peeled and unreadable. The liquid burned down her throat, sharp and unforgiving, chasing away the cottony haze for a fleeting moment. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing lipstick across her skin, and let out a sloppy hiccup.

"He's not even that hot," she slurred, the words tumbling out thick and garbled, her mind flickering to Ben's face amid the drunken fog. Or was it Poe? The lines blurred, faces melting into one another.

The door to the loo banged open, and Rose stepped out, her red dress twisted askew, one strap slipping off her shoulder to expose the swell of her breast. Her cheeks were flushed crimson, not just from the booze but from whatever hurried business she'd conducted inside—probably fixing her makeup or splashing water on her face to sober up a fraction. She fanned herself with her clutch, a small black purse that dangled from her wrist like an afterthought, and shot Rey a look that mixed exasperation and amusement.

"Oh no! We're drunk but we are not delusional, Rey. He is still hot." Her voice carried a tipsy lilt, eyes glassy under the faint moonlight filtering through the trees. She fiddled with the clutch's clasp, popping it open with fumbling fingers, and pulled out what looked like a makeup palette—compact and innocuous at first glance.

Rose flipped it open, revealing not eyeshadow but a mirror dusted with fine white powder, lines already prepped like invitations to sin.

"Poe wants to fuck you, by the way" she added casually, as if commenting on the weather, her gaze flicking up to Rey's face before she leaned down, one nostril pinched shut, and snorted a quick line. The powder vanished in a sharp inhale, her body jolting slightly as it hit, eyes widening with that electric rush. She straightened, wiping under her nose with a manicured finger, a grin splitting her face.

"Poe?" Rey scoffed, the sound bubbling into a wet laugh that turned her stomach. She pressed a hand to her mouth, fake-vomiting into the gravel with exaggerated retches, her body doubling over as giggles shook her. The vodka bottle slipped from her grip, rolling away half-empty, glugging its contents into the dirt.

"Ew. He's like a brother!" The words came out fierce, protective, even as the alcohol twisted her thoughts into knots.

Rose chuckled, low and throaty, the sound cutting through the distant roar of the party. She snapped the palette shut for a second, then reopened it, holding it out like an offering.

"What about Finn?" she suggested, eyebrow arched, her flush deepening as she remembered the way he'd ground against her on the dance floor earlier, his hands firm on her hips.

"Same story. Brother..." Rey trailed off, waving a dismissive hand, her nails chipped from the night's frenzy. The idea soured in her gut, turning the buzz to nausea for a beat before the booze smoothed it over.

Rose thrust the palette closer, the white lines stark under the dim light from a nearby bonfire spilling around the corner.

"Courage," she urged, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, eyes locking on Rey's with insistent fire. "Come on, it'll make everything sharper. Braver."

Rey hesitated, the rational part of her brain—a tiny, drowned voice—screaming caution, but the drunk, reckless part won out. She snatched the palette, kneeling unsteadily on the gravel, knees scraping as she bent over it. Pinching one nostril, she snorted the line in one go, the powder burning up her nose like fire ants, exploding into her sinuses and rocketing straight to her brain. She gasped, head snapping back, the world sharpening into crystalline edges—the stars overhead pinpricks, the bass vibrating through her bones, her skin alive with pins and needles. Energy surged through her, chasing away the sluggish drunk haze, leaving her wired, hungry, bold. She handed the palette back, wiping her nose, a wild grin mirroring Rose's.

"Right," Rose said, snapping it shut and tucking it away, her posture straightening as the courage kicked in, shoulders rolling back, chin lifting. "When we go back in, pick a guy and drag him out back. Any fucking guy. At this point, they're all horny and wanting a quick release." She smoothed her dress down, adjusting the strap over her breast, the fabric whispering against her skin. Her eyes gleamed with mischief, the plan solidifying in the charged air between them. Without another word, she turned on her heel, the gravel crunching under her shoes, and headed back toward the church's rear door, hips swaying with renewed purpose.

Rey followed, the rush propelling her forward, legs steadier now, the mix of vodka, punch, and powder turning her into a live wire. She pushed through the door behind Rose, the heat and noise slamming into her like a wall—bodies packed tight, the air humid with pheromones, 'Footloose' blasting from the speakers, feet stomping on the stone floor in chaotic rhythm. Sweat-slicked skin brushed against her as she wove through the crowd, Rose vanishing into the throng ahead, already scanning for her own target. Rey's heart hammered, eyes darting, searching for anyone who stood out in the flickering firelight—tall guys with broad shoulders, lean ones with smirks, all blurring into potential.

Her gaze swept the room, lingering on a cluster of football players chugging beers, their shirts off and muscles flexing; a dark-haired sophomore grinding against a girl near the altar, his hand up her skirt. But then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw him. Ben. He was over on the far side, tucked into a shadowed corner where the pews met the wall, blending in seamlessly with the low light and milling bodies. His dark shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing forearms corded with muscle; his hair tousled, that magnetic jawline cutting sharp even from afar. Why the fuck is he here? The question ricocheted in her skull, a jolt of shock cutting through the high—her professor, in this den of teenage rebellion, sipping from a cup like he belonged, eyes scanning the room with quiet intensity.

He noticed her stare, their eyes locking across the chaos for a heartbeat that stretched eternal. His gaze darkened, unreadable, before he set his cup down on a nearby ledge and turned, weaving through the crowd toward the back door with purposeful strides. The door swung open, letting in a gust of cool night air, and he slipped out, silhouette vanishing into the shadows beyond.

Rey's breath caught, the courage and booze and lingering fantasies from earlier igniting like dry tinder. Drunk and dumb, her feet moved before her brain could catch up, drawn like a moth to flame. She pushed past a couple making out, their tongues tangling wetly, ignored Rose's distant wave, and followed him out the back door.

Chapter 3

The back door thudded shut behind Rey, sealing her into the night with a finality that echoed in her buzzing skull. The gardens stretched out like a dark labyrinth, overgrown hedges and cracked stone paths twisting under the canopy of ancient oaks that loomed over the church's rear. Moonlight filtered weakly through the branches, casting jagged shadows that danced with the faint flicker of distant bonfire light. The music from inside muffled to a distant throb, 'Don't You Want Me' seeping through the walls like a heartbeat, but out here, the world narrowed to the rustle of leaves and her own ragged breaths. She spun in a slow circle.

Where was he? Rey squinted into the gloom, heart slamming against her ribs, the powder's edge sharpening her senses even as the vodka dragged her down. She pushed through a low hedge, branches snagging at her dress, tearing a thin strip from the hem and exposing more of her thigh to the chill air.

"Ben?" she called out, voice slurring into the wind, but only silence answered, broken by the first fat drops of rain pattering on the leaves overhead. Nothing. No tall silhouette, no flash of dark eyes. Had she imagined it? The high twisted her thoughts, making doubt creep in like fog.

She turned back toward the church, the back door a shadowed rectangle promising escape, but her heel caught on a loose stone, sending her pitching forward. Arms windmilling, she caught herself on a rusted iron fence, the metal cold and slick under her palms.

Rain started in earnest then, a drizzle that quickly swelled to a downpour, soaking her hair in seconds, plastering dark strands to her neck and cheeks. Water streamed down her face, mixing with the smudged mascara that ran in black rivulets, turning her into a drowned raccoon. She bolted for the door, feet slipping on the wet gravel, heels wobbling precariously as she half-ran, half-stumbled.

Her hand slammed against the wood, fingers fumbling for the handle. She yanked—once, twice—but it didn't budge. Locked.

"Are you kidding me?" she yelled, pounding with her fist, the rain now a roaring curtain that drowned out the music entirely. The heavens opened fully, sheets of water cascading down, turning the path into a muddy rivulet that soaked her dress to transparency, the black fabric clinging like a second skin to her curves, nipples hardening against the cold bite. She rattled the door again, desperation clawing up her throat, but it held firm, the party inside oblivious to her plight.

"You shouldn't be here."

The voice sliced through the storm like a blade, low and gravelly, startling her so violently she whipped around, back slamming against the door. Rain blurred her vision, but there he was—Ben, emerging from the shadows of a nearby arbor, water already beading on his broad shoulders, darkening his shirt to reveal the outline of his chest. He stood a few paces away, arms crossed over his torso, jaw set in that unyielding line she knew from class, but here, in the rain, he looked wilder, more untamed, water dripping from his tousled hair to trace paths down his neck.

"What?" Rey snapped, the word sharp despite the slur edging her tongue. Then it dissolved into a drunken laugh, bubbling up uncontrollable, her head lolling back against the door as water poured over her face.

"I shouldn't be here?" She pushed off the wood, descending the short flight of stone stairs with messy, lurching steps, one hand trailing the railing slick with rain, the other clutching her sodden dress to keep it from riding up completely. Her heels clacked unevenly, nearly twisting her ankle on the bottom step, but she caught her balance and closed the distance to him, emboldened by the storm and the substances warring in her blood. She jabbed a finger into his chest—hard muscle yielding just enough under her touch to send a jolt through her, his pecs tensing like coiled springs, warm even through the wet fabric.

"You shouldn't be here," she echoed, poking again for emphasis, her nail scraping lightly over the button of his shirt, the contact electric in the downpour.

Ben's lips quirked, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest, vibrating against her fingertip. Rain plastered his hair flat, rivulets tracing the scar on his cheek, making his dark eyes gleam like polished obsidian.

"You are right," he admitted, voice steady over the rain's roar, his gaze never leaving her face. "But you..." He paused, staring—really staring, eyes raking over her from soaked hair to bare, mud-streaked legs, lingering on the way the dress molded to her breasts, the fabric translucent and unforgiving.

"This isn't your crowd." He jerked his chin toward the church door, where the muffled bass still pulsed faintly, a world away. Then, softer but no less pointed, "Dressed like a whore."

Rey's head snapped back as if slapped, shock cutting through the haze like lightning. She blinked rain from her lashes, mouth falling open, sass rising hot and fierce in her chest.

"Excuse me?" The words came out laced with defiance, her body straightening despite the sway, hands planting on her hips as water cascaded down her spine, chilling her to the bone.

"You heard me," Ben replied, firm and unyielding, stepping closer until the heat of him cut through the cold rain, his presence towering, unapologetic. He didn't flinch, didn't soften; instead, he reached out, fingers brushing a wet strand from her forehead in a gesture that was almost tender, but his eyes burned with intensity.

"You are a grade A student. You are smart, intelligent. I've read your file." His voice dropped lower, confiding yet commanding, rain drumming on his shoulders like war drums. "This... drunken parties, snorting coke off your friend's mirror. It isn't you."

The words hit like punches, each one landing square—how did he know about the powder? Had he seen? Rey stumbled back a step, her heel slipping in the mud, arms flailing until she caught the stair railing. Drunken laughter erupted from her then, wild and unrestrained, doubling her over as she clutched her sides, the sound raw and echoing in the storm. Tears mixed with rain on her cheeks, not from hurt but from the absurdity, the thrill of being seen, called out.

"You've been at the school a few days, sir" she gasped between peals, straightening up with effort, wiping her face with a muddy hand that only smeared more. "You don't even know me."

Another burst of laughter shook her, body trembling from cold and mirth, but underneath it all, a spark ignited—defiance, yes, but laced with something hotter, the forbidden pull drawing her closer even as she mocked him. She stepped forward again, invading his space, chin tilted up defiantly, rain sluicing between them like a veil neither cared to pierce.

Ben didn't retreat, his chuckle fading into a serious stare, the tension coiling tighter in the downpour, the locked door at her back a barrier to the world inside, leaving them alone in the storm's embrace.

The rain hammered down relentlessly, turning the garden path into a slick river of mud and gravel that sucked at Rey's heels with every defiant step. Ben's hand clamped around her upper arm, fingers digging into the wet fabric of her dress, his grip firm and unyielding as he pulled her forward. She twisted against him, body slick and slippery from the downpour, but his hold didn't slacken—he dragged her out from the shadowed alcove of the church's back gardens, past the overgrown rose bushes that whipped at their legs, toward the narrow road that bordered the abandoned property. The world blurred in the storm: headlights from distant cars flashing like lightning, the faint glow of the party's bonfire dying behind the stone walls, and the relentless patter of water on her skin, soaking her through to the bone.

Rey's free hand clawed at his wrist, nails scraping over his skin, but he didn't flinch, his strides long and purposeful, boots splashing through puddles that splashed up to her knees.

"Ben, let me go!" she shouted, voice cracking with a mix of anger and the alcohol-fueled slur that made her words tumble out unevenly. She yanked back harder, stumbling as her heel caught in a pothole, but he steadied her roughly, pulling her upright without breaking pace. The sleek black BMW waited at the roadside like a predator in the night, its polished surface gleaming under the rain, headlights off but engine humming faintly as if eager to devour the distance.

He hauled her closer, but Rey planted her feet, mud squelching between her toes as one heel finally gave way and snapped off. Ben stopped abruptly then, releasing her arm just enough for her to whirl around, chest heaving, rain streaming into her eyes as she glared up at him. Water plastered his shirt to his torso, outlining the ridges of his abs and the broad expanse of his chest, droplets tracing paths down his neck to disappear into the collar.

"You shouldn't be here," he said, voice low and gravelly over the roar of the storm, his dark eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that pinned her in place. "You are drunk, and you will end up making mistakes you'll regret." The words hung between them, heavy as the rain, his breath warm against her chilled face as he loomed closer, one hand still hovering near her elbow, ready to grab again.

Rey's laugh bubbled up, sharp and mocking, even as her head spun from the vodka and the powder's lingering buzz. She swiped a hand across her face, smearing more mascara, and tilted her chin up defiantly.

"And if I want to make mistakes I'll regret?" The challenge dripped from her lips, her body swaying slightly. She stepped into his space, poking his chest again, feeling the heat of him radiate through the wet cloth, her fingers lingering a beat too long on the hard plane of muscle.

Ben's lips curved into a slow, predatory smile, his eyes darkening as they dropped to her mouth, then lower, tracing the curve of her breasts before flicking back up. Rain poured over them both, rivulets cascading down his jaw, but he didn't blink, didn't move away.

"If you're set on regrets," he murmured, voice dropping to a husky timbre that sent shivers racing down her spine, unrelated to the chill, "let me show you ones worth savouring—ones where I pin you down and fuck you until you're begging for more mistakes only I can give." The words landed like a spark on dry tinder, explicit and unfiltered, his gaze burning with promise, hinting at the forbidden heat building between them.

Rey's breath hitched, this was not happening.

A flush creeping up her neck despite the downpour, her thighs clenching involuntarily at the raw image his words painted. But the defiance surged back, hot and fierce—she opened her mouth to snap back, but before she could, Ben moved like lightning. His arms banded around her waist, hoisting her up and over his shoulder in one fluid motion, her world tilting as her stomach pressed against the solid ridge of his shoulder, ass up in the air, dress riding high to expose the lace of her panties to the storm. She kicked wildly, heels—well, the remaining one—flailing, hands pounding against his back.

"Put me down, you asshole!" she yelled, but her voice cracked into a gasp as his hand clamped over her thigh to steady her, fingers brushing dangerously close to the heat between her legs.

He didn't respond, just strode to the car, the rain lashing at them as he yanked the passenger door wider and dumped her unceremoniously into the front seat. She landed with a wet thud on the leather, skirt hiked up around her hips, legs splayed as water pooled beneath her. Ben slammed the door shut, rounding the hood in quick strides, his shirt clinging transparently now, revealing the dark trail of hair leading down from his navel. Rey scrambled upright, fumbling with the door handle, but the child lock clicked into place just as she tried it—trapped.

"Ben, I'm serious, let me go now," she demanded, banging her palm against the window, fogging the glass with her breath. The interior light cast harsh shadows on his face as he slid into the driver's seat, water dripping from his hair onto the console. He paused then, key in the ignition but not turning it yet, turning to face her fully. His eyes roamed over her disheveled form—the soaked dress molded to every curve, breasts heaving with each ragged breath, thighs slick and parted from the rough handling. A smooth smirk tugged at his lips, dark and unrepentant, as he leaned in slightly, the scent of rain and his cologne filling the confined space.

"No," he said simply, the word laced with finality and a hint of amusement, his gaze holding hers captive. Then he smiled wider, that flirtatious curve promising more than just a ride home, before twisting the key. The engine roared to life, headlights piercing the night as he pulled away from the curb, tires hissing on the wet road, leaving the church and the party—and her protests—fading into the storm behind them.

Rey's heart pounded in her chest, a wild mix of fury, fear, and undeniable arousal twisting in her gut as the car accelerated, the wipers slashing rhythmically against the windshield. She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to ignore the way her body thrummed from his touch, the explicit promise of his words echoing in her mind. The road stretched out dark and empty, rain blurring the world outside, but inside, the tension coiled tighter, unspoken possibilities hanging heavy in the air between them.

 

The BMW's tires cut through the rain-slicked streets, the engine's low purr vibrating through the leather seats as Ben accelerated away from the abandoned church and the chaotic pulse of the party. Rey slumped against the passenger door, her soaked dress clinging to her skin like a second, unwelcome layer, water dripping from her hair onto the floor mat. She pressed her forehead to the cool glass, watching the town blur past in streaks of neon and shadow—familiar landmarks like the old bookstore with its flickering sign, the dimly lit diner where she and Rose had shared secrets over milkshakes, the winding roads that led back to the boarding school's imposing gates. But they weren't heading there; Ben veered onto the main highway, the storm's fury easing into a steady drizzle that tapped against the roof like impatient fingers.

"Ben, this isn't funny anymore," Rey said, her voice sharper now, the alcohol's haze sharpening into irritation as she straightened up, arms crossing over her chest. He didn't respond immediately, just reached for the stereo dial and cranked up the volume—a sultry rock ballad filling the car, bass thumping in time with her rising pulse.

Her eyes flared with feistiness, a spark of that rebellious fire igniting despite the exhaustion creeping in. She lunged forward, her hand slapping over his on the dial, twisting it down until the music faded to a murmur.

"You do not ignore me," she snarled, leaning closer, the scent of rain and his cologne mixing with the faint, greasy promise of fast food in the air. "Let. Me. The. Fuck. Out." Each word punched out, deliberate and demanding, her fingers digging into his hand before she yanked back, breath coming in short huffs.

Ben just smiled, that infuriating, knowing curve of his lips reflected in the rearview mirror, his eyes flicking to hers for a split second before returning to the road. He didn't slow down, didn't pull over— just kept driving, the wipers swishing rhythmically as if mocking her outburst. The silence stretched, thick and charged, until he finally spoke, his voice laced with dark amusement.

"You were willing to let any guy fuck you tonight," he said, the words blunt and cutting, hanging in the air like smoke, "and yet me driving you to get food to sober up is too much?" A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, vibrating through the space between them as he signaled and eased the car into the glowing arch of a McDonald's drive-thru, the golden arches a beacon in the rainy night.

Rey blinked, caught off guard by the casual vulgarity, her cheeks heating even as she shot him a glare. The line moved slowly, cars idling under the overhang, and she watched him lean out the window, ordering with effortless authority—a Big Mac, fries, nuggets, a couple of McFlurries, black coffee for himself, and even a milkshake for her, chocolate, as if he knew her weaknesses. The total flashed on the screen, and he handed over cash without flinching, the bag rustling as the employee passed it through. Not great, she thought, stomach twisting at the smell of grease and salt wafting up, but damn if it didn't sound appealing right then, her buzz crashing into a hungry void. She needed to sober up, whether she admitted it or not—the powder's edge had dulled, leaving her head throbbing and her limbs heavy.

He handed her the bag, their fingers brushing in a spark of contact that made her snatch it away, and pulled out of the lot, merging back onto the road. The food sat warm on her lap, tempting, but she ignored it, ripping open the straw for her milkshake instead and sucking down a long pull, the cold sweetness grounding her a fraction.

"Okay, great. You got me food," she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, voice dripping sarcasm. "Take me back!"

"Again... no," Ben replied, his tone firm and unyielding, that smirk lingering as he turned off the highway onto a quieter road lined with manicured trees and high walls. The landscape shifted subtly— from the town's gritty edges to upscale suburbs, streetlights casting a soft glow on gated entrances and sprawling lawns. He approached a set of wrought-iron gates, sleek and imposing, emblazoned with a discreet security emblem. As the car rolled to a stop, a scanner beeped, reading his license plate, and the gates swung open with a mechanical whir, admitting them into a private enclave. The community unfolded like a hidden world: modern mansions set back from the drive, pools shimmering behind hedges, the rain pattering softly on rooftops. He drove all the way to the end, past curving paths and luxury SUVs, until pulling into a wide driveway fronting a two-story house—clean lines, floor-to-ceiling windows, a manicured garden that screamed quiet wealth.

The gates closed behind them with a definitive click, sealing them in, and Ben killed the engine, grabbing the bags of food from her lap in one smooth motion.

"Get out and go inside," he said, his voice dropping to a warning rumble, eyes locking onto hers through the dim interior light. "Don't make a big deal."

Rey stared at him, anger boiling up fresh and hot, her fists clenching in her lap. The rain had eased to a mist now, beading on the windshield, but inside her, the storm raged. She wanted to scream, to pound on the dashboard, but something in his gaze— that mix of command and underlying concern— held her back just enough.

"You can be as mad as you want inside," he added, popping his door open and stepping out, the cool night air rushing in.

She followed suit, slower, slamming her door harder than necessary, the sound echoing in the quiet cul-de-sac. Peering through the passenger window at the house, she took it in: big, yeah— easily three times the size of the faculty housing she'd imagined for a teacher— with stone accents, a double garage, and warm lights glowing from within, hinting at a lived-in comfort.

"Pretty nice for a teacher," she muttered, half to herself, half accusatory, as she rounded the car, her bare foot— the heel long lost— squishing on the wet pavement.

Ben huffed, a short exhale of exasperation or amusement, she couldn't tell, as he unlocked the front door with a key fob, the lock clicking open. He held the door wide, gesturing her in with a tilt of his head, the bags dangling from his other hand. Rey hesitated on the threshold, rain-dampened hair frizzing around her face, dress still plastered uncomfortably, but the warmth spilling out— the faint scent of leather and wood polish— tugged at her. She stepped inside, the door closing behind her with a soft thud, the space opened up around her: polished hardwood floors, a grand staircase curving up to the second level, abstract art on the walls, and a kitchen visible through an archway, all gleaming counters and stainless steel.

Her heart raced, a cocktail of defiance and curiosity swirling as she trailed him deeper, the McDonald's bag crinkling in his grip. The house felt too perfect, too revealing of a man she barely knew, and yet here she was, soaked and seething, drawn into his world whether she liked it or not. Ben set the food on the island counter, turning to face her, arms crossing as he leaned back, that smile fading into something more serious.

"Eat something," he said, nodding to the bag. "Then we talk." Rey's jaw tightened, but her stomach growled traitorously, the night's excesses demanding payment. She ripped open the bag anyway, pulling out fries and shoving one in her mouth, the salt exploding on her tongue as she glared at him over the counter, the tension between them thickening like the steam rising from the food.

 

Rey tore into the Big Mac with a ferocity that surprised even her, the wrapper crinkling under her fingers as she bit down, juices dripping onto the counter. The burger's flavors exploded—beef patty salty and hot, cheese melting into the sesame bun, special sauce smearing her lips—but she barely tasted it, fueled by a mix of hunger and spite. She chased it with a handful of fries, shoving them into her mouth two at a time, the crisp edges crunching loudly in the quiet kitchen. Ben stood across the island, unmoving, his broad frame silhouetted against the soft glow of under-cabinet lights, arms still crossed over his chest. He didn't touch his coffee; his dark eyes fixed on her, unblinking, tracing the way her throat worked as she swallowed, the subtle rise and fall of her breasts with each hurried breath.

She demolished the meal in minutes, the bag emptying faster than she'd intended, leaving only greasy remnants and an empty fry container. Her stomach settled, the food hitting like a weight, cutting through the alcohol's fog and leaving her clearer-headed but no less irritated. The chocolate milkshake came next, thick and creamy, the straw bending under her lips as she sucked hard, drawing up a long pull that cooled her flushed skin. The sweetness coated her tongue, a small indulgence amid the chaos, and she leaned against the counter, one hip cocked, her wet dress riding up her thighs from the movement. Rivulets of condensation from the cup trailed down her fingers, mirroring the dampness still clinging to her body.

Lifting her gaze, she met his stare—intense, probing, like he was peeling back her layers one by one. It made her shift uncomfortably, the air between them humming with unspoken words, her pulse quickening under that scrutiny.

"What did you want to talk about?" she huffed, the words coming out sharper than planned, laced with defiance as she set the milkshake down with a thud. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing a bit of chocolate across her lower lip, and straightened up, chin lifting in challenge. The kitchen felt smaller now, the marble island a barrier that did nothing to ease the tension coiling in her gut.

Ben didn't flinch, his expression unchanging, but a muscle ticked in his jaw as he pushed off the counter, rounding the island with deliberate steps. His shoes clicked softly on the tile, echoing in the space, and he stopped just close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the faint trace of rain on his clothes mixed with his natural scent—musky, commanding. He reached past her for a napkin from the dispenser, his arm brushing her side, the contact electric, sending a shiver racing down her spine despite the warmth of the house. He handed it to her wordlessly, watching as she dabbed at her lip, his eyes dropping briefly to her mouth before flicking back up.

"That file I mentioned," he started, voice low and steady, like gravel under tires, leaning one hand on the counter beside her, caging her in without touching. "It's not just rumors, Rey. Partying every weekend, sneaking out, the drugs—cocaine lines at that church tonight, wasn't it? I saw the way you and your friend were rubbing your noses, eyes wild." He paused, letting the words sink in, his gaze boring into hers, searching for cracks in her armor. She felt exposed, the milkshake's chill forgotten as heat crept up her neck, but she held his stare, refusing to look away, her fingers tightening on the napkin until it shredded.

He straightened slightly, running a hand through his damp hair, pushing it back from his forehead, the motion revealing the sharp line of his jaw, shadowed with stubble.

"You're smarter than this," he continued, tone shifting from accusation to something almost gentle, though edged with frustration. "Grade A student, top of your class in lit last semester—analyzing Woolf like you were inside her head. But this?" He gestured vaguely toward her, taking in the disheveled dress, the smudged makeup around her eyes, the way her hair stuck to her neck. "This reckless shit is going to drag you down. I pulled you out of there tonight because I couldn't watch you throw yourself at some idiot in a porta-potty, high and sloppy."

Rey's breath hitched, anger flaring hot in her chest, but beneath it, a flicker of something else—embarrassment? Gratitude? She pushed it down, stepping closer instead, invading his space, her bare feet silent on the cool floor. The proximity made her aware of everything: the breadth of his shoulders under his shirt, the way his chest rose steadily, the faint outline of muscles shifting as he held still.

"You don't know me," she shot back, voice trembling just a touch, her hand coming up to poke his chest, feeling the firm wall of muscle yield slightly under her finger. "You think dragging me here makes you my savior? I was fine. I could've handled it." But even as she said it, doubt crept in—the party's blur, the powder's rush, the near-misses with strangers she barely remembered.

Ben's hand caught her wrist gently but firmly, halting her poke, his thumb pressing against her pulse point, feeling it race.

"Fine?" he echoed, a dark chuckle escaping him, his breath warm against her face. "You were grinding on that guy earlier, dress half-up your ass, begging for trouble. And now you're here, in my house, still fighting me like it's a game." He didn't release her, his grip a tether, eyes darkening as they roamed her face, lingering on her parted lips, the flush staining her cheeks. The air thickened, charged with the remnants of rain outside and the heat building between them, her body betraying her with a traitorous ache low in her belly.

She tugged her wrist free, but didn't step back, the spark of his touch lingering on her skin.

"So what now?" she demanded, huffing again, crossing her arms to mirror his earlier stance, though it only pressed her breasts higher, the wet fabric translucent under the lights. "You lecture me all night? Or is this where you call my parents, get me expelled?" Her voice cracked on the last word, vulnerability slipping through the bravado, the boarding school's strict rules looming like a shadow.

He shook his head slowly, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, but his eyes stayed serious, intense.

"No calls. No expulsion—yet": He turned away briefly, grabbing his coffee mug and taking a sip, the steam curling up as he set it down. "But we're talking boundaries, Rey. Yours are blurred as hell right now. And mine..." He trailed off, gaze dropping to her body again, explicit in its path—over the curve of her hips, the exposed length of her thigh where the dress had ridden up further.

"Mine are getting tested just having you here like this." The admission hung heavy, laced with raw honesty, and he stepped back finally, giving her space, though the tension didn't ease—it coiled tighter, promising more than words could contain.

Rey swallowed hard, the milkshake's sweetness turning cloying in her mouth, her mind racing with the implications. The house around them felt alive now, the distant hum of the fridge, the patter of residual rain on the windows, all underscoring the intimacy of the moment. She wanted to bolt, to demand he drive her back, but her feet stayed rooted, curiosity and that forbidden pull keeping her there, sucking in a breath as she waited for what came next.

"How am I testing your boundaries? You literally kidnapped me from a party where yeah I was hoping to get fucked, but only so I could picture you."

Rey's words spilled out in a rush, unfiltered and raw, her voice pitching higher as the admission escaped her lips before she could clamp them shut. The sentence hung in the air like smoke, thick and choking, her cheeks burning as the full weight of what she'd said crashed over her. She hadn't meant to voice it—hadn't even fully admitted it to herself until now—but the alcohol's remnants loosened her tongue, and the intensity of his gaze pulled the truth free. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat, as she stared at him, wide-eyed, breath coming in shallow bursts that made her chest heave.

Ben froze, his coffee mug halfway to his mouth, the dark liquid sloshing slightly over the rim. His eyes widened a fraction, the stoic mask cracking just enough to reveal the storm brewing beneath—surprise, then something darker, hungrier, flickering across his features like lightning. He set the mug down with a deliberate clink, the sound sharp in the sudden silence, and turned fully toward her, his body uncoiling from its leaned position against the counter. The kitchen lights cast shadows under his cheekbones, accentuating the sharp angles of his face, the stubble rasping as he clenched his jaw. He took a step closer, closing the scant distance she'd maintained, his presence overwhelming, filling the space until she could feel the warmth of him like a physical touch.

"You... what?" he murmured, voice dropping to a gravelly whisper, laced with disbelief and a thread of something raw, almost feral. His hand lifted, hesitating mid-air before his fingers grazed her chin, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. The contact was light, but it sent a jolt through her, electricity sparking from his skin to hers, making her knees weaken. She didn't pull away, couldn't, trapped by the intensity in his eyes—those deep depths that had haunted her dreams since the first class, when he'd recited lines from forbidden novels with that velvet timbre.

Rey swallowed hard, her throat dry despite the milkshake's residue, tasting the chocolate turn bitter on her tongue.

"I said..." she started, but her voice faltered, the defiance crumbling under his scrutiny. She licked her lips, a nervous habit, and his gaze dropped to follow the motion, darkening further. Emboldened by the alcohol and the adrenaline, she pressed on, words tumbling faster now, reckless.

"At the party, grinding on those guys, snorting that shit with Rose—it wasn't about them. It was you. Every time I closed my eyes, it was your face, your hands I imagined pinning me down, your cock I wanted slamming into me instead of some random dick." Her breath hitched on the last word, vulgar and unapologetic, the explicitness shocking even her, but she didn't stop, the dam broken.

"You drag me here, act all high and mighty, but you're the one who's been in my head, making me wet in class when you lean over my desk to correct my essay."

Ben's grip on her chin tightened, not painful but firm, his thumb brushing the edge of her lower lip, parting it slightly. A low growl rumbled in his chest, vibrating through the air between them, and he leaned in closer, his breath fanning hot across her face, carrying the scent of coffee and rain.

"Jesus, Rey," he rasped, his free hand coming up to brace against the counter behind her, fully caging her now, his body inches from hers. She could feel the hard line of his chest, the subtle shift of his hips as he adjusted, and lower still, the growing bulge pressing against the fabric of his pants—a telltale sign that her words had ignited something primal in him.

"You have no idea what you're doing, saying that. I'm your professor. This—" He gestured between them with a jerk of his head, his eyes locked on hers, pupils blown wide with desire. "—this is a line we can't cross. But fuck, hearing you admit it..."

He trailed off, his hand sliding from her chin to cup the side of her neck, fingers threading into the damp strands of her hair at the nape, tugging gently to expose more of her throat. Rey gasped, the pull sending a thrill straight to her core, her pussy clenching with need as arousal pooled hot and slick between her thighs. The wet dress clung to her skin, outlining every curve, her nipples hardening into peaks that strained against the thin material, visible and aching for attention. She arched into his touch instinctively, her hands coming up to fist in his shirt, feeling the rapid thump of his heart mirroring her own.

"Then why are you touching me like this?" she challenged, voice breathy, defiant, her hips shifting forward until her belly brushed his erection, the friction drawing a hiss from his lips.

Ben's control frayed visibly, his jaw working as he fought the urge, but his body betrayed him—his cock twitching against her, thickening further under the pressure. He released her hair only to slide his hand down her arm, gripping her waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh above her hip.

"Because you're a goddamn temptation," he admitted, voice rough, edged with frustration and lust. "Walking into my class in those short skirts, biting your lip when I talk about passion in literature. And tonight? Seeing you out there, dress soaked, tits practically spilling out, dancing like you were begging to be fucked—by me, apparently." He emphasized the last words with a thrust of his hips, grinding his hardness against her, the explicit press making her moan softly, her thighs pressing together to ease the ache.

Rey's mind spun, the confession hanging between them like an invitation, the kitchen's warmth amplifying the heat building in her veins. She rose on her toes, closing the gap, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered,

"Then do it. Fuck me like you've wanted to. Fuck boundaries." Her hands roamed bolder now, sliding under his shirt to trace the ridges of his abs, the skin hot and taut under her palms. He shuddered, a deep groan escaping him, and for a moment, she thought he'd pull away—morals clashing with desire—but instead, his mouth crashed down on hers, devouring her in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue, hungry and unrestrained.

His lips bruised hers, sucking her bottom lip between his teeth, nipping hard enough to draw a whimper from her throat. She kissed back fiercely, tongue tangling with his, tasting the bitterness of coffee mingled with her own chocolate sweetness. His hands were everywhere—gripping her ass, lifting her onto the counter with ease, her legs wrapping around his waist as the dress hiked up completely, exposing her bare pussy to the cool air. No panties tonight, the party's recklessness leaving her vulnerable, and now, pressed against him, she felt the rough denim of his jeans chafe against her slick folds, the friction making her grind down harder.

Ben broke the kiss with a gasp, forehead resting against hers, his breath ragged.

"We shouldn't," he panted, but his hands contradicted him, one sliding between them to cup her breast, thumb circling her nipple through the fabric, pinching until she arched and cried out.

"But I can't stop. Not now." He yanked the strap of her dress down, exposing one breast, and lowered his head, mouth latching onto the peak, sucking hard, tongue flicking relentlessly. Rey's fingers dug into his shoulders, nails scraping, her head falling back against the cabinet as pleasure shot through her, coiling tight in her belly.

The counter dug into her ass, but she didn't care, hips bucking against his hand as he freed himself from his pants, the zipper's rasp loud in the room. His cock sprang free, thick and veined, the head already leaking pre-cum, and he stroked himself once, twice, before pressing the tip against her entrance, teasing her clit with slow circles.

"Tell me you want this," he demanded, voice hoarse, eyes locked on hers, dark with need. "Say it again."

"Fuck me," she begged, the words a plea, her body trembling. "Please, Ben."

He thrust in then, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth motion, her walls stretching around him, wet and welcoming. She cried out, the fullness overwhelming, pleasure bordering on pain as he filled her completely. He didn't give her time to adjust, pulling back only to slam forward again, setting a punishing rhythm, the island shaking under them.

Their bodies slapped together, skin slick with sweat and rain's remnants, his grunts mingling with her moans as he fucked her hard, deep, each thrust hitting that spot inside her that made stars burst behind her eyelids. His mouth found her neck, biting down, marking her as his hand slipped between them to rub her clit in tight circles, pushing her higher. Rey clung to him, lost in the sensation—the slide of his cock, the scrape of his teeth, the forbidden thrill of it all—her orgasm building fast, crashing over her in waves that made her clench around him.

"This changes everything," he murmured, but there was no regret—only the promise of more, as he continued to slowly thrust inside her. Her orgasm rippling through her.

"You think those boys at the party could give you this? Grinding against you like fumbling idiots, chasing their own quick release?" She whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders. "No. They'll never fuck you like I will. I'll show you what real pleasure feels like—make you forget every clumsy touch you've ever had."

He thrust in deep, Rey's cry echoed off the kitchen tiles, a mix of shock and bliss, her back arching off the counter as he filled her completely, the head of his cock pressing against her cervix. His hips snapped forward relentlessly, each plunge driving deeper, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room, mingling with her ragged moans.

Ben's hands pinned her hips down, fingers bruising as he held her in place, forcing her to take every inch without escape.

"Feel that?" he growled, leaning over her, his chest pressing against her exposed breast, the friction of his shirt against her sensitive nipple sending sparks through her. He angled his thrusts, grinding his pelvis against her clit with every bury, the pressure building fast and fierce.

"This is what you've been missing. No boy at school will ever hit this spot, make your pussy grip like this." He punctuated his words with a particularly deep thrust, twisting his hips to drag along her inner walls, and Rey's vision blurred, pleasure coiling tight in her core like a spring ready to snap.

She tried to respond, but words dissolved into gasps, her legs locking around his waist, heels digging into his ass to pull him closer. The counter creaked under them, her ass sliding slightly with each powerful drive, but Ben adjusted, hooking one arm under her knee to lift her leg higher, opening her up even more. His cock plunged deeper now, raw and unyielding, no barriers between them—just skin on skin, her arousal coating him, dripping down her thighs onto the granite.

"You're so fucking tight," he rasped, sweat beading on his forehead, his free hand sliding up to pinch her other nipple, rolling it between his fingers until she bucked beneath him. "But I'll stretch you out, make this pussy mine. Ruin you for anyone else."

Rey's head thrashed side to side, the intensity overwhelming—his words searing into her mind as much as his body into hers. Every thrust sent jolts of ecstasy radiating from her core, her clit throbbing under the grind of his body, building her toward a peak she'd never reached before.

"Ben—oh god," she sobbed, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, not from pain but from the sheer overload, the way he owned her completely. He laughed darkly, low and teasing, slowing his pace just enough to make her whine in frustration, then slamming back in with double the force, his balls slapping against her ass.

"That's right, cry for me," he taunted, his mouth descending to her neck, teeth grazing the pulse point before biting down, sucking a mark into her skin that would bruise by morning.

"Those schoolboys would cum in seconds, leave you hanging. But me? I'll fuck you until you're sobbing, until your body's shaking and you can't remember your own name." He proved it, relentless now, his rhythm unerring—pull out slow to let her feel the drag, then ram forward fast, the head of his cock battering that sensitive bundle inside her over and over. Her pussy clenched around him, milking his length, but he held back, control ironclad, his own breaths coming in harsh pants as he chased her pleasure first.

Tears spilled over now, hot tracks down her cheeks as the orgasm built higher, fiercer than anything she'd imagined in her fantasies. Ben's hand slipped between them, fingers finding her clit, rubbing firm circles that matched his thrusts, pushing her right to the brink.

"Look at you," he whispered against her lips, capturing her mouth in a messy kiss, tongue mimicking the slide of his cock. "Crying because it feels too good. I'll be the best you've ever had—promise you that. No one else will ever make you come like this." His words were a vow, laced with possession, and they shattered her.

The climax hit like a tidal wave, crashing through her in violent shudders, her pussy spasming around his cock, squeezing him in rhythmic pulses as she screamed his name. Waves of pleasure ripped from her core, radiating out until her toes curled and her vision whited out, tears streaming freely as she rode the high, body convulsing under him. Ben didn't stop—he fucked her through it, drawing out every tremor, his thrusts turning erratic but no less deep, prolonging the bliss until she was a quivering mess, oversensitive and begging incoherently.

Only then did he slow, still buried inside her, his cock throbbing against her fluttering walls. He kissed away her tears, tender in the aftermath, but his eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

"See? Told you," he murmured, voice husky. "Ruin you for anyone else—starting now." He pulled out slowly, her pussy clenching at the loss, a gush of her arousal following, but he wasn't done. Lifting her off the counter with ease, he turned her around, bending her over the island, her breasts pressing cold against the surface as he kicked her legs apart.

"Again," he commanded, sliding back in from behind, the new angle letting him go even deeper, his hands gripping her hips as he resumed the pounding rhythm. Rey braced her arms, pushing back to meet him, the tears drying on her cheeks only for fresh ones to well up as another build started, his teasing words echoing in her ears. The night was far from over, and he intended to prove his point—thoroughly, relentlessly.

Ben's grip on Rey's hips tightened as he drove into her from behind, the new position allowing his cock to sink even deeper into her soaked pussy, the angle hitting spots that made her knees buckle. She braced her hands on the island's edge, fingers splaying wide against the smooth stone, but the force of his thrusts pushed her forward with each snap of his pelvis. The kitchen echoed with the obscene sounds—the wet squelch of her arousal coating his shaft, the sharp smack of his balls against her clit, her breathless cries mixing with his guttural grunts. He owned her in that moment, every plunge a claim, his body dominating hers completely.

"Fuck, you're taking me so well," he growled, one hand sliding up her spine to tangle in her damp hair, fingers wrapping around the strands at the nape of her neck. He yanked back sharply, arching her body like a bow, her breasts lifting off the counter as her head tilted, exposing the line of her throat. The pull sent a jolt straight to her core, her walls clenching around his thick length in response, milking him as he pounded harder. Rey's moan turned into a keen, the sting in her scalp blending with the building ache between her legs, pleasure-pain that made her push back against him, desperate for more.

He didn't hold back, fucking her raw and filthy, no rhythm but pure need—pulling out almost to the tip before slamming home, his free hand coming down to slap her ass cheek, the crack resounding as her skin bloomed red under his palm.

"This ass is mine now," he rasped, delivering another smack that made her jolt forward, only for him to reel her back by the hair, impaling her deeper. Her pussy fluttered wildly around him, the stretch burning deliciously, her juices trickling down her inner thighs, pooling on the floor beneath them. Ben leaned over her, his chest pressing against her back, sweat-slick skin sliding together as he rutted into her like an animal, his breath hot against her ear.

"Tell me you want it," he demanded, twisting her hair tighter, forcing her to arch further, her nipples grazing the cold edge of the island with every brutal thrust. Rey's response was a broken sob, words tumbling out between gasps.

"Yes—fuck, own me, Ben. Harder." He obliged, releasing her hair only to grab a fistful again, pulling her head to the side so he could capture her mouth in a sloppy, devouring kiss over her shoulder, tongues tangling messily as his hips pistoned relentlessly. His other hand snaked around to her front, fingers delving into her folds to pinch her swollen clit, rolling it roughly until she shattered.

The orgasm ripped through her without mercy, her body crumbling under the onslaught—legs shaking, pussy spasming in violent contractions that gripped his cock like a vice, trying to hold him deep as waves of ecstasy crashed over her. Tears streamed down her face again, mixing with the sweat on her cheeks, her cries muffled against his lips as she came undone, completely at his mercy. Ben didn't relent, fucking her through the climax, his thrusts turning erratic, chasing his own release but holding it back to prolong her torment.

"That's it, break for me," he murmured, voice rough with strain, yanking her hair once more to keep her upright as her arms gave out, her upper body slumping onto the counter.

When her tremors finally eased, he pulled out abruptly, her pussy clenching at the sudden emptiness, a whine escaping her lips. But he wasn't finished—spinning her around to face him, he lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist on instinct as he lowered them both down, the cool tiles a shock against her heated skin, but he cushioned her descent with his body, settling between her thighs. Rey's back hit the ground, her legs splaying wide as he hooked her knees over his elbows, folding her in half, exposing her fully.

"Not done yet," he promised, slamming back inside her with a force that jarred her teeth, the new angle letting him grind against her g-spot with every stroke. His hands pinned her wrists above her head, one fist still clutching her hair, tugging rhythmically as he fucked her into the floor—hard, dirty thrusts that made her breasts bounce, her heels digging into his back. The tiles scraped against her ass with each drive, but the friction only heightened the sensation, her oversensitive pussy throbbing around him, building toward another peak despite the exhaustion creeping in.

Ben's eyes bored into hers, dark and possessive, his body a relentless machine above her.

"You're crumbling, aren't you? Can't fight it—I'm ruining this tight little pussy for good." He emphasized his words with a deep grind, circling his hips to drag his cock along her walls, then pulling her hair to lift her head for a biting kiss, teeth nipping her lower lip until she tasted copper. Rey's body betrayed her, arching up to meet him, her moans turning to pleas as the pressure coiled tighter, his dominance stripping away every barrier until she was nothing but sensation, owned and unraveling.

He released her wrists to brace one hand beside her head, the other yanking her hair back to expose her neck, where he latched on with his mouth—sucking hard enough to leave a fresh bruise, his hips never slowing. The combination broke her completely: the pull on her scalp, the mark on her skin, the unyielding pound of his cock splitting her open. Her third orgasm hit like lightning, fiercer than the last, her pussy convulsing in desperate pulses, squirting around his shaft as she screamed, body seizing in uncontrollable shudders. She crumbled then, utterly—limbs going limp, vision spotting, tears flowing freely as pleasure bordered on agony, her mind blanking out under his control.

Only after she went slack beneath him did Ben let go, his own climax surging as her walls milked him dry. He buried himself to the hilt, groaning low in his throat as he pumped rope after rope of hot cum deep inside her, filling her raw pussy until it overflowed, leaking out around his base onto the tiles. His body tensed, muscles rippling as he rode out the waves, hair-pulling grip loosening to stroke her scalp gently now, his weight pressing her down in a grounding, possessive hold.

They collapsed together on the kitchen floor, a tangled heap of sweat-slicked limbs and heaving chests, the air thick with the scent of sex—musk and salt and her lingering arousal. Ben rolled slightly to the side, pulling her against his chest, his cock slipping free with a wet sound, a trail of their combined fluids smearing between her thighs. Rey lay there quietly at first, her body humming with aftershocks, a deep, sated happiness settling over her like a warm blanket. The world felt distant, reduced to the rise and fall of his breathing syncing with hers, the cool floor a stark contrast to their fevered skin.

Then, a soft chuckle bubbled up from her chest, unexpected and light, breaking the heavy silence. Ben propped himself up on one elbow, his brow furrowing as he looked down at her flushed face, strands of hair sticking to her forehead.

"Why are you laughing?" he asked, his voice still rough from exertion, a hint of amusement creeping in despite the curiosity.

Rey turned her head to meet his gaze, her eyes sparkling with mischief amid the post-orgasmic haze, another giggle escaping as she bit her lip.

"Is it a bad time to tell you I'm a virgin?"

Ben froze, his body still half-draped over Rey's, the afterglow shattered by her words hanging in the air like a grenade pin pulled. His dark eyes widened fractionally, the post-climax haze clearing as her giggle echoed softly against the kitchen cabinets. Virgin? The word ricocheted through his mind, clashing with the vivid memories of her body yielding to him—her pussy stretching around his cock, clenching in those desperate spasms, her cries as he filled her with his cum. He searched her face, tracing the flush on her cheeks, the satisfied curve of her lips, the way her chest rose and fell in lazy rhythm.

He pushed up slowly on one arm, muscles flexing under his sweat-sheened skin, his other hand still loosely tangled in her hair, thumb brushing idly against her temple. The cool floor pressed into his side, a reminder of their sprawl, but his focus narrowed to her entirely.

"You're... what?" he rasped, voice low and edged with disbelief, the roughness from their earlier exertions lingering. He replayed the night in flashes: her bold confession outside the church, the way she'd melted under his touch in the car, grinding against his fingers like she knew exactly what she wanted. But virgin? It didn't compute with the fire she'd matched him with, the way her hips had bucked to take him deeper, her nails raking his back until red lines bloomed.

Rey propped herself up on her elbows, her breasts shifting with the movement, nipples still pebbled from the chill and residual arousal. She watched him, eyes dancing, but there was a flicker of vulnerability beneath the playfulness—her lower lip caught between her teeth as she waited for his response. The mingled scent of their release clung to the air, her thighs sticky where his cum had leaked out, a tangible proof that whatever she'd been before tonight, she wasn't untouched anymore. Ben's gaze dropped involuntarily to the evidence between her legs, the sight stirring a fresh twitch in his softening cock, even as confusion knotted in his gut.

He sat up fully now, drawing his knees up slightly, one hand scrubbing over his face as he exhaled a sharp breath. Shock hit first, a cold splash amid the heat—had he just taken her virginity on his kitchen floor like some reckless animal? The possessiveness that had fueled his thrusts surged back, twisting into something fiercer, more protective. She was his now, irrevocably, that first time branded into her body by his hands, his mouth, his unrelenting drive. But the realization carried weight: her trust, her surrender, all given without hesitation to a man who'd cornered her, dominated her without asking. Guilt flickered, brief and unfamiliar, but it warred with the raw satisfaction of knowing he'd been the one—the only one—to claim her like that.

"Jesus, Rey," he murmured, his tone shifting from stunned to something softer, laced with awe. He reached out, cupping her jaw gently, thumb tracing the swell of her cheek where tears had dried in salty tracks. Her skin was warm under his palm, alive and flushed, and he leaned in closer, studying her as if seeing her anew. The girl who'd defied him in the rain, who'd arched into his slaps and pulls with such eager abandon—she'd never done this before? It explained the tightness that had gripped him so fiercely, the way her body had trembled not just from pleasure but from the unknown, her instincts guiding her through the storm he'd unleashed.

A low chuckle escaped him then, mirroring her earlier mirth, though his was deeper, rumbling from his chest as the absurdity sank in.

"A virgin," he repeated, shaking his head, his fingers sliding down to her neck, feeling her pulse jump under his touch. "And you let me fuck you like that? Raw, on the floor, pulling your hair until you screamed?" His voice dropped, husky with the memory, his free hand trailing down her side, skimming the curve of her hip where bruises from his grip were already forming faint shadows. He wasn't angry—far from it. The revelation ignited a possessive fire in him, the idea that he'd ruined her for anyone else now layered with the thrill of being her first, her only so far.

Rey's giggle turned into a full laugh, her body shaking with it, but she didn't pull away, instead leaning into his hand, her eyes locking on his with that same bold spark. Ben's expression softened further, the dark intensity in his gaze giving way to a rare tenderness, though the hunger never fully dimmed. He pulled her up toward him, guiding her into his lap so she straddled his thighs, their bodies aligning intimately once more—her slick folds brushing his semi-hard length, sending a shiver through both of them.

"Why didn't you say something?" he asked, not accusatory, but genuinely curious, his hands settling on her waist, thumbs circling the dip of her navel. "I could've... gone slower. Made it special."

Even as he said it, he knew it was a lie—his nature was to take, to dominate, and she'd met him thrust for thrust. But the thought of her inexperience made him want to rewind, to savor every gasp, every quiver, knowing it was all new territory he was conquering. Rey shrugged, her arms looping around his neck, fingers threading into his damp hair.

"It was special," she whispered, her breath warm against his lips. "You made me feel... everything." Her words punched through him, stirring that protective instinct again, and he crushed her to him, kissing her deeply—not the bruising claim from before, but a slow exploration, tongues sliding together as he tasted the salt of her skin, the faint tang of her earlier tears.

He broke the kiss reluctantly, forehead resting against hers, his breathing steadying as he processed. Pride swelled in his chest—she'd chosen him, trusted him with this, even in her drunken haze. It bound them tighter, this secret shared on the cold tiles, her body marked by his possession.

"You're mine now," he said firmly, one hand sliding up her back to cup her head, holding her close. "No one else gets this—gets you—like I do." The words were a vow, laced with that dark edge, his cock hardening fully against her core as the possessiveness reignited the spark between them.

Rey nodded, her laughter fading into a contented sigh, but Ben wasn't done reacting. He shifted them carefully, laying her back down but this time with reverence, his body hovering over hers as he kissed a path down her throat, over the fresh hickeys he'd left.

"Let me take care of you," he murmured against her collarbone, his lips brushing the swell of her breast before latching onto a nipple, sucking gently until she arched with a soft moan. His hands roamed slower now, mapping her curves, dipping between her legs to soothe the ache he'd caused—fingers parting her folds, circling her entrance where his cum still lingered, mixing with her renewed wetness.

He worked her tenderly, two fingers sliding inside her swollen pussy, curling to stroke that sensitive spot while his thumb grazed her clit in lazy circles. Rey's hips lifted instinctively, a whimper escaping as aftershocks built into something new, gentler but no less intense. Ben watched her face, memorizing every flutter of her lashes, every bite of her lip, the way her body responded to his touch now that he knew the truth.

"My virgin," he whispered. He pressed a kiss to her temple, his voice a low rumble. "Next time, we'll do it right—from the beginning." But even as he said it, he knew there'd be no true beginning now; he'd already etched himself into her soul, and the thought filled him with a fierce, unyielding satisfaction.

Chapter 4

Rey stirred slowly, the world filtering in through a haze of warmth and ache. Ben's voice pulled her from the depths of sleep, soft and coaxing, like a secret whispered in the dark.

"Rey... time to wake up." His tone wrapped around her, gentle but insistent, and she groaned low in her throat, burrowing deeper into the pillow that smelled of him—musk and clean linen, with a faint undercurrent of last night's sweat and release.

Her eyes fluttered open, heavy-lidded, and confusion hit first. This wasn't her dorm bed, with its lumpy mattress and thin blanket shared with Rose's endless clutter. The sheets here were crisp, high-thread-count silk sliding against her bare skin, and sunlight poured through half-drawn curtains, painting golden stripes across her naked body. She shot upright in a panic, the covers pooling at her waist, exposing her breasts to the cool air.

There he was—Ben Solo, her English professor, her forbidden conquest—sitting on the edge of the bed, fully dressed in a simple black t-shirt that hugged his broad shoulders and gray sweatpants that did nothing to hide the outline of his morning arousal. His dark hair was tousled, stubble shadowing his jaw, and those intense eyes locked on her with a mix of amusement and hunger.

It wasn't a dream. The soreness between her thighs throbbed in confirmation, a delicious reminder of how he'd pinned her down, his cock driving deep until she'd shattered around him. Her cheeks flushed hot as fragments replayed: his hands gripping her hips, the slap of skin, the way he'd growled her name as he came inside her. Naked, exposed, in his bed—holy shit.

The sunlight intensified the pounding in her skull, a hangover crashing over her like a wave. Nausea twisted in her gut, and she pressed a hand to her forehead, wincing. Ben's chuckle was low, affectionate, as he reached for a glass of water and two white pills from the nightstand. He held them out, his fingers brushing hers in the exchange, sending a spark up her arm.

"For the hangover," he said, his smile crooked and knowing, lips curving in that way that made her pulse quicken. "How are you feeling?"

"Rough," she murmured, her voice scratchy from sleep and screams. She swallowed the aspirin with a gulp of water, the cool liquid soothing her parched throat, then set the glass down with a soft clink. The room came into sharper focus: his minimalist bedroom, bookshelves crammed with leather-bound classics, a king-sized bed that had witnessed her deflowering. Reality settled heavy, mingling excitement with dread.

"So... what happens now?"

Ben leaned back slightly, his gaze tracing the curve of her shoulder, the faint red marks from his teeth on her collarbone.

"Depends," he replied, his tone casual but laced with intent, like he was negotiating a dangerous truce.

"On?" She pulled the sheet higher, suddenly self-conscious under his stare, though the memory of his mouth on her skin made her nipples tighten.

"Did you enjoy it?" His eyes darkened, searching hers, the question hanging between them like a challenge.

She nodded without hesitation, heat blooming low in her belly.

"I did," she admitted, her voice steadier now, a shy smile tugging at her lips. The truth was undeniable—the way he'd made her body sing, pushing her to edges she'd only fantasized about.

"Then we keep going." He shifted closer, the mattress dipping under his weight. "Be secretive about it. We can get into a lot of trouble." His words were a promise wrapped in warning, his hand reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear, thumb lingering on her cheek.

"You can," she countered, meeting his gaze squarely. "Worst I get is expelled. Worst for you, you lose your job." The stakes hung there, sharp and real, but she couldn't look away. "Are you willing to risk losing your job?"

Ben's laugh rumbled deep, dark eyes flashing with that possessive fire.

"I'd commit murder to feel your pussy around my cock again." The crude words sent a jolt straight to her core, her thighs clenching involuntarily at the memory of him buried deep, stretching her, filling her completely. Before she could respond, he climbed onto the bed, his body covering hers in a fluid motion, knees bracketing her hips as he loomed above. His mouth crashed down on hers, the kiss rough and demanding, tongues tangling in a heated dance that tasted of coffee and desire.

Rey's hands dove into his hair, fingers twisting in the thick strands, pulling him closer as she kissed back with equal fervor. She arched up, her bare breasts pressing against his chest through the thin fabric of his shirt, nipples hardening at the friction. Ben's lips left hers, trailing fire down her jaw to her neck, where he sucked hard, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. He bit down just enough to mark her, leaving a fresh love bite blooming purple against her pale throat—a brand, a secret she'd have to hide under scarves or high collars.

Moans spilled from her lips, unbidden and needy, her body waking fully under his touch. Happiness bubbled through her, warm and reckless, chasing away the hangover's fog. His stubble scraped deliciously, and she tilted her head to give him better access, lost in the sensation of his mouth claiming her again.

Then her eyes flicked to the nightstand clock, and reality slammed back. Almost two in the afternoon. Shit—Rose would be pacing the dorm, phone blowing up with worried texts, probably assuming she'd hooked up and ghosted.

"Fuck!!" Rey gasped, shoving at Ben's shoulders as she wriggled free, the sheet tangling around her legs.

He pulled back with a surprised grunt, watching as she scrambled upright, her breasts bouncing with the motion. "What's wrong?"

"Rose is going to kill me," she said, breathless, raking a hand through her messy hair. Her gaze darted to him, wide-eyed and apologetic but still sparking with that morning heat. "Can you drive me back? Park a few blocks away—no one can see us together."

Ben nodded, pushing off the bed with easy grace, his sweatpants tenting obviously now.

"Of course," he said, his voice light and happy, like sneaking her out was just another adventure. He crossed to the dresser, rummaging for a moment before tossing her a oversized hoody and a pair of joggers. The clothes were soft, feminine-cut despite the tags, and he chuckled as she caught them. "My mother bought them for me—thought they were unisex or something. Didn't know they were for women until I tried them on."

Rey slipped into the joggers first, the fabric loose on her hips but comfortable, hugging her ass just enough to make her feel covered yet aware of her curves. The hoody swallowed her frame, the hood falling over her eyes until she pushed it back, inhaling Ben's scent clinging to the material. She stood, bare feet sinking into the plush rug, and glanced at him—still watching her with that predatory smile, like he was already plotting their next stolen moment.

"Get dressed," she teased, though her voice held a note of urgency. "I need to get back before the whole school starts a search party."

Ben complied, grabbing jeans and a fresh shirt from the closet, his movements efficient but unhurried, giving her time to steady her racing heart. As he buttoned up, he stepped close again, cupping her face for a quick, firm kiss that promised more.

"This isn't over, Rey. Not by a long shot."

She believed him, the thrill of secrecy igniting something wild in her chest. They slipped out of the house together, his hand brushing hers in the hallway—a ghost of a touch, electric and forbidden. The drive back was tense with unspoken words, the car humming through the gated community and onto quieter streets, Ben parking several blocks from the school gates as requested. Rey leaned over before getting out, stealing one last kiss, her lips lingering on his.

"Text me when you're safe," he murmured, handing her his card, with his mobile on it. His hand squeezing her thigh through the joggers.

"Thank you for last night" she whispered kissing him one last time before slipping out into the afternoon sun, the borrowed clothes a disguise and a reminder. As she hurried toward the dorms, heart pounding with the weight of their pact, she couldn't shake the ache between her legs or the mark on her neck—proof that last night had changed everything, and the danger only made it sweeter.

 

Rey bolted down the road, her borrowed joggers swishing against her thighs with every frantic step, the oversized hoody flapping like a flag of her hasty escape. Her heart hammered in her chest, not just from the run but from the whirlwind of the morning—the ache in her muscles, the fresh bruise on her neck throbbing under the collar, and the secret now etched into her skin like a tattoo. Panic clawed at her as she rounded the corner, the familiar silhouette of the boarding school looming ahead, its ivy-covered walls and arched gates a gateway back to normalcy she wasn't sure she wanted. But she had to play it cool, had to weave this lie before Rose unraveled everything.

The campus was eerily quiet for a Saturday afternoon, the usual buzz of life absent. No shouts from the football field where Poe and Finn would normally be tossing a ball around, sweat-slicked and laughing off their hangovers with greasy takeout. No clusters of students sprawled on the lawns, textbooks open but ignored, nursing coffees and trading stories from the night's chaos. Everyone was holed up in their rooms, heads pounding from the cheap punch and whatever else had flowed at the church party, the air heavy with the collective groan of recovery. The silence amplified her footsteps, echoing off the empty paths, making her feel exposed, like the whole school could sense the shift in her—the way Ben's scent clung to her clothes, the subtle soreness between her legs a constant whisper of what she'd done.

She shoved through the heavy dorm doors with her shoulder, the hinges creaking in protest, and dashed up the dimly lit staircase, taking the steps two at a time. Her breath came in sharp bursts, lungs burning, as she fumbled with the key to their room door. It swung open with a bang, and there was Rose—curled up on her bed in rumpled pajamas, hair a wild tangle, eyes bloodshot and narrowed in fury. The room smelled of stale chips and the faint, acrid tang of last night's regret, posters of indie bands peeling at the edges on the walls, clothes strewn across the floor like casualties of their pre-party frenzy.

Rose shot upright the second Rey crossed the threshold, her face twisting from worry to rage in an instant.

"Rey, where the fuck have you been?" she exploded, voice cracking like a whip, laced with the raw edge of someone who'd spent hours pacing and checking her phone. She swung her legs off the bed, bare feet hitting the carpet with a thud, and advanced like a storm cloud.

"I've been blowing up your phone since dawn! I thought you got hit by a car or kidnapped or some shit. I almost called the cops—hell, I was two seconds from dialing your parents. Do you have any idea how freaked out I was?"

Rey's stomach dropped, guilt twisting like a knife as she slammed the door shut behind her, leaning against it for support. Her face was flushed from the run, sweat beading on her forehead, and she could feel the love bite pulsing under the hoody's hood, hidden but screaming her betrayal. Rose's anger filled the small space, intense and unyielding, her hands balled into fists at her sides, chest heaving with the pent-up fear turning to fire. Rey's mind raced, piecing together the cover story on the fly, her hangover throbbing in time with her pulse. She couldn't tell the truth—not about Ben, not about the rain-slicked car ride, the McDonald's detour, the kitchen floor where he'd unraveled her completely. That would destroy everything, invite questions she wasn't ready to answer.

"I... I'm sorry, Rose," Rey stammered, pushing off the door and sinking onto the edge of her own bed, the mattress creaking under her weight. Her hands trembled slightly as she pulled the hood down, letting her messy hair fall forward like a shield. The room spun a little from the lingering nausea, but she forced herself to meet Rose's glare, eyes wide with feigned remorse. "I didn't mean to worry you. My phone died—battery was shit from all the pics last night—and I... I just needed some air after everything."

Rose crossed her arms over her chest, her tank top riding up to reveal a sliver of toned midriff, skepticism etched in every line of her face. She paced a tight circle, the carpet muffling her steps, but her energy crackled like static.

"Air? You vanished, Rey. One minute you're dancing like a maniac, the next you're gone. I looked everywhere—the bathrooms, the porch, even asked Poe if he saw you sneak off with someone. He said he thought you ditched with a random guy, but I didn't buy it. Spill it. Now." Her voice dropped lower, intense, demanding, the kind of tone that brooked no bullshit from their years of friendship.

Rey swallowed hard, her throat dry despite the water Ben had given her, and launched into the lie, drawing it out with details to make it stick, her voice steadying as she wove the tale.

"Okay, okay—truth? After you and I did that line outside, I was buzzing hard, right? Feeling bold, like, invincible. I spotted this guy at the party—tall, dark hair, kinda brooding but hot in that dangerous way. Just some senior from the other dorm, I think his name was Jax or something. We started talking by the punch bowl, flirting heavy, and he mentioned he was starving. I was too—hangry as fuck from all the dancing. So we snuck out together, said we were grabbing smokes but really headed to that 24-hour diner down the road, the one with the neon sign that flickers."

Rose stopped pacing, leaning against the desk cluttered with makeup and half-empty water bottles, her expression shifting from fury to wary curiosity, though the tension in her shoulders didn't ease.

"The diner? At like, three in the morning? Rey, that's sketchy as hell. And you didn't text?"

"I know, I know," Rey rushed on, gesturing animatedly to sell it, her hands cutting through the air as if painting the scene. The words tumbled out, long and layered, building the facade brick by brick. "Phone died right after we left—plugged it in at the diner, but it took forever to charge, and by then we were deep in conversation. He's got this tattoo on his arm, some intricate design like a raven or whatever, and we bonded over hating the chem final coming up. Laughed about the party, how Cameron's playlist was stuck in the '80s. We scarfed down burgers and fries, extra greasy to soak up the booze, and... things escalated. He was all handsy, whispering how he couldn't stop staring at me all night. Before I knew it, we were making out in the booth, then he suggested we move to his car in the parking lot."

Rose's eyes widened slightly, the anger fracturing into that familiar mix of shock and vicarious thrill, but she wasn't letting it go easy. She dropped onto the bed opposite Rey, knees bouncing with restless energy, leaning forward intently.

"Hooking up in a parking lot? With some random Jax? Rey, that's so unlike you— you're the one who overthinks everything. Details, girl. Did he at least use protection? Was it good, or was it a total regret-fest?"

Rey forced a laugh, shaky but convincing, her cheeks warming with the half-truths that skirted too close to the real fire. She shifted, crossing her legs to hide the faint ache, and delved deeper, making it vivid, intense, to drown out the ghosts of Ben's touch.

"It was impulsive, yeah— the alcohol, the powder, all of it had me throwing caution out the window. We stumbled out to his beat-up truck, rain still drizzling from earlier, and it was steamy, urgent. He pushed me against the door, hands everywhere, kissing like he was starving. Fumbled with my skirt, got my top off... it was rough, passionate, not some gentle first-time bullshit. He had me bent over the seat, thrusting hard, making me gasp and claw at the upholstery. Left me shaking, satisfied in that raw way you don't get from daydreams." She paused, biting her lip for effect, watching Rose's face soften into reluctant empathy. "After, we exchanged numbers, but I bailed quick—didn't want to overstay. Walked back most of the way, hitched a ride on the last bit from someone. That's why I'm in these sweats; borrowed them when my clothes got soaked."

The lie hung there, heavy and elaborate, filling the room with its fabricated heat. Rose studied her for a long beat, the intensity of her gaze probing for cracks, then sighed, deflating as the worry ebbed.

"Jesus, Rey, you scared the shit out of me. Next time, at least leave a note or something. But... damn, sounds hot. Jax, huh?" She smirked, punching Rey's arm lightly, the storm passing into their usual rhythm.

Rey exhaled, relief flooding her like cool water, though the secret burned brighter inside. She nodded, forcing a grin, as they fell into dissecting the 'hookup,' the afternoon stretching with shared laughter and lies that bound them closer while pulling Rey deeper into the web. Outside, the campus stirred faintly, hangovers lifting, but for Rey, the real haze was just beginning—the thrill of Ben's promise, the risk shadowing every step.

Rey forced a casual stretch, rolling her shoulders as if shaking off the morning's chaos, though every movement tugged at the tender spots Ben had marked—her inner thighs chafed from the friction, her neck pulsing with the hidden bruise.

"I'm gonna shower," she said, voice light despite the knot in her gut, snatching her phone and charger from the cluttered desk where they'd tangled with Rose's earrings and lip gloss tubes. The device was dead weight in her hand, a silent accomplice to her secrets, and she needed it alive, needed that digital tether to him.

"Good, hurry!" Rose shot back, flopping onto her bed with a dramatic groan, her anger fully dissipated into the familiar rhythm of their friendship. She rubbed her temples, hangover lines etching deeper around her eyes. "I'm fucking hungry. Let's get lunch after—Poe texted about that food truck by the quad, tacos or whatever. My treat if you spill more about this Jax and his skills." Her grin was wicked, teasing, as she scrolled through her own phone, already plotting the group's recovery meal.

"Sounds perfect," Rey agreed, the words automatic as she backed toward the bathroom door, her pulse quickening at the thought of solitude. She twisted the knob and slipped inside, the door clicking shut with a soft finality that sealed her away from Rose's probing gaze. The bathroom was a cramped sanctuary—white tiles scuffed from years of dorm life, a foggy mirror above the sink, and the shower stall with its plastic curtain patterned in faded blue waves. Steam already hinted at the air from Rose's earlier rinse, but Rey twisted the faucet anyway, letting the water roar to life, the initial cold spray warming gradually as pipes groaned in the walls.

She set the phone and charger on the sink's edge, plugging it into the outlet with fingers that trembled just a touch. The screen flickered black at first, then bloomed to life with a low chime, notifications piling up like unanswered questions—missed calls from Rose, a group chat buzzing about the party's aftermath, and one from an unknown number that made her breath hitch. Ben. She'd glimpsed it earlier in his kitchen, the digits scrawled in her mind like a forbidden code, but now, with the water thundering and Rose's voice muffled through the door as she hummed to some playlist, Rey leaned down close, elbows on the porcelain, and punched them in. Contacts open, she labeled it simply: B. No frills, no risks—just enough to make her heart stutter.

The shower reached temperature, steam curling up to fog the glass door, but she ignored it for a beat longer, thumbs flying over the keyboard in the humid haze.

Home safe. Small lecture from Rose. P.S. I can still feel you inside me.

She hit send before doubt could creep in, the message whooshing off into the ether, raw and unfiltered, echoing the ache low in her belly where his cock had stretched her, claimed her. Heat flushed her cheeks that had nothing to do with the rising vapor; she stripped quickly, peeling off the borrowed joggers that smelled faintly of his laundry detergent, the hoody whispering to the floor. Her body bore the evidence—reddened skin on her hips from his grip, the faint slickness between her legs not fully washed away by time or will. Naked, she stepped under the spray, the hot water cascading over her shoulders, down her breasts, soothing the soreness while igniting memories of his mouth on her nipples, his fingers digging into her ass.

She lathered soap over her skin with mechanical efficiency, suds sliding down her flat stomach, between her thighs where she lingered, washing away the remnants of their frenzy but not the phantom thrust of him filling her pussy, over and over, until she'd shattered. The water pounded her back, drowning out the world, and she tilted her head under the stream, eyes closed, letting the fantasy replay: Ben's dark eyes locking on hers as he pinned her down, his thick shaft sliding deep, refusing his own release to wring every cry from her throat. A shiver ran through her despite the heat, her clit throbbing faintly at the recall, but she pushed it aside—lunch with Rose waited, normalcy demanded it.

Ten minutes stretched into fifteen as she rinsed, the steam thick enough to blur the door's outline. She shut off the faucet with a twist, the sudden silence amplifying the drip-drip from the showerhead and the distant thump of bass from Rose's music. Wrapping a towel around her dripping hair, another around her body, she stepped out, bare feet slapping the cool tiles. The phone screen glowed on the counter, a new notification pulsing like a heartbeat. From B. Her stomach flipped as she snatched it up, water droplets pattering onto the case.

Good girl. Keep feeling me. Tonight, I'll make you ache for more—my cock buried so deep you'll beg to stay.

The words hit like a spark to dry tinder, her core clenching involuntarily, nipples hardening against the towel's rough weave. Hot didn't cover it—possessive, promising, the kind of response that made her knees weak and her mind reel with visions of him bending her over his desk, fucking her until she screamed his name. She bit her lip hard, stifling a gasp, as arousal pooled fresh between her legs. Rose banged on the door from the other side.

"Rey, you alive in there? Tacos are calling!"

"I'm coming!" she shouts.

 

They stepped out of the dorm into the Saturday bustle of the boarding school grounds, the air thick with the scent of cut grass and distant rain from last night's storm. The sun beat down mercilessly, turning the quad into a haze of heat that made Rey's skin prickle, her hangover throbbing behind her eyes. She slid the sunglasses on, the world sharpening into a filtered blur, hiding the flush that crept up her neck at the thought of Ben—his broad shoulders pinning her, his cock thrusting deep and unrelenting. Rose linked arms with her, chattering about the tacos as they wove through clusters of students lounging on the lawns, some nursing coffees, others sprawled out with books they weren't reading. Poe and Finn were already at the food truck, waving them over from a picnic table scarred with old graffiti, their laughter cutting through the hum of conversation.

"There they are—the survivors!" Poe called, his grin wide and boyish under the brim of his backward cap, a half-eaten taco wrapper clutched in his fist. He was all lean muscle and easy charm, the kind of guy who made girls giggle without trying, but today his eyes were bloodshot, matching Finn's as the taller boy leaned back, arms crossed over his chest. Finn, with his quiet intensity and sharp jawline, nodded at them, a smirk tugging his lips.

Rose slid onto the bench beside Poe, stealing a bite from his taco before ordering her own—extra spicy, just like her mood. Rey settled across from them, the metal table hot under her elbows, and piled her plate high with soft tortillas stuffed with carne asada, onions, and cilantro that bit sharp on her tongue. The group fell into their rhythm, the kind of easy banter that had carried them through freshman orientation and late-night study sessions. Poe recounted the party's chaos, exaggerating how he'd nearly puked in the porter loo after one too many cups of that spiked punch, his hands gesturing wildly as sauce dripped onto his shirt.

"Rey, you vanished after the rain hit—where'd you bolt to? Rose said you hooked up in a parking lot?" His tone was light, curious, but Rey felt the probe like a needle, her fork pausing mid-air as she forced a shrug.

"Yeah, some random guy. Nothing epic—just needed to blow off steam." She took a massive bite, the juices exploding hot and savory, masking the lie that tasted bitter on her tongue.

Rose jumped in, waving her taco like a flag.

"Epic enough to ditch us. But hey, as long as you're not dead, we're good. Pass the salsa—Poe, you're hogging it." The conversation veered to safer ground: the upcoming football game, complaints about Monday's classes, and Poe's latest crush on a girl from the art department. Rey nodded along, laughing at the right moments, her sunglasses hiding the way her gaze drifted, searching the horizon for a glimpse of dark hair or a tall frame. The food settled heavy in her stomach, chasing away the worst of the nausea, but the heat pressed on, sweat beading along her collarbone as they finished up, crumpling wrappers and stacking trays.

"Back to the grind," Finn groaned, standing first and stretching, his shirt riding up to reveal a sliver of toned abs that Rose wolf-whistled at. They trudged back toward the main building, the school's ivy-covered facade looming like a stern parent, all stone arches and echoing halls that hid a thousand secrets. The quad gave way to the entrance, cool shade enveloping them as they pushed through the heavy doors, the air inside carrying the faint must of old books and polished wood. Students milled about—some heading to the library for weekend cramming, others clustering in doorways, voices bouncing off the high ceilings.

That's when Rey spotted him. Across the hall, near the staircase that led to the faculty offices, Ben stood in quiet conversation with another professor, a stack of papers under his arm. His hair was tousled, like he'd run hands through it, and when he turned slightly, his eyes—those piercing, dark eyes—locked onto hers across the space. The intensity hit like a physical force, hot and electric, making her breath catch. He didn't smile, didn't acknowledge the group at first, but his gaze stripped her bare, remembering every inch.

Rose noticed him too, waving casually as they approached.

"Hey, Professor Solo! Surviving the weekend?" Her voice was bright, oblivious to the undercurrent sizzling between Rey and the man who'd ruined her for anyone else.

Poe chimed in with a fist bump gesture from afar. "Yeah, man, that party last night was wild. You should've seen it."

Finn added a nod, respectful but easy. "Afternoon, Prof."

Ben's response was smooth, professional—a tilt of his head, a murmur of

"Afternoon, everyone. Enjoying the break?"—but his eyes never left Rey's, even as he shook hands with the other professor and dismissed them with a polite nod. The group flowed past, chatter resuming about grabbing sodas from the vending machine, but Rey lagged a step, her heart slamming against her ribs.

"Hey, Professor," she said softly, the words barely above a whisper as she moved past him, close enough to catch the scent of his cologne mixed with clean soap— the same that had clung to her skin all morning. Her fingers brushed his arm, a deliberate graze along the firm muscle beneath his sleeve, electric and fleeting, sending a jolt straight to her core. She tilted her head, sunglasses slipping down just enough for him to see her wink, playful and loaded with promise, her lips curving in a secret smile that said I still feel you throbbing inside me.

He didn't flinch, but his jaw tightened, a flicker of heat in his eyes that made her clit pulse with need. As she followed the gang down the hall, their voices fading into background noise, Rey glanced back over her shoulder—quick, covert—and blew him a cheeky kiss, fingers to her lips then fluttering toward him, unseen by anyone. Ben's mouth twitched, almost a smirk, his stare following her retreat like a predator marking its territory, the air between them crackling.

 

Rey sprawled across her narrow dorm bed, the room dim and quiet save for the soft glow of her bedside lamp casting shadows over the rumpled sheets. The air hung heavy with the faint scent of her earlier shower—lavender soap clinging to her skin—and the distant hum of campus life filtering through the cracked window. Rose, Finn, and Poe had dragged themselves out an hour ago, their laughter echoing down the hall as they headed to some off-campus dive for another round of shots and bad decisions. Rey had waved them off with a tired smile, claiming she needed to catch up on reading for English class. Truth was, her body still ached from the night before—not just the hangover's dull throb behind her eyes, but the deeper pull in her thighs and core, where Ben's rough thrusts had left her sore and satisfied, her pussy tender from how he'd stretched and filled her without mercy.

She'd chosen a worn paperback of Lady Chatterley's Lover, the one Ben had assigned in class, its pages dog-eared from her frantic skimming earlier. Propped against the pillows, legs tangled in the comforter, she traced the words with her finger, but her mind wandered, replaying the hallway brush earlier that day—her fingers grazing his arm, the heat in his eyes promising retribution. Her free hand idly slipped under her tank top, brushing the underside of her breast, nipple hardening at the memory of his mouth sucking hard enough to bruise. The book blurred as arousal simmered low in her belly, her clit twitching with neglected need. Skipping the party felt like the smart choice; she wasn't ready for more chaos when her thoughts were consumed by him.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, jolting her upright. The screen lit up with Ben, no picture, just his name stark and forbidden. Heart slamming, she snatched it up, thumb hovering before swiping to answer. She didn't speak first, breath held, the silence stretching taut.

"Rey," his voice rumbled through the line, low and commanding, like gravel under boots. It sent a shiver straight to her core, her pussy clenching around nothing. "Alone?"

She swallowed, shifting to sit cross-legged, the book tumbling to the floor. "Yeah. Rose and the guys are out. I'm... reading." Her voice came out breathier than intended, the lie half-true, her body already responding to the timbre of his words.

A pause, then a dark chuckle that made her thighs squeeze together.

"Reading what? My assignment? Or thinking about how I fucked you last night?" Direct, no preamble, his tone laced with possession that made her nipples peak against the thin fabric of her top.

Heat flooded her cheeks, but she didn't back down, emboldened by the distance of the phone.

"Both. Can't stop replaying it. Your cock pounding into me until I came so hard I saw stars." She bit her lip, hand drifting to her waistband, fingers teasing the edge of her shorts as she spoke, voice dropping to a husky whisper.

Ben's breath hitched, audible even through the speaker, and she pictured him—probably in that upscale house, shirt unbuttoned, hand already palming the bulge in his pants.

"Good girl. Keep talking. Tell me what you feel right now. Is your pussy wet for me? Aching like it did when I pinned your wrists and made you beg?"

Her fingers slipped lower, brushing over her cotton panties, finding the damp spot already forming. She gasped softly, arching into the touch. "Yes. So wet. I can feel you still, Ben—like you're stretching me open again. My clit's throbbing just hearing your voice." She rubbed slow circles over the fabric, the friction building pressure, her free hand clutching the phone tighter.

"Fuck, Rey," he growled, the sound raw, strained. "You have no idea what you're doing to me. I'm hard as hell, cock straining against my jeans thinking about burying it in that tight virgin pussy of yours. You were so innocent, clenching around me like you were made for it. And now? Now you're mine to ruin." His words washed over her, possessive and filthy, making her hips buck involuntarily.

Her pulse spiked. She sat up, phone clutched tight, voice husky and demanding. "Where are you?"

A beat of silence, then his response, laced with that dark amusement she craved. "My office. Late grading session turned into thinking about bending you over my desk. Why? You gonna do something about it?"

The words hit her like a dare, her body already moving before she could think. No more waiting for tomorrow; the need clawed at her, insistent and raw.

"Maybe I am," she whispered, then ended the call with a swipe, the screen going dark as her heart hammered. She tossed the phone aside and slid off the bed, bare feet hitting the cool floorboards. The clock on her wall read 11:47 PM—almost midnight, the campus hushed under the weight of night.

She crossed to her closet in three quick strides, yanking open the door. Hanging there was her formal uniform, the one reserved for assemblies or parent days: crisp white blouse, pleated navy skirt that hit mid-thigh, and the fitted blazer with the school crest. But she wasn't going for prim; she wanted to tease, to push him until he snapped. Rummaging in the bottom drawer, she pulled out a pair of sheer black fishnets.

Stripping off her tank and shorts, she stood naked in the lamplight, skin prickling with goosebumps from the chill and anticipation. Her breasts felt heavy, nipples still pebbled from the call, and between her thighs, her pussy lips glistened anew, swollen and sensitive. She stepped into the fishnets first, rolling them up her calves, over her knees, the sheer material hugging her toned legs like a second skin. The lace tops bit into her thighs just right, a secret edge under the uniform. Next, the skirt—zipping it up, she tugged it higher than regulation, the hem barely skimming the curve of her ass. The blouse followed, buttons straining slightly over her chest as she left the top two undone, revealing the swell of her cleavage and a hint of lace bra underneath. No blazer; too stuffy for what she had in mind. She finger-combed her hair into loose waves, swiped on some red lipstick from Rose's vanity—bold, fuck-me shade—and slipped into her loafers, quiet for sneaking.

The mirror caught her reflection: innocent schoolgirl twisted slutty, fishnets peeking if she bent even a little, skirt riding up to promise more. Her clit pulsed at the sight, imagining Ben's eyes darkening as he took her in. She grabbed her keycard and phone, dimmed the lamp, and slipped into the hall. The dormitory was a ghost town at this hour—doors closed, faint snores from behind a few, the elevator at the end humming softly. She took the stairs instead, two at a time, heart thudding with the thrill of risk. Campus security patrolled sporadically, but midnight meant most were clocked out or nursing coffee in the guard shack.

Outside, the night air nipped at her bare legs through the fishnets, stars sharp overhead, the path to the English building lit by sporadic lamps casting long shadows. Her loafers scuffed silently on the pavement, skirt swishing against her thighs, the friction making her hyper-aware of her damp panties clinging to her folds. What if someone saw? A janitor, a night-owl student? The thought sent a forbidden thrill up her spine, her nipples rubbing against the blouse with each step. Ben's office was on the second floor, end of the hall—isolated, perfect for what she craved.

She reached the building's side door, the one students weren't supposed to use after hours, and jimmied it with her keycard—a trick Finn had shown her for late-night library runs. It clicked open, and she darted inside, the corridor echoing her breaths. Up the stairs, past darkened classrooms where chalk dust still hung in the air from the day's lessons. Her hand trailed the wall for balance, pulse roaring in her ears. Almost there.

The office door loomed at the hall's end, a brass plaque reading Professor B. Solo glinting under the emergency light. No sounds from within—no rustle of papers, no low voice on a call. Just silence, thick and expectant. She paused, smoothing her skirt, feeling the fishnets stretch taut. Her pussy ached, empty and ready, imagining him waiting, pants undone, cock in hand. She raised her fist and knocked—three sharp raps, knuckles stinging slightly against the wood.

The door swung open with a sudden creak, flooding the dim hallway with the warm glow from Ben's desk lamp. There he stood, Professor Ben Solo, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, dark hair tousled as if he'd been running his hands through it in frustration—or anticipation. His eyes, sharp and stormy, locked onto Rey's the instant the door cracked, but then they dropped, raking over her from head to toe. The formal uniform clung to her like a second skin, the undone buttons offering a teasing glimpse of her lace bra, the skirt hiked just high enough to hint at what's beneath. His mouth parted, jaw going slack for a split second, shock mingling with raw hunger in his expression.

Before she could even smirk, his hand shot out, fingers wrapping around her wrist in a firm grip that sent electricity shooting up her arm. He dragged her inside with one swift pull, the door slamming shut behind them, the lock clicking into place with a decisive snap. A low growl rumbled from his chest, primal and unrestrained, as he released her wrist only to step back, his gaze devouring her. He circled her slowly, like a predator sizing up prey, eyes lingering on the way the fishnets hugged her thighs, the lace tops peeking out when she shifted her weight.

"Jesus, Rey," he muttered, voice gravelly, his cock visibly straining against the front of his slacks, the outline thick and insistent. "What the hell are you doing to me?"

She bit her lip to stifle a triumphant grin, the heat in his stare making her pussy clench with fresh need. Playing it coy, she tilted her head, batting her lashes in exaggerated innocence.

"You said you wanted a word, Professor," she purred, her voice dripping with mock deference as she reached out, fingers trailing lightly down the length of his tie. The silk was cool under her touch, but she could feel the heat radiating from his body, the rapid thump of his pulse beneath her fingertips as she tugged gently, pulling him a fraction closer. Her other hand brushed against his hip, deliberate, grazing the hard bulge of his cock through the fabric. It twitched under her palm, thick and hot, pre-cum probably already soaking into his boxers from their earlier call.

"I couldn't sleep, sir. Thought I'd come see what you needed to discuss."

Ben's breath hitched, his hands flexing at his sides as if fighting the urge to grab her right then. His eyes darkened, pupils blown wide with lust, but he played along, straightening his tie where she'd tugged it, though his voice came out rough, edged with command.

"A word? That's putting it mildly, Rey. Sneaking into my office at midnight in that getup... you're asking for detention. Or worse."

The role-play ignited something wicked in her, a playful defiance that made her core throb. She slipped past him, her shoulder brushing his chest deliberately, the scent of his cologne—woodsy and masculine—filling her senses. Her loafers clicked softly on the hardwood floor as she sauntered to his desk, the massive oak expanse cluttered with stacks of papers, a half-empty coffee mug, and his laptop screen glowing with what looked like unfinished lesson notes. Without hesitation, she hopped up onto the edge, the wood cool against the backs of her thighs as she crossed her legs, the fishnets rasping faintly. The motion hiked her skirt higher, exposing the lacy garters holding up the stockings, her panties just a whisper away from view. She leaned back on her hands, arching her back slightly to push her chest forward, the blouse straining over her breasts.

"Detention sounds boring, Professor," she teased, uncrossing and recrossing her legs slowly, the deliberate slide making her aware of how wet she was, her arousal slicking her inner thighs. "Maybe you should teach me a real lesson. I've been such a bad girl tonight... touching myself while thinking about you. About you bending me over this very desk during one of those boring lectures on forbidden desires." Her fingers toyed with the hem of her skirt, lifting it just an inch, revealing more of the fishnets. "What would you do to a student who can't stop fantasizing about her teacher's cock?"

Ben's growl returned, deeper this time, as he stepped between her parted knees, his hands planting on the desk on either side of her hips, caging her in. The heat from his body washed over her, his erection brushing against her inner thigh through his pants, making her gasp softly. He leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear, lips grazing the shell as he whispered,

"I'd start by reminding you who's in charge here, little girl. You'd be on your knees, begging to suck my cock like the eager slut you are." His hand slid up her thigh, fingers tracing the edge of the fishnet, dipping under the skirt to hook into the garter, snapping it lightly against her skin. The sting made her whimper, her pussy fluttering in response.

She shivered, loving the way he took the bait, his dominance seeping into every word. Tilting her chin up, she met his gaze, eyes wide and feigned innocent.

"On my knees? But Professor, I'm just a good student trying to learn. Show me how you'd punish me for being late to class... or for dressing like this." She uncrossed her legs fully now, letting her knees part just enough to press against his hips, feeling the rigid length of his cock nestle against her core through their clothes. Her hand reached out, palming him boldly, squeezing the thick shaft as she licked her lips.

"It's so hard, sir. Does it ache? Want me to make it better?"

He groaned, hips bucking involuntarily into her touch, but he grabbed her wrist. His free hand cupped her jaw, thumb brushing over her bottom lip, pressing until she parted her mouth, sucking the pad lightly.

"Teasing me like this... you're playing with fire, Rey. I'd have you spread out on this desk, skirt flipped up, those fishnets ripped off so I can eat your pussy until you're screaming my name. No more games— you'd take every inch of my cock, raw and deep, until you learn your place." His mouth hovered over hers, not quite kissing, the tension coiling like a spring between them.

Rey squirmed under his hold, her free hand sneaking down to unbutton another notch on her blouse, exposing more of her bra, the lace barely containing her hardened nipples.

"My place? Under you, Professor? Fucking me while the whole school sleeps?" She ground her hips up, rubbing her soaked panties against his bulge, the friction sending sparks through her clit. "Tell me more. What else would you do to your naughty student? Spank me for sneaking in? Make me ride you until I cum all over your cock?"

Ben's control frayed at the edges, his grip tightening on her wrist as he finally crashed his mouth down on hers, the kiss bruising and demanding. His tongue plunged in, claiming her with rough strokes, tasting the red lipstick she'd smeared on for him. He broke away just enough to growl against her lips,

"I'd fuck you senseless, pound into your tight little pussy until you're ruined for anyone else. Begging for my cum, Professor's good girl turned into my personal fucktoy." His hand released her jaw to slide down, cupping her breast through the blouse, thumb circling her nipple until she moaned into his mouth.

The office air thickened with their shared breaths, the scent of her arousal mixing with his, papers rustling as she arched into his touch. Rey's heart raced, the role-play blurring into reality, her body aching for him to make good on every filthy promise. She wrapped her legs around his waist, the fishnets scraping against his slacks, pulling him flush against her.

"Then do it, sir," she whispered, nipping at his lower lip. "Teach me. Fuck your student like you own her."

He didn't need more invitation. With a savage curse, Ben's hands were everywhere—yanking her blouse open, buttons popping free to scatter across the floor, exposing her bra fully. He shoved the cups down, latching onto one nipple with his mouth, sucking hard while his fingers pinched the other. Rey cried out, head falling back, the desk edge digging into her ass as she ground against him. His cock throbbed insistently, and she fumbled with his belt, desperate to free it, to feel him bare against her skin.

But he pulled back suddenly, eyes blazing as he flipped her over with effortless strength, her cheek pressing into the cool wood, skirt riding up to bare her ass in the fishnets and panties.

"Not yet," he rasped, hand coming down in a sharp smack on her cheek, the sound echoing. She yelped, the sting blooming into heat that pooled straight to her core. "You don't get my cock until you've earned it, bad girl. Spread your legs—show me how wet you are for your Professor."

Rey obeyed instantly, thighs parting, the fishnets tearing slightly under the strain as she arched her back, presenting herself. Her panties were drenched, clinging transparently to her swollen pussy lips, and she wiggled her hips teasingly.

"Like this, sir? Soaking for you... please, touch me."

Ben's palm soothed the reddened skin before dipping between her legs, fingers pressing against the wet fabric, rubbing her clit through it until she bucked.

"Fuck, you're dripping," he groaned, hooking his fingers into the waistband and yanking the panties down her thighs, trapping them at her knees with the fishnets. His touch was rough, two fingers sliding along her slit, parting her folds to circle her entrance. "This pussy's mine tonight. Beg for my fingers first—convince me you're worth fucking on my desk."

"Please, Professor," she whimpered, pushing back against his hand, her voice breaking into a needy whine. "Finger me hard. Stretch me for your cock. I need it—need you to own me like the slutty student I am." Her words dissolved into a moan as he thrust two fingers inside her, curling them to hit that spot that made her see stars, his thumb grinding her clit. The desk creaked under them, papers sliding to the floor, but neither cared—the world narrowed to his hand pumping into her, his free arm banding around her waist to hold her steady as she trembled.

He added a third finger, stretching her wider, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet office. "That's it, take it," he commanded, his erection grinding against her ass, still confined but leaking through his pants onto her skin. "Cum on my fingers, Rey. Show me how bad you want my cock next." She shattered around him, walls clenching as orgasm ripped through her, cries muffled against the desk. But he didn't stop, fucking her through it, drawing out every pulse until she was sobbing with overstimulation.

Only then did he pull his fingers free, slick and shining, bringing them to her mouth. "Taste yourself, good girl." She sucked them eagerly, tongue swirling, eyes locked on his over her shoulder. Ben unzipped his pants with his other hand, finally freeing his cock—thick, veined, the head flushed and weeping pre-cum. He stroked himself once, twice, smearing it over her ass before notching at her entrance. "Ready for your lesson?"

"Yes, fuck me," she begged, and he slammed home in one brutal thrust, filling her completely. The role-play forgotten in the haze of raw need, he fucked her hard, hips snapping, hand fisting her hair to arch her back as he claimed her on his desk, the office filled with their gasps and the slap of skin on skin.

Ben's cock plunged deep into Rey's slick heat, burying to the hilt in one powerful stroke that made her cry out, her walls clamping down around his thickness like a vice. The stretch burned so good, filling her completely, every inch of him pressing against her sensitive spots as he held still for a heartbeat, savoring the way her pussy fluttered and gripped him. His hand tightened in her hair, yanking her head back just enough to arch her spine, exposing the line of her throat as he leaned over her, chest heaving against her back. The desk groaned under the sudden force, the heavy oak shifting on its legs with a low creak that echoed in the quiet office.

"Fuck, Rey," he grunted, voice rough and animalistic, pulling out halfway before slamming back in, the wet slap of his hips against her ass ringing out. He was ravenous, obsessed with the way she took him, her body yielding yet fighting back with every clench. His free hand gripped her hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh to hold her steady as he set a brutal pace, thrusting hard and fast, each drive making the desk wobble forward an inch. Papers scattered to the floor in a rustle, the coffee mug teetering before tipping over with a clatter, but he didn't care—nothing mattered but burying himself deeper, claiming her as his.

She moaned, pushing back to meet him, her knees locked against the desk edge, fishnets straining and tearing further at the seams from the friction.

"Harder, Ben," she gasped, the role-play dissolving into pure need, her voice breaking as his cock dragged along her walls, hitting that spot inside that made stars burst behind her eyelids. The hand in her hair pulled tighter, forcing her to look over her shoulder at him, his face twisted in feral hunger, eyes locked on where they joined, watching his shaft disappear into her over and over.

A deep growl tore from his throat, vibrating through his chest into her as he pounded into her relentlessly.

"Mine," he snarled, hips snapping forward with punishing force, the desk rocking violently now, its legs scraping against the floor with each impact. He was starving for her, this obsession burning like fire in his veins—every curve of her body, every whimper she made, it drove him wild. He'd been hard all night thinking of her, and now, feeling her pussy milk his cock, hot and soaked just for him, it was everything. He released her hip to slide his hand around, fingers finding her clit, rubbing in tight circles that made her buck and sob.

The wobble intensified, the desk inching across the room with the force of his thrusts, thudding softly against the wall. Ben grunted with each plunge, low and guttural sounds that matched the rhythm—"Nngh... fuck... so tight"—his balls slapping against her with wet smacks, drawing up tight as pleasure coiled in his gut. He was lost in her, the scent of her arousal filling the air, mixing with the musk of his sweat as he fucked her like he owned her, because he did. No one else could have this, could make her scream like he did.

Rey clawed at the desk, nails scraping wood as waves of ecstasy built, her breasts bouncing with every brutal entry, nipples scraping against the rough surface through the shoved-down bra.

"Yes, oh god, Ben—don't stop," she pleaded, her pussy spasming around him, coating his length in her juices that dripped down her thighs. The pull on her hair sent tingles down her spine, heightening everything, making her feel utterly possessed. She loved it, loved how he devoured her, his growls turning to ragged breaths as he chased his release inside her.

He shifted his angle, driving deeper, the head of his cock nudging her cervix with each thrust, making her yelp in a mix of pain and bliss.

"Gonna fill you up," he growled, voice strained, his fingers pinching her clit just right to push her over the edge. The desk shuddered, a leg catching on a fallen book and tilting slightly, but he braced it with his body, refusing to slow. Obsession fueled him—her moans, her heat, the way she arched for more—it consumed him. He grunted louder, hips pistoning, sweat beading on his brow as he fucked her through her climax, her walls convulsing, squeezing him until he couldn't hold back.

With a final, savage thrust that made the desk slam against the wall, Ben came, roaring her name as hot spurts of cum flooded her pussy, marking her deep inside. He kept moving, grinding through the aftershocks, his hand loosening in her hair to stroke down her back possessively. They both panted, bodies slick and trembling, the office a mess around them—but in that moment, sated and connected, it was perfect.

 

Ben's chest rose and fell in heavy rhythms as he eased his spent cock from Rey's drenched folds, the slick slide accompanied by a wet pop that made her shiver. Thick ropes of his cum trickled out, coating her inner thighs and pooling on the desk beneath her. He chuckled low, the sound rumbling from deep in his throat, dark and satisfied, as he watched the evidence of their joining drip from her swollen pussy. His hand lingered in her hair for a moment longer before releasing it, fingers trailing down her spine in a possessive caress that raised goosebumps on her skin.

"Keep being like this and I don't know if I can control myself, Rey," he murmured, voice husky with lingering lust, his breath hot against her ear as he leaned over her prone form. The words hung in the air, laced with warning and promise, his obsession evident in the way his eyes devoured her—flushed cheeks, parted lips, the way her body still quivered from the aftershocks.

She whimpered softly, pushing up on her elbows, her skirt hiked up around her waist, fishnets laddered and torn from the frenzy. The desk was a disaster: papers strewn like confetti, the mug shattered on the floor, shards glinting under the dim office lamp. Rey turned her head, meeting his gaze with heavy-lidded eyes, a sly smile curving her lips despite the ache between her legs.

"Maybe I don't want you to control yourself," she teased, voice breathy, shifting her hips just enough to make more of his seed leak out, the sensation sending a fresh spark through her core.

Ben's chuckle deepened into a growl, his cock twitching at her words, already half-hard again from the sight of her like this—disheveled, marked by him, utterly his. He stepped back slightly, admiring the view: her ass still raised, pussy glistening with their combined fluids, red marks from his grip blooming on her pale skin. Hunger gnawed at him anew; this girl had him unraveling, his usual restraint shattered by her boldness, her willingness to push him further. He reached out, thumb brushing over her clit in a lazy circle, drawing a sharp gasp from her as her hips jerked.

"Careful what you wish for," he warned, but there was no real threat in it—only raw desire. His other hand slid up her thigh, fingers dipping into the mess he'd made, scooping up some of his cum and pushing it back inside her with two digits. Rey moaned, clenching around the intrusion, her body greedy for more even as sensitivity made her squirm. He pumped his fingers slowly, deliberately, curling them to stroke that sensitive ridge within her, watching her face contort in pleasure.

The office air was thick with the scent of sex—musky and primal—mingling with the faint trace of his cologne. Ben's free hand gripped the desk edge for support, his knuckles whitening as he fought the urge to flip her over and take her again right there. She was addictive, this forbidden fruit, her innocence twisted into something so wantonly perfect. He'd risk everything for another taste, another moment buried in her heat. Withdrawing his fingers to bring them to her lips. "Taste us."

Rey obeyed without hesitation, parting her mouth to suck his fingers clean, tongue swirling around the digits with a hum of approval. The saltiness of his cum mixed with her own tang, and she locked eyes with him, challenging, provocative. It drove him insane, that spark in her gaze—the same one that had caught his attention in class, now fully ignited into flame. He pulled his hand away, replacing it with his mouth, kissing her fiercely, tongues tangling in a messy exchange of flavors.

She melted into it, one hand reaching back to thread through his hair, pulling him closer as their bodies pressed together. The desk creaked under her shifting weight, but this time it was slower, more intimate. Ben's cock hardened fully against her ass, the thick length nestling between her cheeks, throbbing with renewed need. He broke the kiss, nipping at her jawline, then her neck, marking her with light bites that would bruise by morning.

"I could fuck you all night," he confessed against her skin, grinding slowly, letting her feel how ready he was again. "Bend you over every surface in this place until you can't walk straight."

Rey's breath hitched, her pussy clenching emptily at the thought, arousal building despite the soreness. She arched back, rubbing against him shamelessly, the friction making them both groan.

"Then do it," she whispered, bold and unashamed, her role as the teasing student fully embraced. "Show me how much you want me."

He didn't need more invitation. Ben straightened, hands gripping her hips to spin her around, lifting her effortlessly onto the desk's edge. Her legs parted instinctively, wrapping around his waist as he stepped between them, his cock nudging her entrance. But he paused, eyes dark with intensity, tracing her face—the smudged makeup, the bite-swollen lips. This wasn't just lust; it was possession, a need to claim her soul-deep.

"You're mine, Rey," he said firmly, one hand cupping her cheek while the other guided his tip inside, inch by agonizing inch. "No one else gets this. Ever."

She nodded, gasping as he filled her again, the stretch easier now but no less intense, her walls molding to him like they were made for it.

"Yours," she agreed, nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt, pulling him deeper. He thrust in fully, bottoming out with a shared moan, then set a languid pace—long, deep strokes that made her toes curl in her boots.

The desk rocked gently this time, a steady rhythm rather than the earlier frenzy, allowing them to savor every sensation: the drag of his veins along her inner walls, the slap of skin growing wetter with each pass, her breasts heaving as she clung to him. Ben's mouth found her nipple through the thin fabric of her blouse, sucking hard enough to make her cry out, his growls vibrating against her flesh. He was obsessed, utterly consumed—her scent, her sounds, the way she yielded to him—it all fueled the fire that refused to die.

Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, their bodies moving in sync, building toward another peak. Rey's hands explored him, unbuttoning his shirt to rake nails down his chest, drawing red lines that made him hiss in pleasure. He retaliated by pinching her other nipple, rolling it between fingers until she begged, her pussy fluttering around him.

"Come for me again," he demanded, hips snapping harder, the wobble returning as he chased their shared release.

She shattered first, head thrown back, a keening wail escaping as ecstasy ripped through her, milking his cock with rhythmic pulses. Ben followed seconds later, burying deep and spilling inside her once more, his roar muffled against her shoulder. They clung together, sweat-slick and spent, the office silent save for their ragged breaths.

As reality seeped back in—the risk, the secrecy—Ben held her close, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. But the hunger lingered in his eyes, a promise of more to come, control be damned.

Chapter 5

The rain hammered against the tall windows of the boarding school corridor, each drop a sharp staccato that echoed the thunder rumbling overhead. It was one of those Mondays that felt like the sky itself was conspiring against good moods—gray skies bleeding into the stone floors, the air thick with the scent of wet earth seeping through cracks. Rey walked with a lighter step than she'd managed in days, her body finally catching up to the rest it had craved. Sunday had been a blur of textbooks and deadlines, her eyes burning from hours hunched over assignments until exhaustion hit like a freight train around seven. She'd collapsed into bed without a second thought, phone forgotten on the nightstand, sleep pulling her under deep and dreamless. Waking that morning, she'd felt the fog lift—refreshed, muscles loose, mind sharp for the first time since the weekend's whirlwind.

Rose chattered beside her, arms linked in that easy camaraderie they'd built over years, her voice cutting through the storm's din like a lifeline.

"You have to see the trailer for this new movie, Rey. It's got that brooding anti-hero vibe, but the actor—God, he's scorching. Tall, dark hair that falls just right, those intense eyes that make you melt. I swear, if he were a student here, I'd be all over him." Rose's eyes sparkled with mischief, her short skirt swishing as she gestured animatedly, blonde curls bouncing despite the humidity frizzing them at the edges.

Rey laughed, the sound genuine and light, her own uniform feeling less constricting today—the crisp white blouse tucked into her pleated skirt, knee-high socks hugging her calves. She adjusted her backpack strap, the weight of books a familiar comfort.

"Sounds like your type. What's his name again?"

"Adam something...it doesn't matter. He's hot He's got this raw edge, like he could pin you against a wall and make you forget your own name." Rose waggled her eyebrows, bumping Rey's hip playfully. "You need to get out more, girl. That homework grind is killing your vibe. Imagine if he showed up to one of those parties—bam, instant hookup material."

Up ahead, Poe and Finn lounged against the lockers like they owned the hallway, Poe's letterman jacket slung over one shoulder, Finn fiddling with the zipper on his hoodie. English was their last class before lunch, and the bell's distant toll reminded everyone of it. Poe straightened as they approached, flashing a grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

"Ladies, braving the storm? You look way too put-together for a Monday like this."

Finn chuckled, pushing off the metal with a scrape of his shoe.

"Yeah, thunder's putting on a show out there. Makes me wanna skip and hit the fields anyway—rain be damned." He ruffled Rey's hair lightly, earning a swat from her. "What's got you smiling, Rey? You were a zombie yesterday."

"Slept like the dead," she admitted, cheeks warming at the half-truth. The real reason for her fatigue lingered in the back of her mind—Ben's hands on her skin, his cock driving into her with that unrelenting hunger—but she shoved it down, focusing on the normalcy of friends and routine. "Homework apocalypse over. Ready to survive English?"

Poe snorted, slinging an arm around Finn's shoulders.

"Solo's been on a roll with that book. All that forbidden love crap—makes class feel like a soap opera" They fell into step together, the group weaving through clusters of students hurrying to beat the bell, laughter mingling with the patter of rain.

Inside the English classroom, the atmosphere shifted subtly, charged like the air before lightning. Ben Solo stood at the front, broad shoulders filling out his button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows revealing forearms corded with muscle. He arranged books on his desk with precise movements, jaw set in a line that spoke of restrained irritation. The weekend's echoes replayed in his head—Rey's body arching under him, her moans filling his office, the way she'd clenched around his cock as he claimed her. But then... silence. No texts, no calls, not even a teasing message all Sunday. He'd stared at his phone more times than he cared to admit, thumb hovering over her name, a mix of worry and frustration building. Was she regretting it? Pulling away? The thought gnawed at him, his obsession twisting into something sharper, more demanding. She was his now—body, secrets, all of it—and this radio silence felt like a betrayal.

Students trickled in, shaking off rain from coats and umbrellas, the room filling with the shuffle of feet and low murmurs. Rey slipped into her seat near the back, heart skipping as her eyes found him. He looked... intense, gaze sweeping the room like a predator scanning for weakness. When it landed on her, it held a beat too long, dark and unreadable, sending a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the draft from the window.

Ben cleared his throat, voice rolling out deep and commanding as he launched into the lesson.

"Today, we delve deeper into Lady Chatterley's Lover. Lawrence doesn't shy from desire's raw undercurrents—how it defies class, convention, even self-control." His eyes flicked to Rey again, lingering on the curve of her neck where a faint bruise from Saturday peeked above her collar. She shifted, thighs pressing together under the desk, heat pooling low as memories flooded back: his fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her head back as he thrust deep, growling her name.

Rose nudged her under the desk, whispering,

"Earth to Rey. You're zoning out. Hot actor got you daydreaming?"

Rey forced a smile, whispering back,

"Something like that." But her focus stayed glued to Ben, who paced now, his presence filling the space. He gestured sharply as he spoke of the novel's lovers, the forbidden pull that consumed them.

"It's not gentle romance—it's hunger, possession. The kind that ruins you for anything less."

The words hit like thunder, and Rey's breath caught. Was he talking to her? Accusing her through the text? Poe raised his hand, drawing Ben's attention with a question about the symbolism, but Rey felt exposed, her skin prickling under his occasional glances. Lunch couldn't come soon enough, yet part of her craved the moment class ended—the risk of a stolen word, a touch in the empty hallway.

As the lesson wore on, Ben's frustration simmered beneath his polished exterior. He assigned a discussion prompt, pairing students, but ensured Rey's group was across the room from his path. Still, when she spoke—her voice steady, analyzing the book's passion with that intelligent lilt—he paused, arms crossed, watching her lips move. She hadn't replied, but here she was, vibrant and untouched by doubt. It fueled his resolve; he'd corner her soon, demand answers, then remind her exactly who she belonged to. The rain outside intensified, mirroring the storm building between them, thunder cracking as if to punctuate his unspoken claim.

By the time the bell rang, chairs scraped and bags zipped, the class dissolving into chatter. Rey packed slowly, pulse racing, wondering if he'd call her out—or pull her close. Ben watched from the desk, fingers drumming, the unimpressed set of his mouth promising that their silence was far from over.

Students surged toward the door in a chaotic wave—backpacks thumping against chairs, laughter bubbling up as the storm outside seemed to mock their brief escape. Rey lingered at her desk, fingers tracing the edge of her notebook, her pulse a steady thrum against her ribs. Ben's gaze had burned into her throughout the lesson, each glance a silent accusation that made her squirm. Now, as the room emptied, he straightened from where he'd been leaning against his desk, arms unfolding with deliberate slowness.

"Rey"' he said, voice low and edged with steel, carrying over the fading chatter. "Can you stay during lunch? We need to discuss your... participation today."

The words landed like a slap, sharp and personal. It felt like an attack, his tone laced with disapproval that twisted in her gut. Participation? She'd spoken up during the group discussion, her analysis of the novel's themes clear and thoughtful. But the way he said it, eyes narrowing just a fraction, made it clear this was about more than literature. Her friends paused at the door, Rose turning with a quizzical tilt of her head.

"Everything okay?" Rose asked, slinging her bag higher on her shoulder, rain-dampened curls framing her concerned face. Poe and Finn hovered behind her, exchanging glances—Poe's easy smile faltering, Finn's brow furrowing.

Rey forced a nod, swallowing the lump in her throat.

"Yeah, just... extra credit stuff or whatever. Go ahead, I'll catch up." Her voice came out steadier than she felt, but inside, nerves coiled tight. The group's eyes flicked to Ben, who stood impassive, hands clasped behind his back, the picture of professional authority. Poe shrugged, clapping Finn on the back.

"Alright, don't let Solo grill you too hard. Lunch won't be the same without you." Finn shot her a wink, but there was a protective edge to it as they filed out, Rose casting one last worried look before the door swung shut behind them.

The room fell silent, save for the relentless drumming of rain on the windows and the occasional crack of thunder that rattled the panes. Rey rose slowly, smoothing her skirt with hands that trembled slightly, and approached the front. Ben didn't move, his broad frame blocking the path to the door, dark eyes locked on her like a hawk pinning its prey. Up close, the faint scent of his cologne—woody and sharp—hit her, stirring memories of Saturday night: his body pressing her into the desk, cock slamming deep as she gasped his name.

He gestured to the chair opposite his desk, but she remained standing, chin lifted in quiet defiance.

"What's this about, Ben? I didn't zone out that badly."

Ben's jaw clenched, a muscle ticking there as he rounded the desk, closing the distance until he loomed over her. His height forced her to tilt her head back, exposing the line of her throat, and she saw the storm in his expression—frustration, hurt, raw anger simmering beneath the surface.

"Zoning out? You barely heard a word I said, Rey. Staring off like the lesson was beneath you. Or maybe..." He paused, voice dropping to a growl, "maybe your mind was elsewhere. Regretting what happened. Avoiding me."

The accusation hung heavy, his words laced with vulnerability he couldn't quite mask. He thought she regretted it—the way he'd fucked her senseless in his office, her legs wrapped around him as he pounded into her pussy, claiming every inch until she shattered around him. The silence over Sunday had eaten at him, twisting his obsession into doubt. He'd paced his house that night, phone in hand, imagining her pulling away, erasing him from her thoughts. Now, face-to-face, it boiled over.

Rey's breath hitched, eyes widening as she realized the depth of his misreading.

"Regret it? Ben, no—God, no." She stepped closer, hand reaching out to touch his arm, fingers brushing the crisp fabric of his shirt. The contact sparked heat between them, but she held his gaze, urgent and honest. "I didn't reply because I was buried in homework. Assignments from three classes piled up, and I crashed early Sunday. Like, seven o'clock early. I woke up today feeling human again, but I wasn't avoiding you. I swear."

He searched her face, the anger in his eyes flickering, not quite extinguished but softening at the edges. Still, he grabbed her wrist gently but firmly, thumb pressing into her pulse point, feeling it race.

"You disappeared. After everything—after I had you bent over that desk, screaming my name as I filled you up. I thought..." His free hand cupped her jaw, tilting her face up, voice rough with emotion. "I thought you'd decided it was a mistake. That I was a mistake."

Tears pricked at Rey's eyes, not from fear but from the raw pain in his confession. She shook her head, leaning into his touch.

"Never. That Friday... and Saturday... it was everything. The way you took me, hard and deep, owning me—it haunts me in the best way. I replay it constantly. But schoolwork hit like a truck. I was exhausted, Ben. Not regretting. Craving more."

The admission hung between them, the air thickening with unresolved tension. Ben's grip tightened briefly, then released, his hand sliding down to her waist, pulling her flush against him. She felt the hard line of his arousal pressing into her belly, a testament to how deeply her words affected him. Thunder rolled outside, the storm mirroring the one they'd just weathered.

"Craving more," he echoed, voice husky now, anger giving way to hunger. He backed her against the desk, hands roaming up her sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts through her blouse. "Prove it, then. Show me you haven't been pulling away."

Rey's hands fisted in his shirt, yanking him down for a fierce kiss—lips crashing, tongues tangling in a desperate reclaiming. She nipped at his lower lip, tasting the salt of his frustration, and he groaned, one hand tangling in her hair to angle her head as he devoured her mouth. The kiss broke only when she gasped,

"I need you. Right here. Fuck the regrets—I want you inside me again."

Ben's eyes darkened, a predatory smile curving his lips as he spun her around, bending her over the desk with a firm push. Her skirt hiked up, exposing her thighs, and he yanked her panties down in one swift motion, the cool air hitting her wet folds.

"Good girl," he murmured, unzipping his pants, his thick cock springing free, already leaking pre-cum. He rubbed the head against her entrance, teasing her clit until she whimpered, pushing back against him.

"Tell me what you want," he demanded, voice gravelly, one hand pressing between her shoulder blades to keep her pinned.

'Fuck me,' she breathed, arching her back. "Hard. Like Saturday. Make me yours."

He thrust in without warning, burying himself to the hilt in her tight heat, her pussy clenching around him like a vice. Rey cried out, the stretch burning sweetly as he set a brutal pace—hips snapping forward, balls slapping against her with each deep plunge. The desk creaked under them, papers scattering, but he didn't care, gripping her hips to pull her back onto his cock, driving deeper, harder.

"You're mine," he growled, leaning over her to bite her neck, marking her again. "No more silence. No more doubts." His free hand snaked around to rub her clit in tight circles, pushing her toward the edge as he fucked her relentlessly, the wet sounds of their joining filling the empty room.

Rey moaned, pushing back to meet his thrusts, pleasure coiling tight in her core.

"Yes—yours. Always." She came undone with a shudder, walls fluttering around him, milking his cock as waves crashed over her. Ben followed seconds later, groaning her name as he spilled inside her, hot spurts filling her up until it leaked down her thighs.

They stayed like that for a moment, panting, his weight a comforting press against her back. He pulled out slowly, helping her straighten, then turned her to face him, kissing her forehead with surprising tenderness.

"No more vanishing acts," he whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Rey nodded, smiling through the afterglow. "Promise."

He chuckled, low and satisfied, straightening his clothes. "Then go have lunch. But tonight... my place. We'll make up for lost time."

As she slipped out into the rain-slicked hallway, legs still trembling, Rey felt the storm inside settle—replaced by a burning anticipation for what came next.

 

The afternoon dragged on like a slow unraveling thread, classes blurring into one another under the relentless patter of rain against the school windows. Rey's mind wandered far from the lectures—biology diagrams and history timelines dissolving into flashes of Ben's hands on her skin, his cock driving into her with unyielding force during lunch. Her body still hummed from it, a secret ache between her thighs that made her shift in her seat. By the time the final bell rang, the sky had deepened to a bruised purple, thunder rumbling in the distance like a promise of more storms to come.

Back in the dorm, the room felt emptier without Rose's chatter. Her roommate had dashed off to swimming class, towel slung over her shoulder and swimsuit peeking from her bag, leaving Rey alone with the soft glow of her desk lamp and the faint scent of chlorine lingering from Rose's earlier practice gear. Rey stood before her closet, the door flung wide, clothes spilling out in a cascade of fabrics. She wanted something that whispered seduction without screaming it—tonight was different, charged with the weight of Ben's invitation, his voice still echoing in her ear from their stolen moment: My place. We'll make up for lost time.

Her fingers trailed over hangers, discarding the school uniform's crisp pleats for something softer, more inviting. A black slip dress caught her eye, silk whispering against her skin as she held it up. Too sheer? Maybe, but the way it would cling to her curves, the hem skimming her thighs just right... She slipped it on, the fabric cool and smooth, hugging her breasts and dipping low at the back. No bra— the outline of her nipples would tease through the thin material if the light hit just so. She paired it with sheer stockings, the kind that rolled up her legs like a lover's touch, and simple heels that added a sway to her hips. A touch of makeup: smoky eyes to deepen her gaze, lips painted a deep red that promised sin. She studied herself in the mirror, heart quickening. This was for him—for the man who'd claimed her so fiercely, now pulling her into his world on his terms.

Glancing at the clock, she grabbed her coat and slipped out, heart pounding as she navigated the emptying campus paths. The rain had eased to a misty drizzle, slicking the grounds and turning the world hazy. Ben's text had been precise: Taxi waiting at the east gate. Black sedan, driver knows the deal. She spotted it idling under the shadow of the old oaks, headlights cutting through the gloom. No one around—the perfect cover. She slid into the back seat, the leather cool against her bare thighs, and murmured her thanks to the driver, a middle-aged man who nodded without question, pulling away smoothly.

The ride wound through the town, past familiar shops shuttered against the evening, into the winding roads of the gated community on the outskirts. Ben's house loomed as they approached—a sprawling two-story with ivy-clinging brick, windows glowing warmly against the encroaching dark. The taxi crunched to a stop on the gravel drive, and Rey stepped out, the chill air raising goosebumps on her skin. She paid the driver with cash Ben had instructed, then approached the door, knuckles rapping lightly—three quick knocks, her pulse echoing them.

The door swung open almost immediately, and there he was: Ben, framed in the entryway light, his usual button-down replaced by a fitted black shirt that accentuated the breadth of his shoulders, sleeves rolled to his elbows exposing corded forearms. His dark hair was slightly tousled, as if he'd run a hand through it in anticipation, and his eyes—those intense, stormy eyes—locked onto her with a hunger tempered by something softer, almost reverent.

"Rey," he breathed, voice low and rough, stepping aside to let her in. The warmth of the house enveloped her immediately, chasing away the night's bite.

She crossed the threshold, coat slipping from her shoulders into his waiting hands. He hung it without breaking eye contact, his gaze tracing the lines of her dress, lingering on the way the silk molded to her body. The foyer opened into the living room, and Rey's breath caught at the sight. Fairy lights draped along the walls and ceiling, twinkling like captured stars, casting a golden haze over everything. Candles flickered on every surface—tall pillars on the mantel, clusters on side tables—their flames dancing shadows that played across the hardwood floors. The air smelled of vanilla and spice, mingled with something savory from the kitchen, and soft jazz hummed from hidden speakers, a sultry saxophone weaving through the quiet.

Ben's hand settled at the small of her back, guiding her forward.

"Come see," he murmured, leading her to the dining area. The table was a vision: crisp white cloth, silverware gleaming, a centerpiece of deep red roses spilling petals like blood. Two places set with crystal glasses, plates warmed and waiting. A bottle of wine chilled in a bucket, condensation beading on the glass, and covered dishes hinted at a meal prepared with care—roasted chicken, perhaps, with herbs and vegetables, the aromas wafting teasingly.

Rey turned to him, eyes wide, a smile tugging at her lips.

"Ben... this is beautiful. You did all this?"

He pulled out her chair, waiting until she sat before taking his own across from her. His expression was a mix of pride and vulnerability, the hard lines of his face softening in the candlelight.

"I figured I had to make up for taking your virginity so brutally," he said, voice steady but laced with regret. He poured the wine, the deep red liquid swirling into her glass, then his. "I was rough. Hungry. I didn't hold back, and you deserved better for your first time. Gentle. Worshipped. So tonight, let me show you."

Her cheeks warmed, not from embarrassment but from the raw honesty in his words. She remembered it all too vividly—the way he'd pinned her down, cock thrusting deep and unrelenting, her body yielding to the overwhelming pleasure-pain of it. It had been everything she'd craved in that moment, wild and consuming, but hearing him acknowledge it now, wanting to balance it with tenderness, stirred something deeper in her chest.

"You don't have to make up for it," she said softly, reaching across the table to trace his knuckles. "I wanted it—every second. But this... I love this. Thank you."

Ben's eyes darkened, not with the feral hunger she knew so well, but with a possessive warmth. He lifted her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm, lips lingering against her skin.

"Still. Let me take care of you tonight." He uncovered the dishes—tender herb-crusted lamb, roasted asparagus glistening with olive oil, garlic mashed potatoes creamy and inviting. They ate slowly, forks clinking softly, conversation flowing like the wine: light at first, about the storm outside, her classes, his lesson plans. But beneath it simmered the tension, his foot brushing hers under the table, accidental at first, then deliberate, sending sparks up her leg.

As dessert arrived—a rich chocolate mousse dusted with cocoa, served with fresh berries—Ben stood, rounding the table to her side. He took her hand again, pulling her up and into his arms, bodies aligning in the warm glow.

"Dance with me," he whispered, swaying her gently to the music, one hand splayed across her lower back, the other entwining with hers. She melted into him, head resting against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. The silk of her dress slid against his shirt, friction building heat where they touched.

His lips found her temple, then her jaw, trailing kisses that grew firmer, more insistent.

"I've thought about you all day," he confessed against her skin, voice husky. "Fucking you over the desk, feeling you clench around me... but I want more than that. I want to taste you slowly, make you come undone piece by piece." His hand dipped lower, cupping her ass through the thin fabric, squeezing gently as he ground against her, his arousal evident, hard and insistent.

Rey shivered, tilting her head back for his mouth, their kiss starting soft—lips brushing, tongues tentative—then deepening, a slow burn that made her knees weaken. She clutched his shirt, pulling him closer, the candles' flicker painting their shadows long across the wall.

"Show me," she murmured when they broke apart, breath ragged. "Make it gentle this time."

Ben scooped her up effortlessly, cradling her against his chest as he carried her toward the stairs, the fairy lights blurring into streaks of gold. His bedroom waited above, door ajar, more candles lining the nightstand and windowsill, the bed turned down with fresh sheets. He laid her down reverently, following her onto the mattress, hands exploring with deliberate slowness—tracing the neckline of her dress, thumbs circling her nipples until they peaked, then sliding the straps down her shoulders to bare her breasts.

"Tell me if it's too much," he said, voice rough with restraint, but she shook her head, arching into his touch as he lowered his mouth to her skin, licking and sucking with exquisite care, building the fire without letting it rage. Tonight was his apology, his devotion—and Rey surrendered to it fully, the night unfolding in waves of tender pleasure that bound them tighter than any frantic fuck ever could.

Ben's weight settled beside her on the bed, the mattress dipping under him as he propped himself on one elbow, his free hand continuing its languid path over her body. The candlelight from the nightstand bathed them in a soft, amber glow, shadows flickering across the planes of his face, softening the sharp angles of his jaw. Rey lay back against the pillows, her breath coming in shallow waves, the silk dress still half-on, straps pooled at her elbows, exposing the swell of her breasts to the cool air. Her nipples tightened under his gaze, and she felt exposed, cherished, the intensity in his eyes making her pulse quicken.

He leaned down, his mouth brushing the curve of her shoulder, lips parting to taste her skin with a slow, open-mouthed kiss.

"You're exquisite," he murmured, voice a low rumble that vibrated against her collarbone. His tongue traced a deliberate line upward, along the column of her throat, pausing to suck gently at the spot where her pulse fluttered wildly. Rey arched slightly, her fingers threading into his hair, not pulling but holding, guiding him as he explored.

With unhurried fingers, Ben eased the dress lower, inch by inch, until the fabric whispered down her torso, over her hips, and off her legs entirely. He tossed it aside, eyes drinking in the sight of her naked form—stockings still clinging to her thighs, the sheer material laddered faintly from the day's wear. No underwear; she'd come to him bare, ready. His hand skimmed her side, palm flat and warm, following the dip of her waist, the flare of her hip, before settling on her inner thigh. He didn't rush to her core; instead, he massaged the muscle there, thumbs pressing in slow circles, coaxing her legs apart with patient insistence.

Rey's breath hitched as the air kissed her exposed pussy, already slick with anticipation. Ben's gaze dropped, darkening with reverence.

"So beautiful," he said, almost to himself, before lowering his head. His breath ghosted over her folds first, warm and teasing, making her hips twitch. Then his tongue extended, flat and broad, licking upward in one long, savoring stroke from her entrance to her clit. He lingered there, circling the sensitive nub with the tip of his tongue, soft laps that built pressure without overwhelming.

She moaned softly, the sound echoing in the quiet room, her hands fisting the sheets as pleasure uncoiled low in her belly. Ben's hands gripped her thighs, holding her open, his mouth working with devoted focus—sucking lightly on her clit, then delving lower to probe her entrance, tongue thrusting shallowly inside her. He hummed against her, the vibration sending sparks through her nerves, and Rey's back bowed, toes curling in her stockings.

"Ben... oh god," she whispered, her voice breaking on his name.

He pulled back just enough to speak, lips glistening with her arousal.

"Let me taste every part of you. Tonight, it's all about you." His fingers joined his mouth then, one sliding along her slit to gather her wetness, circling her opening before pushing in slowly, knuckle by knuckle. He curled it upward, stroking that spot inside her that made stars burst behind her eyelids, while his tongue resumed its worship on her clit—flicking, sucking, laving with endless patience.

Rey's hips rocked instinctively, seeking more, but Ben pinned her gently, his free hand splaying across her abdomen, thumb tracing lazy patterns on her skin. He added a second finger, stretching her with care, scissoring them to open her further, his mouth never ceasing its rhythm. The build was exquisite torture, pleasure layering upon itself in gentle waves, her body trembling as the tension wound tighter. She came with a gasp, walls clenching around his fingers, a rush of warmth flooding her as he lapped it up, prolonging the spasms with soft kisses to her inner thighs.

As she floated down, chest heaving, Ben kissed his way up her body—stomach, ribs, the underside of each breast—until he reached her mouth. Their lips met in a deep, unhurried kiss, the taste of her own release on his tongue making her shiver. She tugged at his shirt, buttons giving way under her fumbling fingers, and he shrugged it off, revealing the hard planes of his chest, dusted with dark hair. Rey's hands roamed, nails scraping lightly over his nipples, down the ridges of his abs, until she reached his belt.

"Touch me," he encouraged, voice husky, helping her undo the buckle. His pants slid down, cock springing free—heavy, thick. Rey wrapped her hand around him, stroking from base to tip with a firm grip, thumb swiping over the slit to spread the slickness. Ben groaned, head falling back, but he caught her wrist gently.

"Not yet. I want to be inside you."

He stripped the rest of his clothes, then peeled off her stockings one leg at a time, massaging her calves as he went, his touch everywhere—kneading, caressing, adoring. Naked now, skin to skin, he positioned himself between her thighs, cock nudging her entrance but not entering. Instead, he rocked against her, sliding through her folds, coating himself in her wetness, the friction teasing them both. Rey whimpered, wrapping her legs around his waist, heels digging into his back.

"Slowly," he promised, bracing on his forearms, eyes locked on hers as he pushed in. The stretch was deliberate, inch by inch, his cock filling her completely, bottoming out with a shared sigh. He held still, letting her adjust, forehead pressed to hers, breaths mingling.

"You feel perfect. So tight, so wet for me." Then he began to move—long, deep thrusts that dragged against her walls, pulling out almost fully before sliding back in, each one measured to hit every sensitive spot.

Rey's nails raked down his back, leaving faint red trails, her body arching to meet him. The pace stayed languid, hips rolling in a sensual grind, his pubic bone rubbing her clit with every inward push. He kissed her neck, her shoulders, murmuring praises between thrusts—

'My beautiful girl,'

'So responsive,'

'I could do this forever.'

Sweat slicked their skin, the slap of flesh quiet and rhythmic, building heat without frenzy.

He shifted, hooking one of her legs over his shoulder to angle deeper, the new position making her gasp as his cock stroked her g-spot relentlessly. His hand slipped between them, fingers circling her clit in time with his thrusts, drawing out moans that grew breathier, more desperate. Rey's world narrowed to the sensation of him—thick and pulsing inside her, the worship in his touch, the way he watched her face like she was his entire universe.

The second orgasm crept up on her, blooming from her core in slow, radiating waves. She clenched around him, crying out his name, and Ben followed moments later, burying himself deep as he came, hot spurts filling her, his groan muffled against her shoulder. He didn't pull out right away, staying connected, rolling his hips in gentle circles to milk every aftershock, kissing her temple, her eyelids, her lips.

They lay tangled, breaths syncing as the candles burned lower, the room filled with the scent of sex and wax. Ben traced idle patterns on her hip, holding her close.

"Was that better?" he asked softly, a hint of vulnerability in his tone.

Rey smiled, nuzzling his chest. "Perfect. You're perfect." In his arms, the world outside—the school, the secrets, the risks—faded, leaving only this: them, bound in tender fire.

 

The sheets tangled around their legs like a soft cocoon, the fabric warm from their shared body heat, holding the faint musk of their earlier lovemaking. Ben's arm draped securely over Rey's waist, his chest pressed to her back, spooning her in the dim glow of the bedside lamp. His breath stirred the loose strands of her hair, steady and reassuring, a quiet anchor in the hush of his bedroom. Outside, the rain had eased to a gentle patter against the window, mirroring the vulnerability unfolding between them. Rey nestled closer, her smaller frame fitting perfectly against his larger one, her hand resting over his where it splayed across her stomach.

Ben's fingers traced idle circles on her skin, just below her navel, the touch light and absentminded at first. But as the silence stretched, he shifted slightly, pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck.

"Why did your parents send you to the school?" he asked, his voice a low murmur, laced with genuine curiosity and a hint of caution, as if sensing the fragility of the topic.

Rey hesitated, her body tensing for a moment in his embrace. She stared at the shadowed wall across the room, where the lamp's light cast elongated patterns like forgotten memories.

"My father sent me here," she whispered, the words barely audible, carrying the weight of years unspoken. Her voice cracked just a fraction, and she swallowed, feeling the lump in her throat. Ben's hand stilled, then resumed its gentle stroking, encouraging without pressure.

She turned her head slightly, enough to catch a glimpse of his profile in the low light—his dark eyes watching her intently, brows furrowed with concern. Taking a deep breath, she continued,

"My mother left when I was fifteen. It's almost been four years since she left." The admission hung in the air, raw and unfiltered. Rey's fingers intertwined with his, squeezing as if to ground herself. "My father couldn't look at me and not see her. He'd get angry. So he sent me away." Her voice trembled now, the pain surfacing like a tide she couldn't hold back.

Ben's arm tightened around her, pulling her flush against him, his lips brushing her shoulder in a silent show of support. He didn't interrupt, just let her words flow, his thumb rubbing soothing arcs over her knuckles. Rey's eyes glistened, but she blinked it away, focusing on the feel of his warmth seeping into her.

She shifted then, rolling onto her back so she could face him fully. The sheets slipped down to her waist, exposing the curve of her breasts, but neither moved to cover her; in this moment, vulnerability stripped them both bare. Rey looked up at Ben, her hazel eyes searching his, finding only empathy there—no judgment, no pity, just a quiet strength that made her chest ache.

"My mother has moved on," she said softly, her fingers still playing with his, tracing the veins on the back of his hand. "She's married again. Pregnant." The words tasted bitter, like admitting defeat to a life that had rewritten itself without her.

Ben's expression softened further, his free hand coming up to cup her cheek, thumb brushing away the single tear that escaped despite her efforts.

"Rey," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion, but he held back, giving her space to unravel.

Encouraged by his touch, she pressed on, the confession spilling out like a dam breaking.

"My father... he hasn't written to me since last Christmas. Almost a year now." Her lower lip quivered, and she bit it to steady herself. The memories flooded back unbidden—the empty mailbox during holidays, the forced smiles with her friends as she fabricated excuses for staying on campus. "Last Christmas, he didn't want me home. Summer holidays, he didn't write. So I guessed he didn't want me home again. I just stayed on campus."

Tears welled up now, hot and insistent, blurring her vision of Ben's face. She turned her head into his palm, inhaling the faint scent of his skin—clean soap and something uniquely him that always calmed her racing heart.

"It's hard telling your friends that your father hates you and your mother has a new family," she admitted, her voice breaking on a sob. "I have nothing worth going home for." The truth of it hit her like a punch, the isolation she'd buried under layers of bravado and rebellion cracking open.

Ben's heart twisted at the sight of her tears, the fierce, independent girl in his arms reduced to this quiet devastation. He gathered her closer, maneuvering so she was half-draped over his chest, her cheek pressed to the steady thump of his heartbeat. One hand stroked her hair, fingers combing through the tangled waves with deliberate tenderness, while the other held her waist, anchoring her.

"Shh, I've got you," he murmured, his lips pressing to her forehead, lingering there as if he could absorb her pain.

Rey let the tears come then, silent streams tracing down her cheeks to dampen his skin. She clutched at his shoulder, nails digging in lightly, not in anger but in desperate need of connection. The room filled with the soft sounds of her muffled cries and his hushed reassurances—

"You're not alone anymore,"

"You're stronger than they know,"

"I'm here, Rey, right here." He rocked her gently, the motion instinctive, like cradling something precious and breakable.

Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, the emotional release leaving her spent but lighter, as if voicing the shadows had diminished their hold. Rey's sobs eased to hiccuping breaths, her body relaxing against his. She tilted her head up, meeting his gaze, and found his eyes shimmering with unshed tears of his own—a rare vulnerability from the man who usually exuded control.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, wiping at her face with the back of her hand, a watery smile tugging at her lips. "I didn't mean to—"

Ben shook his head, silencing her with a finger to her lips.

"Don't apologize. Thank you for trusting me with this." He leaned down, capturing her mouth in a slow, comforting kiss—no heat, just pure solace, his tongue gently coaxing hers in a dance of reassurance. When they parted, he rested his forehead against hers, breaths mingling.

"Your family... they don't define you. What you've built here, with your friends, with us—this is your home now, if you'll have it."

Rey nodded, fresh tears spilling but these ones softer, born of relief. She burrowed into him, the sheets whispering as they settled once more, his arms a fortress around her fragile heart. In the quiet aftermath, with the rain's lullaby outside, she felt seen, truly seen, for the first time in years. And in Ben's embrace, the wounds of her past began to mend, thread by careful thread.

 

The clock on Ben's nightstand ticked softly toward eleven, its glow casting a faint blue hue over the rumpled sheets and the two bodies entwined within them. Rey lay curled against Ben's side, her head pillowed on his chest, one leg draped lazily over his thigh. The conversation had meandered from her painful confessions to lighter whispers—shared laughs about school gossip, his dry anecdotes from past teaching gigs—but the intimacy of the hour pressed in, a reminder of the world waiting beyond his bedroom walls. The rain had fully stopped, leaving only the distant hum of crickets and the occasional creak of the house settling.

Rey shifted slightly, her fingers tracing the ridges of his abs absentmindedly, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. But as the minutes slipped by, a sigh escaped her lips, heavy with resignation.

"I should get back," she murmured, her voice soft but laced with reluctance. She lifted her head, propping her chin on his chest to meet his gaze, her hazel eyes reflecting the dim light like polished stones.

Ben's arm tightened around her waist, pulling her closer until her bare breasts pressed flush against his side. He didn't respond with words at first; instead, he tilted his head and pressed his lips to the curve of her neck, right where her pulse fluttered. The kiss was slow, deliberate, his mouth lingering as he inhaled the salty-sweet scent of her skin, still carrying traces of their earlier passion. His tongue flicked out, tasting her, and he felt her shiver in response.

"Stay," he whispered against her throat, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her. "Just a little longer."

Rey's breath hitched, her body betraying her even as her mind raced with practicalities—the curfew patrols on campus, Rose's inevitable questions if she slipped in too late. But Ben's mouth moved again, trailing open-mouthed kisses up to her jawline, his beard scraping lightly against her sensitivity. She arched into him instinctively, her hand sliding up to tangle in his dark hair, holding him there even as she protested weakly.

"Ben... it's late. If I'm caught sneaking back..."

He growled softly, the sound primal and possessive, as he rolled them both until she was pinned beneath him, his weight a comforting cage over her smaller frame. The sheets twisted around their hips, but he made no move to free them, his hands framing her face as he captured her lips in a deep, insistent kiss. His tongue delved into her mouth, exploring with the same hunger that had consumed them hours before, tasting the remnants of dinner and her own sweetness. Rey moaned into it, her resistance melting as her legs parted to cradle his hips, feeling the hard length of his cock stirring against her thigh.

When he finally broke the kiss, his forehead rested against hers, breaths coming in shared pants.

"I don't want you to go," he admitted, his dark eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her heart stutter. "Not tonight. Not ever, if I had my way."

His fingers traced her collarbone, dipping lower to circle one nipple until it pebbled under his touch. He watched her face, memorizing every flicker—the way her lashes fluttered, the flush creeping up her neck—as if committing her to memory against the inevitability of her leaving.

Rey swallowed, her body thrumming with renewed heat, but she placed a hand on his chest, feeling the rapid beat beneath her palm.

"I want to stay," she confessed, her voice breathy, "but Rose will worry. And if anyone sees me... we can't risk it." Even as she spoke, her hips shifted, grinding lightly against him, seeking friction that only heightened the ache building between her legs.

Ben's response was to dip his head again, his lips closing around her nipple, sucking gently at first, then harder, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak. Rey gasped, her back bowing off the mattress, fingers digging into his shoulders. He lavished attention on her breasts, alternating sides, his tongue swirling and lapping while one hand kneaded the soft flesh.

"Then let me convince you," he murmured between pulls, his free hand sliding down her body to cup her ass, squeezing possessively. His cock, now fully hard, nudged insistently at her entrance, the tip slick with pre-cum as it teased her folds.

She whimpered, torn between duty and desire, her pussy clenching emptily at the promise of him filling her again.

"Ben... please," she begged, though whether for him to stop or continue, she wasn't sure. He lifted his head, eyes blazing with obsession, and thrust forward slowly, inch by inch, burying himself deep inside her wet heat. Rey cried out, her walls stretching around his thick length, the sensation overwhelming after their earlier rounds—still tender, but craving more.

He held still once seated fully, grinding his hips in a slow circle that pressed his pubic bone against her clit, drawing a keening moan from her throat.

"Feel that?" he rasped, his voice strained with restraint. "That's how much I need you. Stay with me tonight. Let me fuck you until dawn, worship every inch of you until you forget about leaving." His hands roamed her body, mapping her curves—thumbs brushing her ribs, palms sliding over her hips—as he began to move, long, deliberate strokes that hit deep and dragged against her inner walls.

Rey's resolve crumbled under the onslaught, her legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer, heels digging into his back.

"Yes," she gasped, surrendering as he set a rhythm—steady at first, building to something fiercer, his thrusts punctuated by the wet slap of skin on skin. He kissed her neck again, sucking marks into her skin that she'd have to hide tomorrow, branding her as his. One hand slipped between them, fingers finding her clit and rubbing firm circles, heightening the pleasure until stars burst behind her eyelids.

They moved together in a haze of need, Ben's mouth everywhere—nipping her earlobe, licking the sweat from her collarbone, capturing her cries with bruising kisses. He drove into her harder, faster, his obsession pouring out in every grind, every possessive grip on her thigh. 'Mine,' he growled against her lips,

"all mine." Rey shattered first, her orgasm crashing over her in waves, pussy pulsing around his cock as she clawed at his back, nails leaving red trails.

Ben followed moments later, burying himself to the hilt and spilling hot cum deep inside her, marking her once more with his release. He collapsed over her, careful not to crush her, their bodies slick and spent. As their breathing evened, he nuzzled her neck, reluctance still heavy in his touch.

"Stay," he whispered one last time, but Rey shook her head gently, though her arms held him tight.

 

The drive back to campus was quiet, the engine of Ben's sleek black BMW humming steadily through the darkened streets. Rain-slicked roads reflected the occasional streetlamp, casting fleeting golden streaks across the dashboard. Rey sat in the passenger seat, her body still humming from their earlier exertions, wrapped in Ben's oversized joggers and hoodie. The soft gray fabric swallowed her frame, the drawstrings of the hood pulled loose around her neck, carrying his scent—musk and cedarwood—that clung to her like a second skin. She tugged the sleeves over her hands, fingers peeking out as she stole glances at him, the profile of his strong jaw illuminated by the glow of passing headlights.

Ben's hand rested on her thigh, thumb tracing lazy circles through the thick material, a possessive anchor that kept the warmth of their night alive. Neither spoke much; words felt unnecessary after the raw confessions and tangled limbs they'd shared. But as the familiar outline of the boarding school gates loomed in the distance, he slowed the car, pulling over to the curb a few blocks away, under the shadow of a cluster of ancient oaks. The engine idled low, the only sound breaking the night's hush.

He turned to her, his dark eyes searching her face in the dim interior light.

"Text me when you're back safe," he said, his voice a gravelly murmur, laced with the reluctance that had shadowed their goodbye. His fingers squeezed her thigh gently, then slid up to cup her cheek, thumb brushing her lower lip.

Rey nodded, leaning into his touch, her heart twisting at the impending separation.

"I will," she promised softly, her hazel eyes locking onto his. She unbuckled her seatbelt and shifted closer, closing the gap between them. Their lips met in a slow, lingering kiss—tongues brushing lazily, tasting the faint salt of sweat and the sweetness of shared breath. It deepened for a moment, her hand fisting in his shirt as if to pull him with her, but she forced herself to break away, forehead resting against his.

"See you tomorrow, Professor," she whispered, a teasing lilt in her voice that masked the ache in her chest. The title hung between them like a forbidden thrill, a reminder of the lines they crossed and the secrets they guarded.

Ben's lips quirked in a half-smile, but his gaze burned with intensity. "Go," he urged, though his hand lingered on her arm. "Before I change my mind and drag you back home."

With a final peck to his jaw, Rey slipped out of the car, the cool night air hitting her flushed skin like a splash of water. She shut the door softly, waving him off as his taillights disappeared around the corner. The joggers swished against her legs as she walked the remaining blocks, the hoodie's hem brushing her thighs, a makeshift shield against the chill. Her bare feet— she'd forgotten her shoes in the haste—padded quietly on the damp sidewalk, the grass wet underfoot as she cut across the edge of the campus lawn to avoid the main paths.

The dorm building loomed dark and silent, most windows blacked out at this hour. Rey slipped through the side entrance, the door creaking faintly before she eased it shut. Her heart pounded in her ears as she tiptoed up the stairs, avoiding the loose board on the second-floor landing that always squeaked.

She reached their room, turning the knob with agonizing slowness. Rose was sprawled on her bed, a tangle of limbs under the covers, her breathing deep and even—blessedly asleep. Rey exhaled in relief, peeling off the hoodie and folding it carefully before sliding out of the joggers. Underneath, she wore only her panties, her skin still marked with faint red imprints from Ben's grip. She grabbed a spare t-shirt from her drawer, pulling it over her head, the soft cotton whispering against her sensitive nipples.

Crawling into her own bed, the mattress dipped under her weight, and she burrowed under the blankets, the sheets cool against her warmed body. The room was pitch black, save for the sliver of moonlight sneaking through the curtains. Rey fished her phone from under her pillow, the screen blooming to life with a soft glow that illuminated her face—cheeks still rosy, lips swollen from kisses. Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard, a smile tugging at her mouth as she typed a quick message to Ben:

Back safe. Miss you already. Sweet dreams, Professor.

She hit send, watching the little checkmark appear, her pulse quickening at the thought of him reading it, perhaps still in bed, cock stirring at the memory of her.

The phone buzzed almost immediately, his reply popping up:

Dreaming of you. Lock your door.

She bit her lip, warmth pooling low in her belly, but before she could respond, a click sounded from the bedside lamp. Warm light flooded the room, casting long shadows across the walls. Rose sat up in bed, her dark hair tousled, eyes squinting against the sudden brightness. She rubbed her face, yawning as she focused on Rey.

"Where were you?" Rose asked, her voice thick with sleep but edged with concern. She pulled the blanket up to her chest, tilting her head as she studied her friend. The clock on the wall read just past midnight, the red digits glaring accusingly.

Rey froze for a split second, her phone screen still lit in her lap, but she schooled her expression into casual nonchalance. She set the device face-down on her thigh, propping herself up on one elbow.

"Library," she lied smoothly, the words tumbling out with practiced ease. "Catching up on some homework. Didn't realize the time—got lost in that English essay Ben assigned." Her voice was steady, laced with just enough exhaustion to sell it, her eyes wide and innocent under the lamp's glow.

Rose blinked, processing, then flopped back against her pillows with a groan.

"At midnight? You're insane, Rey. I was about to text Poe to see if you'd run off with some mystery guy again." She chuckled sleepily, reaching over to flick off the light. The room plunged back into darkness, the mattress creaking as she settled in. "Just... don't scare me like that. Get some sleep—we've got that chem lab first thing."

'It worked,' Rey thought, a rush of adrenaline mixing with guilt as she lay back down. The lie sat heavy in her chest, but necessity won out; Rose's snores resumed softly within minutes, the room falling quiet once more. Rey picked up her phone again, the glow softer now, and reread Ben's message, her fingers tracing the screen.

She typed back: Door's locked. Thinking about your hands on me. But she deleted it, opting for something tamer: Night.

As she drifted off, the fabric of Ben's hoodie—now tucked under her pillow—cradled her head, his scent lulling her into dreams of tangled sheets and whispered promises.

Chapter 6

The crisp autumn air had settled over the boarding school like a soft blanket, leaves crunching underfoot as students hurried between classes. The few weeks had blurred by in a haze of stolen moments and lingering glances—Rey and Ben navigating their forbidden rhythm with the precision of thieves in the night. Classes dragged on with electric undercurrents, his voice steady as he lectured on forbidden desires in literature, her eyes tracing the line of his shoulders from the back row. They'd met twice more in the shadows of his office after hours, bodies colliding in hushed urgency, but the distance between encounters only sharpened the ache. Rey carried his marks like badges under her uniform, faint bruises on her hips that she pressed against in quiet moments, remembering the growl of his possession.

Halloween loomed on the calendar, the campus buzzing with excitement for the annual dance in the old gymnasium. Pumpkins carved with flickering candles lined the walkways, and posters plastered every bulletin board, promising a night of masks, music, and mischief under the watchful eyes of faculty chaperones. Rey sat at their usual lunch table in the bustling cafeteria, the scent of greasy fries and overcooked pasta mingling with the chatter of hundreds of voices. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting warm patches on the scarred wooden tables. She picked at her salad, fork twirling a cherry tomato absentmindedly, her mind wandering to what Ben might think of her in costume—something daring, perhaps, to tease the boundaries they danced along.

Rose plopped down across from her, tray clattering with a burger and a side of tater tots. Her dark curls were pulled into a messy ponytail, and she wore a cropped sweater that showed a sliver of toned midriff, already embodying the confident energy that drew eyes wherever she went. Poe and Finn were a few tables over, arguing animatedly about the upcoming soccer match, their laughter booming over the din, but Rose ignored them, leaning forward with a conspiratorial grin.

"Okay," Rose said, popping a tot into her mouth and chewing thoughtfully. "Halloween dance is Friday? We need costumes that scream 'unforgettable.' No lame stuff like witches or zombies—been there, done that. I'm thinking something sexy and thematic. Like, what if we go as Victoria's Secret angels? Wings, garters, the whole deal. We'd own that gym."

Rey laughed, the sound light but genuine, pulling her back from her reverie. She set her fork down, wiping her hands on a napkin as she leaned in, mirroring Rose's enthusiasm. The idea sparked something playful in her, a brief escape from the weight of her secrets.

"Angels? You'd pull it off, no doubt—strutting around like you own the runway. But me? I'd look like a disheveled cherub after one too many spiked punches." She tilted her head, hazel eyes sparkling with mischief. "What about something edgier? Like, seductive vampires. Corsets, capes, fake blood. We could crash the dance like we're from some gothic novel Ben's probably assigning next week."

Rose's eyes lit up, and she snatched Rey's phone from the table, scrolling through costume ideas with rapid swipes.

"Vampires? Yes! Imagine the thigh-high boots and lace-up bodices. Poe would lose his mind—he's been eyeing you since that party, you know. And Finn... well, he'd just be happy to tag along as our brooding butler or something." She angled the screen toward Rey, showing a model in a deep red velvet dress that hugged curves like a lover's hands, the neckline plunging low enough to tease. "This. For you. Pair it with some smoky makeup and those contacts for fangs. Ben might even give you extra credit for 'immersive literature appreciation.'"

Rey's cheeks warmed at the mention of Ben, but she played it cool, snatching the phone back with a smirk.

"As if he'd notice. He's too busy glaring at anyone who whispers during class." The lie tasted familiar, but it shielded the truth—the way his gaze lingered on her during roll call, dark and knowing, or how he'd brushed his fingers against hers when handing back essays. She scrolled further, landing on a pair of matching outfits: siren-inspired, with shimmering scales on sheer fabric that left little to the imagination.

"Sirens? Luring sailors to their doom. We could do the hair all wild and wavy, add some shell necklaces. Dangerous and irresistible."

Rose snatched a fry from Rey's tray, dipping it in ketchup before nodding vigorously.

"Love it. But let's make it a duo— you as the temptress siren, me as the fierce warrior mermaid. Spears and all. Or wait, what if we sync up with the guys? Poe as a pirate, Finn as his first mate, and we're the captured treasures they 'rescue' on the dance floor." She waggled her eyebrows, her laughter bubbling up as she imagined the chaos. The cafeteria noise swelled around them—trays clinking, a group of freshmen giggling over ghost stories—but their bubble felt intimate, a rare moment of normalcy for Rey amid her tangled heart.

Rey grinned, but her mind drifted again, picturing Ben in the mix. Would he chaperone? Show up in a suit that hugged his broad frame, tie loosened just enough to hint at the man beneath the professor? The thought sent a shiver down her spine, pooling heat low in her belly. She imagined slipping away during the dance, his hand on her waist under the strobe lights, guiding her to a dark corner where masks could hide their faces but not their hunger.

"Whatever we pick, it has to be bold," she said finally, pushing the fantasy aside. "No holding back. Halloween's for letting loose, right?"

Rose raised her soda can in a mock toast. "To loose and loving it. Now, help me decide between the vampire fangs or the siren tail—practicality versus slayage." They dove deeper into the details, sketches on napkins turning into elaborate plans, the afternoon sun shifting as lunch stretched on. Poe wandered over mid-debate, sliding into the seat beside Rose with a wink, drawn by their animated whispers. "Costumes already? Count me in—I'll be whatever gets me dancing with you two." Finn followed, protesting that pirates were overdone, but the group dissolved into easy banter, the excitement of the night ahead weaving through their words.

For Rey, though, the conversation carried an undercurrent of anticipation beyond the dance. As the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch, she caught sight of Ben across the cafeteria, stacking papers at the faculty table. His eyes met hers for a fraction of a second—intense, unspoken—before he looked away. Her pulse quickened, the costume ideas now laced with possibility. What would lure him most? A siren calling from the depths, or a vampire sinking teeth into the forbidden? The week ahead promised more than tricks and treats; it whispered of secrets unraveling in the dark.

 

The cafeteria emptied out in waves as the lunch bell echoed through the halls, students shuffling trays and grabbing backpacks with the reluctant drag of post-meal lethargy. Rey lingered at the table, her half-eaten salad abandoned, while Rose stacked her tray with efficient clatters. Poe stretched his arms overhead, his soccer jersey riding up to reveal a strip of tanned abdomen, and Finn scrolled through his phone, muttering about the weather app predicting more rain. The group's energy hummed with the unfinished buzz of costume brainstorming, ideas still floating like confetti in the air.

Rose paused mid-stride, turning back to the table with a gleam in her eye that Rey recognized all too well—the spark of mischief that usually led to detentions or worse. She slung her bag over one shoulder, curls bouncing as she planted her hands on her hips.

"Guys, forget the slog of afternoon classes. It's basically torture—calc with Mr. Drudge droning on about derivatives? Pass. And English? Ben's brooding poetry session can wait." She glanced at Rey specifically, her voice dropping to a wheedling tone. "Come on, the dance is Friday. We have two days, Rey. Two days to nail these costumes and make sure we turn heads. Imagine strutting in without a single boring lecture weighing us down."

Rey hesitated, her fingers twisting the edge of her napkin. The afternoon lineup flashed in her mind: Ben's class, dissecting sonnets with that deep, resonant voice that always seemed to pull her in like gravity. Skipping meant missing his presence, the subtle brush of his eyes across the room, the way he'd call on her just enough to make her pulse stutter. But the pull of freedom tugged harder—time away from the desk, from the constant vigilance of their secret. Plus, the costumes... the thought of selecting something that could ignite Ben's gaze later sent a thrill through her. She bit her lip, glancing at Poe and Finn for backup.

Poe grinned, already on board, slinging his arm around Finn's shoulders.

"I'm in. Who needs quadratic equations when we could hit the arcade or grab some real food? Town's calling." Finn nodded, pocketing his phone with a shrug. "Yeah, why not? Rain or no rain, beats sitting through history again."

Rose zeroed in on Rey, stepping closer and clasping her hands in mock desperation. "Please? It'll be epic. We sneak out the side gate by the maintenance shed—no one's watching on Wednesdays. Victoria's Secret for the win—lingerie that makes those siren outfits pop. You know you want to. Begging here, Rey. Pretty please with sugar on top?"

The plea hung there, Rose's wide eyes and exaggerated pout cracking Rey's resolve. She laughed softly, the sound easing the knot in her chest.

"Fine, you win. But if we get caught, you're taking the blame." The decision settled like a spark, igniting the group's momentum. They gathered their things in a flurry, weaving through the thinning crowd toward the exit, hearts pounding with the illicit rush of rebellion.

The side gate creaked open under Poe's careful nudge, the chain-link fence rattling softly as they slipped through one by one. The maintenance shed loomed like a forgotten sentinel, its door ajar and spilling the faint scent of oil and rust. Beyond it, the school's perimeter fence gave way to a narrow path lined with overgrown hedges, leading to the quiet road that snaked into town. Rey glanced back once, the red-brick buildings of the campus fading into the misty afternoon haze, a pang of guilt mixing with excitement. Ben's class would start without her—would he notice? Mark her absent with that furrowed brow, or let it slide with quiet concern? The thought both stung and exhilarated.

They piled into Poe's beat-up Jeep, parked discreetly in the lot nearby—a perk of his off-campus privileges. Rose claimed shotgun, blasting a playlist of upbeat pop through the speakers as Poe revved the engine. Finn sprawled in the back with Rey, his knee bumping hers companionably as they bumped along the winding road. The town unfolded ahead: quaint shops with striped awnings, the central square dotted with benches and a bubbling fountain, the air crisp with the scent of fallen leaves and distant woodsmoke. Rain pattered lightly on the windshield, turning the world into a watercolor blur, but it did nothing to dampen their spirits.

"First stop: fuel," Poe announced, pulling into a drive-thru for sodas and fries, the group devouring the greasy haul while parked under a dripping oak. Laughter filled the car—Finn recounting a disastrous group project from last year, Rose teasing Poe about his secret love for cheesy rom-coms. Rey leaned against the window, watching the droplets race down the glass, her mind drifting to Ben. Would he text her later, probing about her absence? The secrecy of it all wrapped around her like a second skin, thrilling and precarious.

They split off in the town square, Poe and Finn heading to the sporting goods store for 'inspiration' on pirate accessories—eye patches and toy swords, no doubt—while Rose linked arms with Rey, steering her toward the glowing pink storefront of Victoria's Secret. The shop's windows beckoned with mannequins draped in lace and silk, strategically lit to highlight plunging necklines and sheer panels that promised allure. A faint chime greeted them as they pushed through the door, the air inside warm and scented with vanilla and jasmine, soft music pulsing from hidden speakers.

Rose dove in like a woman on a mission, beelining for the lingerie racks.

"Okay, siren vibes mean something shimmery, maybe with a touch of naughty. Think straps that tease, fabrics that cling just right." She plucked a black lace bralette from the display, holding it up to Rey's chest with a critical eye. "This on you? Killer. Pair it with those high-waisted panties—the ones with the pearl details. Heads will roll."

Rey flushed at the casual mention, but the shop's intimate atmosphere loosened her inhibitions. She trailed her fingers over a row of teddies, the material cool and inviting, imagining Ben's hands tracing the edges later, in the dim light of his room.

"What about this?" she countered, pulling a deep emerald set—bra with delicate straps that crisscrossed the back, matching thong with a subtle shimmer. "Mermaid scales, but sexier. Feels like it could lure anyone in."

They rummaged through the aisles, trying on pieces in the curtained fitting rooms, emerging in turns to model for each other. Rose slipped into a red corset that cinched her waist and pushed up her breasts, twirling with a dramatic flourish.

"How's this for warrior mermaid? Fierce enough to spear a heart." Rey laughed, then ducked back to try the emerald set, the lace hugging her curves like a whisper, the thong riding high on her hips. She stepped out, the mirror reflecting a version of herself that felt bold, empowered—the fabric sheer enough to hint at skin beneath, straps framing her collarbones.

"Hot," Rose declared, circling her like an appraiser. "the boys would combust if they saw you in that. Add some fishnet stockings, and you're unstoppable." They piled selections onto the counter, chatting with the sales associate about sizing and care, the transaction a blur of plastic bags rustling with tissue-wrapped treasures. Outside, the rain had eased to a drizzle, the town streets glistening under streetlamps as dusk crept in early.

Poe and Finn met them at a nearby café, arms laden with bags of their own—Poe waving a feathered hat triumphantly.

"Pirate chic achieved. Your turn to spill—what'd you score?"

Rose winked, clutching her pink bag close. "Secrets for the siren sisters. But trust me, Friday's going to be legendary."

As they piled back into the Jeep, the sky darkening to a bruised purple, Rey's phone buzzed in her pocket. A text from Ben:

Missed you in class. Everything alright?

Her thumb hovered, a smile curving her lips. The afternoon's escape had been worth it—the lingerie a hidden promise, the skip a small defiance. She typed back quickly:

All good. Adventure day. See you soon?

The reply came almost instantly:

Count on it.

The drive back to campus thrummed with anticipation, the group's chatter fading into the rhythm of tires on wet pavement, Halloween's eve drawing closer with every mile.

 

The library at the boarding school was a sanctuary of hushed whispers and the faint rustle of turning pages, its high ceilings arched like the ribs of some ancient beast, lined with shelves that stretched toward the heavens. Sunlight filtered through tall, arched windows in golden shafts, dust motes dancing lazily in the beams, while the scent of aged paper and polished wood hung heavy in the air. It was Thursday afternoon, the day after their rebellious skip into town, and the campus buzzed with the pre-Halloween frenzy—posters for the dance plastered on every bulletin board, whispers of costume reveals echoing down the halls. But Rey sought refuge here, away from the chaos, carving out a pocket of quiet amid the storm.

She claimed her favorite spot in the back corner, a worn oak table tucked between towering stacks of literature and history tomes. Her tray from the cafeteria balanced precariously on the edge—a simple sandwich of turkey and swiss on rye, an apple sliced into wedges, and a thermos of chamomile tea steaming faintly. The food was an afterthought, really; her appetite had been sporadic since yesterday's adventure, her mind too tangled in thoughts of lace and longing to focus on much else. She unwrapped the sandwich with deliberate slowness, taking a bite that crunched satisfyingly, the flavors grounding her as she settled into the wooden chair.

Earbuds slipped into place, the cord trailing from her phone like a lifeline. She tapped play on her playlist—a mix of soft music around her like a loving embrace. The first track swelled, a haunting melody with lyrics about hidden desires and midnight confessions, syncing perfectly with the rhythm of her pulse. Rey leaned back, propping her feet on the opposite chair, and cracked open her book: a dog-eared copy of Wuthering Heights, the pages yellowed from countless rereads. Heathcliff's brooding passion mirrored her own tangled emotions, the wild moors a stand-in for the forbidden paths she tread with Ben.

As she chewed another bite of sandwich, her thoughts drifted unbidden to the pink bag hidden under her bed, the emerald lingerie still crisp in its tissue wrapping. The memory of slipping into it yesterday, the lace whispering against her skin in the fitting room mirror, sent a warm flush creeping up her neck. What would Ben's reaction be? His dark eyes darkening further, hands rough yet reverent as they traced the straps, peeling them away to claim what lay beneath. She shifted in her seat, crossing her legs to quell the sudden ache, the music's bassline thrumming in time with her quickening breath. The library's silence amplified her solitude, making the fantasy feel almost tangible, as if he might appear from behind the stacks at any moment.

Outside, the world moved on without her. Rose, Finn, and Poe had thrown themselves into the Halloween dance committee with the fervor of planners obsessed. Rose had texted earlier, a flurry of emojis accompanying her update: Committee meeting in the gym—decorations are a nightmare! Poe's arguing over fog machines, Finn's sketching pumpkin carvings. Wish us luck!

Rey had smiled at her phone, typing back a quick thumbs-up before silencing notifications. It was their element, the trio's—Rose's infectious energy directing the chaos, Poe's charisma charming volunteers into hauling tables, Finn's steady hand sketching layouts that turned scribbles into visions. The dance was their baby, a glittering escape from exams and routines, and Rey admired their dedication even as she cherished this alone time.

She turned a page, the story pulling her deeper. Catherine's fiery spirit echoed Rey's own defiance, the push-pull of love and societal chains hitting too close to home. Another sip of tea warmed her from the inside, the herbal notes soothing the faint edge of loneliness that crept in.

The apple wedge crunched between her teeth, juice sweet and tart on her tongue. She paused the music briefly to adjust her earbuds, the library's ambient sounds filtering in: the distant flip of pages from a study group across the room, the soft creak of a cart as the librarian wheeled it past. No one disturbed her corner; it was her invisible fortress. Resuming the playlist, a slower track filled her ears—velvet vocals crooning about surrender and touch, the kind that left marks on the soul. Rey's free hand traced idle patterns on the table's grain, imagining Ben's fingers instead, callused from grading papers, mapping her skin with possessive intent.

Time blurred in the cocoon of her reading. Chapters slipped by, Heathcliff's rage and longing a dark companion to her reverie. She finished the sandwich, the crusts pushed aside, and nibbled the last apple slice while jotting notes in the margins—passages that spoke of obsession, of loves that defied reason. It was cathartic, this immersion, a way to process the whirlwind of her life: the friends who anchored her, the professor who consumed her, the dance looming like a promise of masked freedoms. Rose would drag her into the committee frenzy later, no doubt, but for now, this was enough—solitude seasoned with secrets, the music a private symphony to her hidden desires.

As the afternoon light slanted lower, casting long shadows across the floor, Rey's phone vibrated once against the table. She glanced down, heart skipping at Ben's name on the screen:

Come meet me?

A smile tugged at her lips, the book's passion paling against the real one awaiting. She typed back swiftly, the earbuds still humming:

Yes.

 

The hallways of the English building were mostly empty now, classes winding down as students spilled toward dorms or the quad. Rey's footsteps echoed softly on the polished linoleum, her skirt swishing against her thighs with each step. She rounded the corner toward his office, heart pounding in sync with the lingering beat of her playlist, when voices drifted from the half-open door ahead—light, feminine laughter that sliced through the air like a misplaced note.

She slowed, curiosity pulling her to a halt just out of sight, peeking around the edge of the corridor where shadows pooled from the overhead lights. There, framed in the doorway of Ben's office, stood Miss Potts. The attractive history teacher, with her sleek bob haircut and curves accentuated by a fitted blouse and pencil skirt, leaned in close to Ben. Her hand rested on his arm, fingers tracing a lazy circle over the fabric of his shirt sleeve, her giggle bubbling up again like champagne fizz. Ben stood there, towering and dark-haired, his posture relaxed but his eyes—those intense eyes Rey knew so well—fixed on her with a smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"So how about dinner Saturday?" Miss Potts purred, her voice dripping with invitation, tilting her head to expose the curve of her neck. She stepped closer, her body language screaming intent, the kind of flirtation that Rey had only ever directed at him in stolen moments.

Rey froze, her breath catching in her throat like ice. The book slipped from her fingers, thudding softly to the floor, but she didn't bend to pick it up. How could she have been so stupid? Weeks—endless, heated weeks—of tangled sheets and whispered promises, of his body claiming hers in ways that left her breathless and marked. The late nights in his house, the office desk creaking under their weight, the way he'd worshipped her skin with lips and tongue until she shattered. All of it, building this fragile empire of secrecy, and now this? Miss Potts, with her polished confidence and shared faculty lounge chats, dangling dinner like a lure he might bite.

Ben's gaze shifted then, locking onto Rey's from across the hall. His smile faltered, just a fraction, surprise flickering in those dark depths before something unreadable settled there—guilt? Amusement? It didn't matter. Rage boiled up in Rey's chest, hot and vicious, twisting her stomach into knots. Upset crashed in behind it, a wave of betrayal that stung her eyes with unshed tears. How many times had she snuck out, lied to Rose, risked everything for these moments? And for what—to watch him entertain this? Her mind raced with images: his hands on Miss Potts instead, exploring, gripping, the same reverence he'd shown Rey now lavished elsewhere.

She clenched her fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms to anchor the storm inside. No scene, not here, not with witnesses potentially lurking. Control it, she told herself, the words a mantra as her pulse thundered in her ears. Slowly, deliberately, she backed away, one step, then another, her eyes never leaving Ben's until the angle broke their stare. The hallway blurred at the edges as she turned, retrieving her book with trembling hands from the floor, clutching it like a shield. Her dorm—safety, solitude—called to her now, a retreat from the wreckage.

The walk back felt endless, each footfall heavy with the weight of shattered illusions. She kept her head down, avoiding the clusters of students chatting about the dance, their excitement a mocking contrast to the turmoil churning within. By the time she reached her room, the door clicking shut behind her, the rage had simmered to a dull ache, laced with a sharp edge of hurt. Rose was still out with the committee, the space empty and echoing. Rey sank onto her bed, the mattress dipping under her weight, and buried her face in her hands.

Chapter 7

The mirror in their dorm room reflected a girl Rey barely recognized—cheeks flushed from the jello shots Rose had whipped up earlier, eyes smudged with the first layers of kohl that promised smoky allure by night's end. It was the next day, the air thick with the anticipation of the party that loomed like a glittering escape. The Halloween dance had morphed into something bigger in the campus whispers: a full-blown bash at the old community hall downtown, costumes mandatory, punch laced with whatever contraband the upperclassmen could smuggle in. Rey's phone had been off since yesterday afternoon, shoved into the depths of her drawer like a discarded secret, its silence a deliberate barrier against the world—and against him.

She'd ignored Ben at all costs. The memory of Miss Potts's hand on his arm, that giggly invitation for Saturday dinner, replayed in her mind like a looped nightmare. How naive she'd been, letting herself fall into those stolen nights, his body pressing her into the mattress, his breath hot against her ear as he murmured her name like a prayer. Weeks of it—his fingers tracing the lace of her panties before ripping them aside, his cock thrusting deep until she clawed at his back, begging for more. And for what? To stumble upon this betrayal in the hallway, his eyes meeting hers with that flicker of something she couldn't name. Guilt? Or just the casual indifference of a man juggling options?

English class that morning had been torture. Ben's voice, deep and commanding as always, droned on about symbolism in Lady Chatterley's Lover, the irony twisting like a knife in her gut. He'd chosen that book, for fuck's sake—themes of forbidden desire and class-crossed passion mirroring their own mess too closely. Rey had stared at her notebook, pen idle, refusing to meet his gaze even when he called on her twice. Her answers came out clipped, mechanical, her mind elsewhere, replaying the scene outside his office. After the bell, he'd lingered by the door, his broad frame blocking the exit as students filed out.

"Rey, a word after class," he'd said, voice low, laced with that authoritative edge that usually sent heat pooling between her thighs. But not today. She'd shouldered past him, muttering something about a committee meeting, her heart hammering as she fled down the corridor, Rose trailing behind with a questioning look.

Now, in the dim glow of the desk lamp, Rose perched on the edge of Rey's bed, a palette of eyeshadows spread out like war paint. The room smelled of vanilla body spray and the faint, boozy tang of the jello shots—Rose's "special recipe," neon green and deceptively sweet, hidden in plastic cups on the windowsill. Rey sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the full-length mirror propped against the wall, her costume half-assembled: a black lace corset top that hugged her breasts, pushing them up into soft cleavage, paired with a short plaid skirt that barely skimmed her thighs. Fishnet stockings clung to her legs, garters peeking out when she shifted, and her hair—still damp from a quick shower—hung in loose waves that Rose was now sectioning off with clips.

"Hold still, babe," Rose instructed, her fingers deft as she wove a braid through Rey's chestnut locks, twisting it with ribbons of red silk to match the devilish theme they'd settled on. Rose herself was going as a seductive witch, her own makeup already half-done: bold red lips, a smudge of green shadow to evoke potion stains. She was in her element, chattering away about the party's potential—Poe's rumored costume as a pirate, Finn's awkward attempts at dancing, the chance to snag a cute guy for a midnight makeout in the shadows.

"You're gonna kill it tonight," Rose said, leaning in to blend blush across Rey's cheekbones. "That corset? Deadly. Who's the lucky victim?"

Rey forced a laugh, the sound bubbling up fizzy from the alcohol already warming her veins. Three jello shots down, and the edges of her anger softened just enough to breathe.

"No victims. Just... dancing. Letting loose." She took another sip from her cup, the jiggle of the gelatin teasing her tongue before the vodka bite followed. It burned pleasantly, numbing the ache in her chest. Her phone stayed dark, off-limits; no texts from Ben to tempt her, no voicemails pleading or demanding. Good. Let him stew. Let him wonder why she'd ghosted, why her eyes had dodged his all day. The thought of him pacing his office, hard and frustrated from their unfinished tension, sent a traitorous spark through her core, but she shoved it down, focusing on the mirror's reflection.

Rose paused, brush hovering mid-air, her dark eyes narrowing in the glass.

"Okay, spill. You've been weird since yesterday. Zoning out in class, ditching Ben's chat request like it was poison. What's up? Guy trouble? Or is it that hot TA from chem again?" She resumed brushing, the strokes gentle but insistent, pulling Rey's hair into an artful updo with loose tendrils framing her face. The room felt cozy, cluttered with costume pieces—fake horns for Rey's devil look, a pointed hat for Rose, scattered heels and jewelry on the rug. Outside, the campus stirred with pre-party energy: laughter echoing from open windows, the distant thump of bass testing sound systems.

Rey hesitated, the jello shots loosening her tongue just a fraction.

"It's nothing. Just... saw something I shouldn't have." She watched Rose's reflection, the way her friend's brows furrowed in concern. They were close like sisters—Rose with her endless hookups and no-regrets vibe, Rey with her guarded heart now cracked open by Ben's touch. But spilling about a professor? The risk of judgment, even from Rose, kept her lips sealed. Instead, she pivoted, grabbing a tube of lipstick—deep crimson, perfect for her costume.

"Pass the mascara? I want lashes for days."

Rose handed it over, but her gaze lingered, probing.

"If it's a guy, you know you can tell me. We're ride-or-dies. Remember that time with the frat boy at the spring formal? I covered for you all night."

She chuckled, the memory lightening the air, and moved to curl a strand of Rey's hair around her finger, securing it with a pin adorned with tiny devil tails. The alcohol made everything feel distant, the betrayal a hazy shadow rather than a sharp stab. Rey applied the mascara in slow strokes, her hands steady despite the buzz, imagining the party: bodies pressed close on the dance floor, strobe lights flashing over sweat-slicked skin, the anonymity of masks letting her forget.

As Rose dusted highlighter across Rey's collarbones, enhancing the glow of her skin, the conversation shifted to safer ground—costume critiques, who might show up single, the playlist rumors of throwback hits mixed with bass-heavy remixes. Rey's tipsiness deepened with each passing minute, the jello shots' warmth spreading to her limbs, making her giggle at Rose's impressions of Poe's swagger. But beneath it, the ignore-Ben resolve held firm. No checking her phone, no wondering if he'd text once she turned it on. The party would be her reset—dancing until her thighs ached, maybe flirting with a stranger to drown out the echo of Ben's groans in her ear, the way he'd pinned her wrists and fucked her slow and deep.

The clock ticked closer to departure, the dorm hallway filling with the shuffle of costumed students. Rose stepped back, admiring her work: Rey's hair a cascade of braids and curls, makeup transforming her into a temptress—eyes lined sharp, lips pouty and red, the corset cinched to accentuate her waist and the swell of her breasts.

"Perfection,"

Rose declared, snapping a quick selfie of them both. Rey stood, smoothing her skirt, the fabric whispering against her skin. Tipsy resolve settled in: tonight, she'd lose herself in the crowd, far from Ben's reach, the hurt tucked away like her silenced phone. But as they grabbed their bags and headed for the door, a flicker of doubt lingered—what if he showed? What if those eyes found hers across the room, pulling her back into the fire she'd tried so hard to escape?

 

The dorm hallway buzzed with chaos as Rey and Rose stepped out, arm in arm, the door clicking shut behind them like a final punctuation on their preparations. Costumed figures darted past—zombies with fake blood streaking their faces, sexy nurses in thigh-high boots, a cluster of superheroes arguing over who got the best cape. The air carried the sharp scent of cheap perfume mixed with hairspray, and laughter ricocheted off the walls, high-pitched and electric. Rey's heels clicked against the linoleum, her short plaid skirt swaying with each step, the fishnets pulling taut over her thighs. The jello shots still hummed in her bloodstream, a fizzy undercurrent that made the world tilt just enough to feel adventurous rather than overwhelming. Rose, in her witch getup—a slinky black dress with a plunging neckline and a wide-brimmed hat tilted jauntily—linked elbows with her, chattering about the playlist they'd overheard snippets of: thumping bass lines from old-school hip-hop bleeding into sultry R&B remixes.

The walk to the community hall felt endless yet fleeting, the campus paths lit by strings of orange Halloween lights strung between lampposts, casting flickering shadows that danced like imps. Groups of students converged, merging into a loose parade toward downtown, the night air crisp with the bite of autumn leaves crunching underfoot. Rey's mind wandered despite Rose's nonstop commentary on potential hookups—Poe's dimpled smile, Finn's surprising dance moves from last year's formal. But Rey's thoughts snagged on sharper edges: Ben's hand on Miss Potts's waist in her imagination, the way he'd dismissed her with that casual glance yesterday. Lies. Everyone lied—her father with his radio silence, her mother with her new family, Ben with his whispered promises between thrusts. She couldn't give any more fucks. Graduation loomed next summer like a lifeline, a ticket out of this pressure cooker of secrets and small-town scandals. Freedom. No more hiding, no more craving what broke her.

Rose squeezed her arm, pulling her from the spiral.

"Earth to Rey? You're brooding again. Save it for the after-party comedown." They reached the hall's entrance, a squat brick building transformed for the night: cobwebs draped over the awning, jack-o'-lanterns grinning from the steps, the muffled throb of music vibrating through the doors. A line snaked out, but Rose waved at a familiar face—a senior with a vampire cape—who ushered them past with a wink. Before they crossed the threshold, Rose tugged Rey into the shadows beside a overgrown hedge, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

"One last boost? My magic powder's calling your name."

She fished a small vial from her bra, the clear glass catching the streetlight's glow, filled with a fine white powder that Rose swore was pure confidence in crystalline form—'Courage,' she called it, a street-bought pick-me-up that sharpened edges without the crash. Rey hesitated for a beat, the rational part of her brain flickering like a dying bulb, but the tipsiness and the raw ache in her chest won out. Why not? Let the night blur into oblivion. Rose knelt, pulling a tiny mirror from her purse along with a razor blade, tapping out two neat lines on the glass. The powder glittered like fresh snow, innocent until it hit.

"You first," Rose urged, handing Rey a rolled-up bill—crisp from her wallet. Rey bent down, the cool night air kissing her exposed skin as her skirt rode up slightly. She snorted the line in one quick inhale, the burn racing up her nostrils like fire ants, then blooming into a rush that lit her veins. Clarity snapped into place, sharp and unyielding, washing away the fog of doubt. Her heart pounded faster, syncing with the bass leaking from inside, and suddenly the world felt conquerable—Ben's betrayal just a footnote, her loneliness a temporary glitch. Rose followed suit, her second line vanishing with a satisfied sniff, then she packed it away, standing with a grin that split her face.

"There we go. Demons begone."

They pushed through the doors into a wall of heat and sound, the hall transformed into a cavern of pulsing lights and writhing bodies. Strobe flashes cut through the dimness, painting faces in electric blue and crimson, while fog machines churned out misty clouds that clung to skin like a lover's breath. The dance floor dominated the center, a sea of costumes grinding to the rhythm—a remix of some 90s club anthem that had everyone moving in sync. Tables lined the walls, laden with bowls of neon punch and platters of finger foods going uneaten, the air thick with the mingle of sweat, spilled drinks, and that unmistakable undercurrent of illicit smoke wafting from the corners.

Poe spotted them first, waving from a cluster near the bar area, his pirate costume a haphazard affair: eye patch askew, a plastic sword tucked into his belt, and a tricorn hat perched on his tousled hair. Finn flanked him, dressed as a gladiator in a bedsheet toga that barely contained his broad shoulders, looking equal parts amused and out of place.

"Ladies!" Poe bellowed over the music, pulling them into the group with bear hugs that smelled of cologne and faint weed. Rose laughed, planting a kiss on Poe's cheek that left a red lip print, while Rey hung back a fraction, the powder's edge making her hyper-aware of every touch, every glance.

"What's the damage?" Finn asked, nodding at their flushed faces. Poe slung his backpack off one shoulder, unzipping it with a flourish to reveal a half-full bottle of rum, amber liquid sloshing invitingly.

"Captain's stash," he said, unscrewing the cap and taking a swig before passing it to Rose. The burn hit Rey's throat next, smooth yet fiery as she tilted it back—two long pulls that settled warm in her belly, mingling with the jello shots and the powder's spark. It chased away the last remnants of hesitation, her body loosening into the party's embrace. Finn took his turn, coughing lightly, then Poe reclaimed it, toasting the group with a dramatic flourish.

"To Halloween—may our regrets be few and our hangovers legendary!"

The rum buzzed through Rey like liquid fire, amplifying the powder's clarity into something euphoric, her skin tingling as if the music pulsed directly into her veins. No more fucks to give—let Ben chase shadows; she was here, alive, surrounded by friends who didn't demand her soul in exchange for scraps of affection. Graduation next summer: a countdown to escape, to a life where she called the shots. Rose, ever the instigator, grabbed Rey's hand mid-swig, her witch hat tipping precariously.

"Enough lurking. Dance floor, now!"

She dragged Rey into the throng, the crowd parting then swallowing them whole. Bodies pressed close—elbows brushing, hips bumping in the crush— the strobe lights fracturing into shards of color that made everything surreal. The song shifted to something heavier, bass dropping low and insistent, vibrating up through Rey's heels into her core. Rose spun her around, their laughter lost in the din, hands linking as they moved. Rey let go, hips swaying, skirt flaring with each twist, the fishnets rasping against her thighs. Sweat beaded on her collarbones, the corset constricting just enough to heighten the thrill, her hair whipping loose from its braids as she threw her head back.

Poe and Finn joined soon after, the group forming a loose circle amid the chaos, passing the rum bottle like a ritual. Rey took another swig when it came her way, the alcohol loosening her limbs further, the powder keeping her sharp—every grind of the crowd, every flash of light etching into her senses. She danced with abandon, grinding against Rose in playful exaggeration, then pulling Poe in for a twirl that had him whooping. Finn shuffled awkwardly at the edges, but even he cracked a smile, the energy infectious. The hall spun around them, a whirlwind of masks and makeup, anonymous touches in the dark corners, but Rey stayed in the center, lost in the rhythm, the lies of her life fading to static. For this moment, she was free—tipsy, powdered, rum-soaked, and utterly unburdened.

 

The hours blurred into a haze of strobe lights and pounding rhythms, the community hall a pressure cooker of sweat-slicked skin and reckless abandon. Rey's world narrowed to the thump of the bass vibrating through her chest, each beat syncing with the rapid-fire pulse in her temples from the powder and rum. Her skirt clung damply to her thighs, the fishnets laddered in places from the crush of bodies, but she didn't notice—didn't care. High and drunk, she rode the wave, her laughter sharp and uninhibited as Rose twirled her again, their hands clasped in a sticky grip. The witch hat had long since tumbled off, kicked somewhere into the fray, and Rose's black dress rode up with every hip shake, exposing the curve of her ass to the appreciative whistles from nearby dancers.

Across the room, Ben Solo lurked in the shadows near the bar, his tall frame half-hidden by a pillar draped in fake cobwebs. He'd arrived late, slipping in unnoticed amid the chaos, his dark eyes fixed on the dance floor like a predator staking out prey. No costume for him—just his usual black button-down rolled to the elbows, exposing forearms corded with tension, and slacks that did little to hide the rigid line of his arousal when he caught sight of Rey. But tonight, fury simmered beneath that hunger, hot and unyielding. He'd watched her all evening: the way she ground against Rose in playful exaggeration, her head thrown back in ecstasy, skirt flipping up to flash the lace of her panties. It was nothing—a girls' night out, harmless fun in the anonymity of the crowd. But to Ben, it was everything. A taunt. A reminder of how easily she slipped from his grasp, dancing on the edge of what was his.

He gripped his untouched beer bottle tighter, the glass cool against his palm, knuckles whitening. Miss Potts had cornered him in his office, her hand lingering on his arm, breath warm against his ear as she suggested they 'celebrate' the holiday with a private drink. Her blouse had been unbuttoned just enough to tease the swell of her breasts, her lips curved in invitation. Ben had shut it down cold—'Not interested,' he'd said, voice flat, stepping back until she flushed and retreated. It meant nothing to him; she was a distraction, a pale shadow compared to Rey's fire. But Rey didn't know. She hadn't answered his texts, hadn't met his eyes in the hallway glimpses. And now this—her body twisting to the music, lost in the high, oblivious to the storm she brewed in him.

Rey's vision swam with the lights, colors bleeding into one another as the DJ dropped into a slower, sultrier track—a remix of some R&B hit that had the crowd slowing, bodies pressing closer in the humid dark. Rose pulled her in, their foreheads nearly touching, breaths mingling with the scent of rum and vanilla body spray.

"You're killing it tonight," Rose shouted over the music, her hands sliding down Rey's sides in encouragement, fingers brushing the hem of her corset. Rey grinned, sloppy and wide, the powder sharpening every sensation: the slide of fabric against her skin, the heat radiating from the bodies around them, the faint ache between her legs that whispered of Ben even as she drowned it out.

She was too far gone to care about tomorrow's regrets or the lies piling up like autumn leaves. High and drunk, the world felt soft at the edges, her inhibitions shredded. Graduation next summer—fuck, it couldn't come soon enough. No more sneaking, no more heartbreak. Just this: the pulse of the party, friends who didn't demand pieces of her soul. Rose spun away for a moment, snagging a fresh cup of punch from a passing tray, downing it in one go before thrusting another into Rey's hand. The liquid burned sweet down her throat, spiking the buzz higher, her limbs heavy yet fluid as she swayed back into the rhythm.

That's when Poe swooped in, materializing from the crowd like a pirate claiming treasure. His eye patch had slipped down his cheek, hat long gone, shirt unbuttoned to reveal the lean muscles of his chest glistening with sweat.

"My turn!" he yelled, grabbing Rey's waist with both hands, pulling her flush against him without preamble. She stumbled a step, laughing as the world tilted, but she didn't pull away—too drunk to care, too high to parse the flicker of unease beneath the fun. Poe's hands were warm and sure, guiding her hips to match his, his thigh slipping between her legs in the press of the dance. He smelled of rum and salt, his breath hot on her neck as he leaned in, murmuring something lost to the music—probably a joke about her schoolgirl outfit driving him wild.

Rey let her body move with his, grinding back instinctively, the friction sending sparks up her spine. It wasn't Ben—Poe's touch was light, playful, lacking the possessive edge that made her knees weak—but in this moment, it didn't matter. She closed her eyes, head lolling against his shoulder, the powder making every brush of skin electric. Poe's fingers dug into her hips, pulling her closer, his erection pressing insistent against her ass through his pants. She felt it, registered the hardness, but the alcohol dulled the alarm, turning it into just another sensation in the overload.

"You're trouble, Kenobi" he teased, voice rough in her ear, one hand sliding up to toy with the lace of her corset.

From his vantage point, Ben saw it all—the way Poe's body slotted against hers, hands roaming, Rey's laughter bubbling up unresisting. Fury ignited in his chest, a white-hot blaze that had him shoving the beer aside, bottle clattering against the bar. It was nothing, he told himself, jaw clenched so tight it ached. Just dancing. But to him, it was a violation, a theft of what he'd claimed in the dark of his bed, her moans echoing in his ears. He'd worshipped her body, buried himself deep until she shattered around him, whispering her name like a prayer. And now this? Her arching into another man's touch, oblivious to the storm she'd unleashed?

He pushed through the crowd, shoulders bumping costumed strangers who scattered like leaves in his wake. The air thickened with the press of bodies, but Ben's focus tunneled on Rey—her flushed cheeks, the way her lips parted on a gasp as Poe spun her, skirt flaring to expose the pale skin above her fishnets. Rage coiled in his gut, mixing with the ever-present hunger, his cock twitching painfully against his zipper. He wanted to drag her out, pin her to the wall in the alley, remind her with thrusts and bites who she belonged to. But he held back, just barely, reaching the edge of the dance floor, eyes locked on her like a brand.

Rose noticed him first, her eyes widening over Rey's shoulder as she danced nearby with Finn, who was clumsily attempting a two-step. She nudged Rey, but the words didn't penetrate the haze—Rey was lost, swaying with Poe, her hands on his chest for balance as he dipped her low, his face inches from her cleavage. The song built to a crescendo, bodies grinding in unison, and Poe pulled her up, capturing her mouth in a quick, rum-tasting kiss that she returned on autopilot, too blitzed to protest or savor.

Ben's vision hazed red. Enough. He stepped forward, the crowd parting instinctively before his glare, and tapped Poe's shoulder—hard.

"Mind if I cut in?" His voice was low, laced with steel, the words more command than question. Poe straightened, blinking through the sweat, recognition dawning as he clocked the professor's stormy expression.

"Solo? Uh, sure, man." He released Rey with a reluctant grin, clapping Ben on the back before melting into the throng, leaving her swaying unsteadily.

Rey blinked up at him, the world refocusing through the fog. Ben—here, in the dim light, his face a mask of controlled fury, dark eyes boring into hers. Her stomach flipped, a mix of thrill and dread cutting through the high.

"What the—" she started, but he was already pulling her close, one arm banding around her waist, the other hand claiming her hip with bruising force. The music shifted again, faster now, but Ben didn't dance—he held her there, bodies locked in the crowd, his erection grinding deliberate against her belly as he leaned down, lips brushing her ear.

"You think you can tease me like this?" he growled, voice vibrating through her. "Dancing with him, letting him touch what's mine?" His fingers dug in, possessive, the anger in his tone laced with raw need. Rey's breath hitched, the powder amplifying the heat pooling low in her core, her body responding despite the swirl of emotions—betrayal, desire, the sharp edge of his jealousy. She pressed closer, defiant even in her drunken state, her nails scraping lightly down his back.

"What's yours?" Rey scoffed, her voice cutting sharp over the bassline, lips curling in a sneer that didn't quite hide the hurt twisting beneath. Her nails dug into the fabric of his shirt, pushing harder, but he didn't budge—his body a solid wall of muscle and barely leashed fury. The words hung between them, a challenge thrown like a gauntlet, her eyes locking onto his with a fire that matched the storm in his gaze.

Ben's jaw tightened, his dark eyes narrowing to slits, the vein in his neck pulsing visibly. He leaned in closer, his free hand sliding up to tangle in the hair at the nape of her neck, not pulling yet but threatening.

"You are a drug to me Rey" he murmured, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper that sent shivers racing down her spine. But Rey wasn't having it—not tonight, not after the jealousy that had clawed at her all day, imagining his hands on that redheaded bitch, his mouth on hers.

"You are full of shit," she snapped, the words exploding out like gunfire, her palm slamming flat against his chest again. She pushed with all the force her drunken limbs could muster, creating just enough space to slip half a step back, her skirt swirling around her thighs. The fishnets whispered against her skin, laddered from the night's chaos, and she felt exposed, vulnerable under his stare—but the anger armored her, hot and unyielding.

"Get off me," she warned, her tone low and venomous, eyes darting to the faces around them. No one noticed; the dancers were lost in their own worlds, hips grinding, laughter rising in waves. The chaperones lingered at the edges, distracted by a group of freshmen spiking the punch bowl.

Ben's response was immediate, instinctive—a flash of raw possession that overrode reason. His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around her wrist in a vise grip, yanking her forward with enough force to make her stumble into him. The jolt rattled her teeth, the powder amplifying the sting of his hold, but she twisted, trying to wrench free.

"Let me go," she hissed, her free hand clawing at his arm, nails scraping over the taut skin exposed by his rolled sleeves. She pulled back, heels digging into the scuffed gym floor, but he was stronger, unyielding, his body heat enveloping her like a cage.

He didn't speak, didn't explain—just dragged her through the crowd, his stride purposeful, cutting a path toward the double doors at the far end of the gym. Rey struggled, her wrist burning under his fingers, the world tilting as she fought to keep her footing.

"Ben—stop!" she whispered fiercely, but the music swallowed her protests, the bass drowning out her pleas. Bodies parted before him, sensing the storm in his posture, the rigid set of his shoulders. Her heart hammered, a mix of fear and fury and that damn unwanted thrill that always accompanied his dominance.

They were almost to the doors when the headmaster appeared, materializing from the shadows near the bleachers like a specter in his rumpled suit and bowtie. His eyes, sharp behind wire-rimmed glasses, flicked from Ben's iron grip on Rey's wrist to her flushed face, the disheveled witch hat askew on her head.

"Is she okay?" he asked, voice carrying the mild concern of authority, stepping closer with a frown etching his brow.

"No! No I'm not okay!" Rey snapped.

Ben didn't falter, his expression smoothing into a mask of professional calm, though his fingers tightened fractionally on Rey's wrist—a silent warning to stay quiet. He met the headmaster's gaze steadily, his voice even, laced with just the right note of paternal worry.

"She's drunk. Kids snuck in some alcohol. I'm just taking her outside to get some air." The lie rolled off his tongue effortlessly, years of classroom control honing the delivery. Rey bit her lip to stifle a retort, her pulse racing under his thumb, the irony bitter on her tongue.

The headmaster nodded, his frown easing into a sigh of weary understanding. Parties like this always brought trouble—booze, hormones, the usual chaos of youth.

"Alright, Solo. Keep an eye on her."

He clapped Ben on the shoulder once, a gesture of misplaced trust, before turning back to scan the crowd, oblivious to the undercurrents swirling between them.

Ben wasted no time, yanking the door open and hauling Rey through it into the connecting hallway. The music muffled to a dull throb behind the heavy panels, the sudden quiet amplifying the echo of their footsteps—his boots thudding purposefully, her sneakers scuffing as she resisted.

"Let me go!" she demanded again, louder now, twisting her arm with renewed vigor, but he only tightened his hold, marching her toward the exterior doors at the end of the corridor. The air grew cooler, carrying the first whispers of rain from outside, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like angry insects.

They burst through the final set of doors into the night, and the storm hit them full force. Rain sheeted down in relentless curtains, soaking them instantly, the wind whipping through the open quad with a howl that matched the turmoil in Rey's chest. The school grounds stretched dark and empty under the downpour, puddles already forming on the pavement, reflecting the distant glow of security lights. Ben released her wrist only to spin her around, backing her against the brick wall just beyond the overhang, his body shielding her from the worst of the deluge—but not from him.

Rey shoved him back immediately, her palms slamming into his wet chest, water sluicing down her face and plastering her hair to her cheeks. The push barely moved him, but it bought her a breath, space to glare up at him through the rain. Her corset clung transparently to her skin now, the lace doing nothing to hide the hardened peaks of her nipples from the chill, her skirt heavy and sodden against her legs.

"You don't get to do this," she spat, voice rising over the patter of rain, her hands fisting in his shirt as if to tear it off—or hold on. The high made her bold, the alcohol stripping away filters, leaving only raw emotion. "You are a fucking liar!"

The accusation hung in the air, sharp as the lightning cracking overhead, illuminating Ben's face in stark relief—jaw clenched, eyes blazing with a mix of denial and something darker, hungrier. Water streamed down his temples, darkening his hair, his shirt molding to the broad planes of his chest and the ridges of his abs. He stepped forward again, closing the gap she'd created, his hands coming up to brace on the wall beside her head, caging her in. Rain dripped from his lashes as he leaned down, so close their noses nearly brushed, his breath warm against her cold lips.

His knee nudged between her thighs, pressing just enough to pin her hips, the friction sparking despite the fight.

"You think I'd touch her? After everything?" Fury laced his words, but beneath it simmered the obsession, the need that had him hard and aching even now, in the rain, with her defiance fueling the fire.

Rey shook her head, water flying, her chest heaving with ragged breaths. The powder sharpened every drop on her skin, every inch of space between them feeling electric, charged.

"I saw her leaving your office, Ben. Smiling like she'd just—" She broke off, shoving at him again, but her hands lingered, fingers curling into the wet fabric. Hurt cracked through her anger, vulnerability seeping in like the rain through her clothes. "You're full of shit if you think you can just drag me around like I'm yours to control."

He captured her wrists this time, pinning them above her head against the rough brick with one large hand, his body flush against hers now, the heat of him contrasting the icy downpour. His free hand cupped her jaw, thumb brushing her lower lip, rough and demanding.

"You are mine," he growled, eyes searching hers, the jealousy from watching her with Poe twisting into something possessive, unbreakable. "And I'm going to prove it—right here, if I have to." The rain pounded around them, thunder rolling in the distance, but the world narrowed to this: her fury, his claim, the storm binding them tighter than ever.

Rey's breath caught, her body betraying her with a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold, her thighs clenching around his knee as desire warred with rage. The night wasn't over—not by a long shot.

 

The rain hammered down relentlessly, turning the quad into a slick, mirrored battlefield where every step splashed defiance. Rey's heart pounded in sync with the thunder, her body a battlefield of its own—chilled to the bone, clothes clinging like a second skin, but the real freeze came from the ache twisting in her chest. Ben's words echoed in her ears, that possessive growl claiming her as his, but it rang hollow now, tainted by the image of Miss Potts' smug smile, the way she'd adjusted her blouse leaving his office. Lies. All of it. She couldn't breathe in this cage of his making, couldn't think past the betrayal gnawing at her insides.

With a surge of adrenaline-fueled fury, Rey wrenched her wrist from his grasp, the sudden freedom sending a jolt up her arm where his fingers had branded her skin red. She stumbled back a step, rain blurring her vision, but she held his gaze—defiant, unbreaking.

"Leave me alone!" she demanded, her voice cracking like the lightning overhead, raw and edged with the sob she refused to let escape. Water streamed down her face, mixing with the hot sting of unshed tears, her corset sodden and translucent, outlining every curve he'd once worshipped with his mouth and hands. She didn't care; let him see what he was throwing away.

Turning on her heel, Rey stormed off into the storm, her sneakers squelching against the pavement, each step a declaration of independence she clung to like a lifeline. The wind whipped her skirt around her thighs, the fishnets torn and useless against the cold seeping into her muscles, but she pushed forward, toward the dimly lit path leading back to the dorms. Upset more than anything—that's what burned hottest, a deep, hollow hurt that made her want to scream, to run until the school and him were nothing but a bad dream. The party music faded to a distant hum, swallowed by the roar of the rain, leaving her alone with the chaos in her head: the nights he'd pinned her down, whispering promises in the dark; the way he'd made her body sing even as her heart fractured.

Ben watched her go for a split second, his chest heaving, rain plastering his shirt to his torso, highlighting the tense coil of his abs and the bulge straining against his zipper—anger and desire twisted into one unrelenting force. She was walking away, slipping from his fingers like water, and the thought ignited something primal, a refusal to let her go, not like this, not ever. His boots splashed through a puddle as he lunged after her, closing the distance in three long strides, his larger frame cutting through the downpour like a shadow come to life.

Before Rey could react, his arms banded around her waist, hoisting her up with effortless strength. She yelped, a sharp cry lost to the wind, her legs kicking futilely as he flipped her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing. The world inverted—rain now falling upward, her stomach lurching at the sudden shift.

"Put me down, you bastard!" she snarled, pounding her fists against his back, the wet fabric of his shirt doing little to cushion the blows. Her witch hat tumbled to the ground, forgotten in the mud, as her hair cascaded down, swaying with each of his determined steps.

Ben ignored her protests, his grip ironclad on her thighs, one hand splayed possessively across her ass, fingers digging into the soaked denim of her skirt. The contact sent unwelcome sparks through her, even as rage boiled over. He marched onward, away from the school's glow, toward the shadowed edge of the parking lot where his car waited like a sleek predator under the storm.

"You're not running from this, Rey," he growled, voice muffled against the rain but vibrating through her body where it pressed against his shoulder. His free hand clamped down on her calf, holding her steady as she squirmed, her heels scraping harmlessly against his side.

The cold rain pelted her exposed skin, soaking through to her core, but it was his heat seeping through his clothes that tormented her most—the solid wall of his body, the musky scent of him cutting through the ozone. She twisted, trying to leverage her weight to slip free, but he only tightened his hold, his palm sliding higher under her skirt, brushing the edge of her lace panties.

"Stop fighting me," he commanded, the words laced with that dark authority that always made her knees weak, even now, when she hated him. Thunder rumbled closer, vibrating the air, mirroring the storm inside her.

Rey clawed at his back, nails raking over the ridges of his spine through the shirt, leaving red trails she knew he'd feel later.

"I hate you," she spat, the lie tasting bitter on her tongue, because beneath the fury, the longing twisted like a knife. Upset—god, she was so upset, the jealousy a living thing clawing at her throat, making every breath hurt. She'd seen him with Potts, the way the teacher's hand had lingered on his arm, the secretive laugh they'd shared. How could he stand there and claim her when he was playing the same game?

He reached the car, the black BMW gleaming wetly under the lot's faint lights, rain sheeting off its hood. With a grunt, Ben shifted her weight, unlocking the door one-handed before dumping her unceremoniously into the passenger seat. She bounced once, skirt riding up to expose the tops of her thighs, fishnets laddered and dripping. She lunged for the handle, but he was faster—slamming the door shut and rounding to the driver's side in a blur, sliding in and hitting the locks before she could bolt.

The interior was a cocoon of leather and warmth, the heater kicking on automatically, contrasting sharply with the chill clinging to her skin. Rey shivered, arms wrapping around herself, mascara streaking down her cheeks in black rivulets. Ben shook out his hair like a dog, water flying, before turning to her, eyes dark and stormy in the dashboard glow.

"You think you can just walk away? After dancing with that Poe? after ignoring me?" His voice was low, edged with accusation, his hand reaching out to grip her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

She jerked her face away, but not before his thumb brushed her lip, rough and insistent.

"Don't touch me," she whispered, voice breaking, the upset swelling until it threatened to drown her. Cold, soaked, heart in tatters—she curled into the seat, staring out at the rain-lashed window, willing herself not to cry. But Ben wasn't done; he started the engine, the rumble vibrating through them both, pulling out of the lot with tires hissing on wet asphalt. The school receded in the rearview, the party a distant memory, leaving only them and the unresolved fury crackling in the confined space.

The drive was tense, wipers slapping rhythmically, headlights cutting through the sheets of water. Rey pressed her forehead to the cool glass, body trembling from cold and emotion, her mind racing. Part of her wanted to scream at him, demand the truth about Potts; another part ached for his hands on her, to erase the doubt with the only language they spoke fluently—bodies colliding, breaths mingling. He glanced at her sidelong, jaw set, knuckles white on the wheel, the silence heavy with unspoken words.

Minutes stretched into eternity before he turned off the main road, navigating the winding path to his gated community, the big house waiting like a sanctuary—or a prison. The gates swung open with a beep from his key fob, and he pulled into the driveway, killing the engine. Rain drummed on the roof, isolating them further.

"We're talking about this," he said finally, unbuckling and reaching for her.

Rey flinched but didn't pull away entirely, her resolve cracking under the weight of exhaustion. Upset more than anything—that's what she was, raw and exposed, waiting for him to make it right or shatter her completely. He opened her door, scooping her up again before she could protest, carrying her through the downpour to the porch. She buried her face in his neck despite herself, inhaling his scent, the warmth of him chasing away the cold as he kicked the door shut behind them.

Inside, the house was dim, lit only by the flicker of a forgotten lamp, the air warm and dry. Ben set her down in the foyer, his hands lingering on her hips, thumbs circling gently now, a stark contrast to the roughness outside. Water pooled at their feet, her teeth chattering as the shivers took hold.

"Rey," he murmured, voice softening, peeling the wet corset from her shoulders with careful fingers. "Look at me."

She did, finally, eyes glistening, the accusation still burning.

"Why her, Ben? Why Potts?" The words tumbled out, vulnerable and small, the upset laid bare.

His expression darkened, not with anger but regret, hands stilling on her skin.

"There's no her. It was nothing—a work thing. You have to believe me." He pulled her closer, forehead resting against hers, the heat of his body enveloping her. "You're the only one. Always."

Rey searched his face, wanting to trust, the pull between them magnetic even in the wreckage. The rain outside softened to a patter, but the storm within raged on, promising more collisions, more claims, in the night ahead.

Chapter 8

The foyer air hung thick with the scent of rain-soaked clothes and the faint, underlying warmth of Ben's cologne, a mix that clashed with the tension coiling between them like a spring ready to snap. Rey stood there, dripping onto the hardwood floor, her body still humming from the carry through the storm, but her mind a whirlwind of doubt and fury. Ben's hands had gentled on her hips, thumbs tracing slow circles that promised reconciliation, but she shrugged him off, stepping back toward the living room where the dim lamp cast long shadows across the plush sectional sofa. She needed space, needed to ground herself before his touch unraveled her completely.

He followed, silent for once, his presence a looming force in the doorway as she collapsed onto the couch, knees drawn up, arms wrapping around them like a shield. The chill had seeped deep, making her teeth chatter even as the house's heat began to thaw her skin. Ben disappeared briefly into the kitchen, the clink of porcelain echoing before he returned with a steaming mug of coffee—black, just how she liked it, no sugar to mask the bitterness. He pressed it into her hands without a word, his fingers brushing hers deliberately, lingering a beat too long. Rey snatched it away, the warmth seeping into her palms a small comfort against the ache in her chest.

She sipped, the hot liquid burning down her throat, grounding her as she stared into the dark brew, avoiding his eyes. The rain pattered against the windows now, a softer rhythm that mocked the chaos inside her. Ben sank into the armchair across from her, elbows on his knees, watching her with that intense gaze that always made her feel exposed, like he could see every crack in her armor. 'Rey,' he started again, voice low and coaxing,

"Potts means nothing. She's a colleague, pushing boundaries because she's bored in this godforsaken town. But you—you're everything."

She set the mug on the coffee table with a sharp clink, the steam curling up like her rising frustration.

"Easy for you to say. I saw her leaving your office, Ben. The way she looked at you." Her voice wavered, the upset from earlier bubbling back up, hot and unrelenting. She rubbed her arms, the sodden corset chafing against her skin, but she couldn't bring herself to ask for dry clothes—not yet, not when vulnerability felt like weakness.

Ben's jaw tightened, but he didn't interrupt, letting her words hang in the air. Instead, he leaned forward, eyes never leaving hers, the silence stretching until she shifted uncomfortably. Then, without warning, he reached for her bag—tossed carelessly by the door when he'd carried her in—fingers delving inside with purpose. Rey's head snapped up.

"Hey, that's mine," she snapped, surging to her feet, coffee sloshing precariously in the mug she'd grabbed again for something to hold onto.

He pulled out her phone, the screen lighting up in his palm as he held it just out of reach, his height giving him the advantage even seated. At six-foot-three, he towered over her five-foot-seven frame when standing, but even now, lounging back, he used it like a weapon, angling the device high so she had to crane her neck.

"It's mine until Monday," he said, voice firm, brooking no argument, as he positioned her face toward the camera for the facial unlock. The phone beeped in recognition, screen blooming to life under his thumb as he swiped open the messages.

Rey's heart stuttered, a mix of indignation and alarm flooding her. She lunged forward, one hand outstretched, the other clutching the mug like a shield.

"Give it back, Ben. That's not funny." But he twisted away effortlessly, his free arm barring her path, the solid wall of his chest inches from her. The proximity sent a traitorous spark through her, his body heat cutting through the damp chill of her clothes, but she shoved it down, focusing on the invasion. He scrolled quickly, eyes narrowing at the screen—a text from Rose, probably checking in after the party chaos, asking where she'd disappeared to in the rain.

With a decisive tap, Ben typed out a response, his fingers flying over the keys while Rey bounced on her toes, trying to peer over his shoulder.

"Sorry, Professor Solo called my dad, told him I've been drinking and doing drugs and my dad wants me home for the weekend. He wants to talk. Wish me luck."

He hit send, the whoosh of the message echoing in the quiet room, then powered the phone down, screen going black as he pocketed it in his jeans.

"Ben, what the fuck!" Rey exploded, slamming the mug back on the table, coffee splashing over the rim.

She jumped up fully now, hands grabbing at his pockets, fingers brushing the hard line of his thigh in her frantic reach. "This is new levels of weird now—you can't just... impersonate me! Rose is going to freak out" Her voice pitched higher, the betrayal from earlier compounding with this fresh overreach, making her chest tight. She leaped again, higher this time, her body pressing against his as she clawed for the phone, skirt hiking up her thighs from the effort.

Ben just laughed—a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through his chest and into her where they collided. He caught her wrists easily, pinning them to his sides with one large hand, the other arm looping around her waist to haul her onto his lap before she could twist away. She straddled him unwillingly, knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his hips, her wet clothes soaking into his shirt.

"Easy, Rey," he murmured, amusement glinting in his dark eyes, though the grip on her wrists was unyielding. She wriggled, trying to buck off, but it only ground her core against the growing hardness beneath his jeans, a reminder of the pull she couldn't fully escape.

"Let me go," she hissed, twisting her hands, nails digging into his forearms. But he held fast, his laughter fading into a serious line as he stared her down, faces inches apart, breath mingling. The lamp light caught the water droplets still clinging to his hair, making him look wild, untamed—like the storm outside had followed him in.

"You’ll stay the weekend," he said slowly, enunciating each word as if etching it into her mind, his free hand releasing her wrists only to cup the back of her neck, thumb stroking the pulse point there.

"Hopefully I can get it into your head that nothing happened." The emphasis hung heavy, his eyes boring into hers, willing her to believe. "No Potts, no flirting, no secrets. Just work talk that you twisted in your jealous little mind. You're mine, Rey. And I'm keeping you here until you see that."

She froze, caught between outrage and the magnetic draw of his words, his touch. The possessiveness in his tone sent a shiver down her spine—not entirely from fear, but from the dark thrill that always lurked beneath her anger. Her body betrayed her, heat pooling low despite the cold clinging to her skin, nipples peaking against the wet corset.

"You're insane," she whispered, but her struggles weakened, hands flattening against his chest instead of pushing away. The phone forgotten for a moment, she searched his face, the upset fracturing under the weight of his certainty.

Ben's hand slid down her back, fingers splaying wide to pull her closer, until her forehead rested against his.

"Insane for you, maybe," he admitted, voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. "But I'm not letting you run off half-cocked on rumors. Stay. Let me show you." His lips brushed her temple, soft and insistent, the storm outside fading to a distant hum as the one inside her shifted, teetering on the edge of surrender.

Rey exhaled shakily, the coffee's bitterness lingering on her tongue, mixing with the salt of unshed tears. The weekend stretched ahead—trapped here, with him, no distractions, no escape. Part of her rebelled, screaming for her phone, for Rose's worried texts, for the freedom to doubt. But another part, the one that craved his dominance, his undivided claim, leaned in, letting his warmth seep through the barriers she'd built. The rain continued its lullaby against the glass, sealing them in together, as the night promised revelations wrapped in raw, unfiltered truth.

"First, you go shower," Ben said, his voice a low command wrapped in concern, the gravelly timbre sending a reluctant flutter through her core. He nodded toward the staircase, the wooden steps curving up into the shadowed upper level of his house. "You know where everything is." With that, he let her go fully, his fingers trailing off her skin as if reluctant to break contact, but he did, gesturing toward the warmth awaiting her upstairs. "Get warm, and I'll order some food."

Rey slid off his lap, her thighs brushing against the rigid bulge straining his jeans—a silent promise of what simmered beneath his control. She straightened her skirt with a huff, the wet fabric slapping against her legs, and shot him a glare that lacked its earlier fire, softened by the undeniable pull between them.

"Chinese," she demanded over her shoulder as she headed for the stairs, her voice carrying a petulant edge that masked the vulnerability gnawing at her. Each step upward creaked under her weight, her bare feet leaving damp prints on the polished wood, the chill urging her faster toward the promise of hot water and escape from his scrutinizing gaze.

Ben watched her ascend, the sway of her hips, until she vanished around the bend. Only then did he exhale, running a hand through his tousled hair, the droplets from the rain still catching the light. He pulled her phone from his pocket again, the device warm from his body heat, and powered it back on. The screen flickered to life, notifications piling up like accusations—texts from Rose, a missed call from Finn, but his focus zeroed in on the messages. Boys from school, no doubt, the kind who chased after Rey's sharp wit and fiery spirit without understanding the depths she hid.

He scrolled, his thumb pausing on a thread from a guy named Ross—flirty banter that escalated quickly. 'Missed you at the party last weekend. You looked hot in that top. Send pics?' Ben's jaw clenched as he tapped into the media, a photo loading: Rey in her dorm mirror, topless save for a lacy bra that barely contained her full breasts, her lips parted in a playful pout, eyes sparkling with mischief. Another text from him: 'Damn, babe, you're killing me. What are you up to tonight?' Her reply: 'Just chilling. Thinking about sneaking out. You game?'

Further down, a chain with someone else: more teasing exchanges, her describing a dream where they 'hooked up in the back of his car,' followed by a selfie of her in bed, sheets low on her hips, the curve of her ass visible as she arched her back. Ben's grip tightened on the phone, a possessive heat rising in his chest—not just anger, but a dark arousal at the evidence of her wild side, the slutty confidence she wielded like a weapon. These boys, with their eager, fumbling advances, had no idea the fire they were playing with. He leaned back, legs spreading wide as he read on, his free hand adjusting the ache in his pants, cock twitching at the images of her bared skin.

Upstairs, Rey stepped under the spray of the shower, twisting the knob until scalding water cascaded over her. Steam billowed up immediately, fogging the glass enclosure as she tilted her head back, letting the heat pound against her shoulders, washing away the rain and the grime of the party.

 

Downstairs, Ben's reading grew more invasive, delving into a conversation with a third guy, Marcus, where Rey had sent a voice note—her voice breathy, teasing: 'Hey, what would you do if I showed up at your door right now? No clothes?' His response: a dick pic, average and uninspiring, which she'd replied to with a laughing emoji and 'Cute' Ben chuckled darkly at that, imagining her dismissing them all, but the jealousy coiled tighter, fueling a need to remind her who truly owned her pleasure.

By the time Rey emerged, wrapped in one of Ben's oversized towels—soft terrycloth that dwarfed her frame, the hem brushing mid-thigh—she felt human again, skin flushed pink from the heat, hair damp and tousled, falling in loose waves over her shoulders. The scent of jasmine body wash clung to her, mixing with the faint spice of his shampoo she'd borrowed. She padded barefoot down the stairs, the wood cool against her soles, expecting the rustle of takeout bags or the glow of a delivery app on his phone. Instead, she found Ben still in the armchair, her phone in his hand, screen illuminated as he scrolled with deliberate slowness.

He looked up as she entered, his gaze raking over her exposed legs, the way the towel gaped slightly at her cleavage, droplets tracing paths down her collarbone. A smirk curled his lips, predatory and amused, as he held up the phone like evidence.

"Well, well," he drawled, voice laced with mock disapproval, "you are a little slut, aren't you?"

Rey's steps faltered at the bottom of the stairs, her cheeks heating—not from the shower, but from the sudden exposure. She crossed her arms over her chest, clutching the towel tighter, but her eyes narrowed in defiance.

"What the hell, Ben? You went through my messages? That's crossing a line."

She moved closer, reaching for the device, but he pulled it away, standing to his full height, towering over her once more, the phone now at his side.

He stepped forward, closing the distance until she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes, the heat from his body radiating against her barely covered skin. 'Oh, I crossed it alright,' he murmured, thumbing open another thread right in front of her. He read aloud, his tone teasing, each word dripping with possession.

"Can't stop thinking about your tits in that pic. When can I see them for real?' And you: 'Maybe sooner than you think. What would you do to them?" He paused, eyes locking on hers, watching the flush creep down her neck. "Then you send him that mirror shot—bra half-off, nipples hard as rocks. Naughty girl."

She snatched at the phone again, but he dodged, laughing low as he backed her toward the couch.

"Give it back," she demanded, but her voice wavered, a thrill sparking low in her belly at his dominance, the way he wielded her secrets like foreplay. He caught her wrist, tugging her flush against him, the towel slipping an inch, exposing the swell of one breast.

"Tyler gets the ass pic," Ben continued, undeterred, his free hand sliding to her hip, fingers digging in just enough to hold her still. "You bent over in bed, saying you'd let him fuck you from behind. And Marcus? That voice note—begging him to describe pinning you down." He leaned in, lips brushing her ear, breath hot. "Settling for small-cocked boys when I could split you in two."

His words were a growl, hips grinding forward to press his thick erection against her towel-clad thigh, the outline unmistakable—long, girthy, promising the stretch she craved.

Rey's breath hitched, her body responding despite the embarrassment, pussy clenching at the crude tease. She shoved at his chest half-heartedly, but her nails scraped over his shirt, wanting more.

"They're just... flirting. Harmless. Not like you'd care anyway, with Potts hanging all over you." The jealousy from earlier resurfaced, but it melted under his touch as he dropped the phone onto the coffee table and gripped her waist with both hands, lifting her effortlessly onto the edge of the couch.

"Harmless?" He echoed, kneeling between her legs, pushing her thighs apart with his shoulders, the towel riding up to bare her completely. His eyes devoured her exposed pussy, already glistening. "Those boys dream of this," he said, thumb tracing her inner thigh, inching higher, "but they couldn't handle you. Not like I do." He dipped his head, nose brushing her clit, inhaling her scent—musky arousal mixed with clean soap—before pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. "You're mine to tease, mine to fuck raw. No more texts, no more pics. Understand?"

She nodded, biting her lip, hands threading into his hair as he finally closed the distance, tongue flicking out to taste her. The first lap sent sparks up her spine, her back arching as he devoured her folds, sucking her clit with hungry precision.

"Ben," she gasped, legs wrapping around his head, the earlier anger dissolving into moans. He ate her out relentlessly, fingers joining to pump inside her tight heat, curling to hit that spot that made her see stars.

Rey's world narrowed to the slick heat of Ben's mouth on her pussy, every flick of his tongue building the pressure coiling tight in her core. His fingers dug into her thighs, holding her open while his lips sucked greedily at her swollen clit, the wet sounds of his feast filling the room alongside her escalating whimpers. Her hips bucked involuntarily, chasing the edge of release, her walls fluttering in anticipation as his tongue plunged deep inside her, lapping at her juices like a man starved.

The doorbell chimed sharply, cutting through the haze of pleasure like a unwelcome intruder. Ben paused mid-suck, his mouth hovering just over her dripping folds, a mischievous smile curving his lips against her sensitive skin. He gave her clit one final, deliberate flick with the tip of his tongue—sharp and teasing, enough to make her gasp and arch off the cushions, teetering right on the precipice of orgasm but denied the push over.

"Fuck," she whined, her voice raw and desperate, hands fisting the couch fabric as the ache throbbed unbearably between her legs.

He pulled back slowly, rising to his feet with a predatory gleam in his eyes, wiping his glistening chin with the back of his hand. Rey's moans turned to frustrated cries, echoing off the walls as she writhed, thighs clenching around empty air, her pussy clenching on nothing.

"Ben, please... don't stop," she begged, the words tumbling out in a breathless plea, her body trembling from the interrupted build-up. The loss of his touch felt like torture, her clit pulsing with need, slick arousal coating her inner thighs.

Ben chuckled low, adjusting the straining bulge in his jeans as he headed for the door, his steps casual despite the tension radiating from him. He cracked it open just enough to peer out, the cool night air slipping in and brushing Rey's overheated skin like a cruel reminder of her vulnerability. She couldn't help the soft, needy sounds spilling from her lips—half-moan, half-sob—as she squirmed on the couch, fingers itching to touch herself but holding back, knowing he'd punish her for it. The delivery guy, a lanky kid in a red jacket, stood there with the steaming bags, his eyes widening slightly at the unmistakable noises drifting from inside.

"That'll be twenty-eight fifty," the guy muttered, handing over the food while Ben fished out cash from his pocket, passing it through the narrow gap without fully opening the door. Rey's cries grew louder in her frustration, a particularly sharp

"Oh god, Ben!" escaping as she pressed her heels into the floor, trying to grind against the air for any friction. The guy's cheeks flushed, but he didn't comment, just took the bills and backed away, the door clicking shut behind Ben as he slammed it with finality.

Outside, as the delivery kid jogged back to his beat-up sedan in the driveway, he cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered to his buddy idling in the passenger seat.

"Yo, that dude is getting fucked tonight!" His friend laughed, throwing his head back as the car engine revved, tires crunching on the gravel before they peeled out into the rainy night.

Ben didn't spare a glance for the departing vehicle. He ditched the bags on the kitchen table with a careless thud—the scent of soy sauce and fried rice wafting through the air—before striding back to Rey. His eyes locked on her spread form, pussy glistening and swollen from his earlier attentions, her chest heaving with ragged breaths.

"Miss me?" he teased, voice rough with lust as he dropped to his knees again, hands shoving her thighs farther apart. Because, I missed you, baby," he groaned, the words vibrating against her skin as he leaned in close, his breath hot on her aching core.

He started slow, teasing her with feather-light kisses along her inner thighs, nipping at the sensitive flesh before tracing his tongue in lazy circles around her entrance, avoiding her clit just to draw out her torment. Rey's hands flew to his hair, tugging desperately, her hips lifting to chase his mouth.

"Please... Ben, I need it," she gasped, voice breaking on a sob as the denied orgasm hovered like a storm about to break.

He relented at last, diving in with renewed ferocity, his tongue flattening against her folds to lap up her wetness in long, hungry strokes. He sucked her clit between his lips, rolling it gently at first, then harder, the suction pulling a scream from her throat. His fingers joined the assault, two thick digits sliding into her tight heat, pumping in and out with a wet squelch that matched the obscene slurps of his mouth. Rey's thighs clamped around his head, muscles locking tight as she trapped him there, grinding against his face with abandon. Her heels dug into his back, urging him deeper, her body a live wire of sensation.

Ben hummed in approval, the vibration sending shockwaves through her, his free hand gripping her ass to pull her closer, nose buried in her trimmed curls as he devoured her relentlessly. He curled his fingers inside her, stroking that ridged spot that made her vision blur, while his tongue flicked and swirled over her clit without mercy. Rey's cries filled the room again, louder now, uninhibited—"Yes, fuck, right there!"—her body bowing off the couch as the climax he'd stolen earlier roared back to life, building faster, fiercer under his unyielding attention.

He didn't let up, even as her walls began to flutter around his thrusting fingers, her juices coating his chin and dripping down his neck. Rey's grip on his hair tightened, thighs squeezing like a vice, holding him captive to her pleasure.

Rey's body teetered on the razor edge of ecstasy, her pussy clenching rhythmically around Ben's thrusting fingers, walls fluttering wildly as his tongue battered her clit with relentless precision. Her thighs squeezed his head like iron bands, heels scraping his back, every nerve alight with the impending explosion.

"Ben—fuck, I'm gonna cum!" she cried out, voice hoarse and breaking, hips grinding furiously against his face, chasing that final spark to ignite the blaze.

But just as the wave crested, threatening to pull her under, Ben yanked himself free with a wicked growl, his mouth leaving her soaked folds with a wet pop. Her clit throbbed in protest, exposed to the cool air, the sudden absence ripping a frustrated scream from her throat.

"No! Don't—please!" Rey begged, body convulsing in denial, hands clawing at his shoulders as she tried to drag him back down. Her pussy ached, dripping and empty, the orgasm hovering cruelly out of reach, leaving her a trembling mess on the couch.

Ben rose to his feet, eyes dark with hunger, his chin slick with her arousal. He didn't speak, just stripped off his shirt in one fluid motion, revealing the hard planes of his chest and the trail of dark hair leading down to his waistband. His jeans followed, kicked aside with his boxers, his thick cock springing free—veins pulsing, head already beaded with pre-cum, standing rigid and demanding. Rey's gaze locked on it, her breath hitching at the sight, mouth watering even as her core clenched in desperate need.

He dropped to the floor in front of the couch, stretching out on the plush rug with his legs spread wide, cock jutting up like a challenge. "Get on"' he demanded, voice low and commanding, one hand fisting the base of his shaft to point it straight at her, the tip glistening invitingly.

Rey didn't hesitate. The command ignited something primal in her, overriding the frustration as she scrambled off the couch, knees wobbling from the denied peak. She straddled him quickly, knees bracketing his hips, her slick pussy hovering just above his cock. Her hands braced on his chest, nails digging into the firm muscle as she lowered herself inch by torturous inch. The broad head nudged her entrance, parting her folds with ease from how wet she was, and she sank down slowly, savoring the stretch as he filled her completely.

"Oh god, yes," she moaned, bottoming out with a shudder, her walls gripping him tight, adjusting to the thick girth buried deep inside her.

Ben's hands clamped onto her hips, fingers bruising as he held her still for a beat, letting her feel every throbbing inch. Then, without warning, he slammed up into her—hard and fast, hips snapping with piston-like precision. Rey's head snapped back, a sharp cry escaping as he drilled into her, the rapid thrusts pounding her g-spot with unerring accuracy. He fucked like a machine, relentless and professional, each upward plunge driving his cock balls-deep, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing through the room.

She rode him frantically, matching his rhythm as best she could, grinding down to meet every brutal thrust. Her breasts bounced with the force, nipples hard peaks scraping the air, while Ben's grip guided her, pulling her down harder onto him.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he grunted, teeth gritted, eyes fixed on where they joined—her pussy swallowing his cock over and over, cream coating his length with each withdrawal. He shifted one hand to her ass, spreading her cheeks as he rammed up, the angle letting him hit even deeper, brushing her cervix with the tip.

Rey's moans turned to screams, the denied orgasm roaring back tenfold under the frantic assault. Her nails raked down his chest, leaving red trails, as she leaned forward, forehead pressing to his shoulder for leverage. Ben's other hand tangled in her hair, yanking her head back to expose her throat, his mouth latching on to suck a fresh mark into her skin. He pounded into her without mercy, hips blurring with speed, the rug burning against his back but he didn't care—only the slick heat of her pussy milking him mattered, pulling him toward his own edge.

"Cum for me, Rey—fucking take it," he snarled against her neck, teeth grazing her pulse as he redoubled his efforts, slamming up so hard the floorboards creaked beneath them. She shattered then, the climax crashing through her like a tidal wave, pussy convulsing around his cock in violent spasms.

"Ben! Yes—oh fuck, I'm cumming!" she wailed, body seizing, juices gushing down his shaft as waves of pleasure ripped her apart. Her thighs quivered, locking around him, but he didn't stop—kept drilling through her orgasm, prolonging it until tears streamed down her face, every thrust milking more ecstasy from her oversensitive walls.

He flipped them suddenly, never pulling out, rolling so she was pinned beneath him on the floor. The carpet scratched her back, but the burn only heightened the frenzy as he hooked her legs over his shoulders, folding her in half. Now he could plunge even deeper, cock spearing her with savage force, balls slapping her ass with each descent. Rey's hands scrabbled at the rug, then his arms, clinging as he fucked her into oblivion—raw, animalistic, no holding back. Sweat slicked their bodies, mixing with her arousal, the air thick with the scent of sex and the obscene sounds of his cock pistoning in and out of her sopping pussy.

Ben's breaths came in harsh pants, his control fraying as her inner muscles fluttered around him, still riding the aftershocks.

"Mine— all fucking mine," he growled, one hand pinning her wrists above her head, the other bracing beside her as he rutted like a beast. He chased his release now, thrusts erratic and desperate, grinding against her clit with every hilt-deep bury. Rey whimpered, overstimulated but loving it, her body arching to take him deeper, urging him on with broken pleas,

"Harder, Ben—fill me up!"

The tension snapped in him with a guttural roar, cock swelling impossibly thicker as he buried himself to the root and came, hot spurts of cum flooding her pussy, painting her walls white. He kept pumping through it, grinding out every drop, until he collapsed over her, both of them gasping, bodies entwined in the aftermath. Her pussy clenched around his softening cock, holding him inside as the frantic haze settled into sated warmth, the forgotten food still steaming faintly on the table nearby.

 

They both lay there on the rug, chests heaving in unison, sweat cooling on their skin as the aftershocks of their frantic coupling rippled through them. Rey's pussy still fluttered with faint echoes of her orgasm, Ben's cum leaking slowly from her, pooling warm and sticky between her thighs. The room smelled of their release—musky and raw—mingling with the faint aroma of the untouched dinner cooling on the table. She shifted slightly, her body pressed against his side, and a low chuckle bubbled up from her chest, surprising even herself.

"This is not how I saw tonight going," Rey said, her voice breathy and laced with amusement, eyes sparkling as she glanced at him. The romantic setup, the candles flickering softly, the wine glasses half-full—it all felt worlds away from the raw pounding they'd just shared on the floor.

Ben turned his head to meet her gaze, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips, but he didn't respond right away. Instead, he eased himself up, his softening cock slipping free from her with a wet glide, drawing a soft whimper from her at the loss. A trail of their mixed fluids followed, smearing across her inner thigh. He reached for his discarded boxers nearby, sliding them on with unhurried movements, the fabric tenting slightly already from the sight of her sprawled out, flushed and satisfied.

Rey propped herself up on one elbow, her breasts swaying gently with the motion, nipples still pebbled from the intensity. She watched him through half-lidded eyes, a mischievous glint igniting as an idea sparked.

"I vow for a no pants party," she declared, her smirk widening, voice dropping into a playful purr. The words hung in the air, a challenge wrapped in seduction, her body language screaming invitation as she let her gaze drop pointedly to his crotch.

Ben paused, one eyebrow arching as he looked down at her, the command in her tone—and the innocence she feigned—stirring something deep in his gut. He held her stare for a beat, the air thickening with anticipation, then nodded slowly.

"Okay," he murmured, voice rough from exertion. His fingers hooked into the waistband of his boxers, and he let them drop to the floor in a whisper of fabric, kicking them aside. His cock, not fully soft anymore, sprang free, already twitching back to life under her hungry gaze—thickening, the head flushing darker as blood rushed south.

Rey's breath caught, her core clenching at the sight, fresh arousal trickling from her. She pushed up onto all fours, the rug soft under her palms and knees, her ass lifting slightly as she crawled toward him with deliberate slowness. Each movement was predatory grace, her hips swaying, breasts hanging heavy beneath her, the curve of her back arching just so. Ben's cock jerked visibly, hardening further as she closed the distance, her eyes locked on his, lips parted in that perfect mix of tease and want.

"Sit down, professor," she said seductively, the title rolling off her tongue like velvet sin, her voice low and husky. She nodded toward the nearby armchair by the couch, the one facing the fireplace where embers still glowed faintly.

Ben's pulse thrummed in his ears, the role-play igniting a fire in him he couldn't ignore. He loved this side of her—the bold student pushing boundaries, turning their power dynamic into something electric and shared. Without breaking eye contact, he lowered himself into the chair, legs spreading wide, his now fully erect cock standing proud against his abdomen, veins prominent and pulsing. He leaned back, hands resting on the armrests, watching her with dark, intent eyes.

Rey crawled the last few feet, positioning herself between his spread thighs, the heat from his body radiating against her skin. She rose up slightly on her knees, her hands sliding up his calves, then thighs, nails grazing lightly to send shivers through him. Finally, she wrapped her fingers around his cock—both hands, since one wasn't quite enough—squeezing the base firmly, feeling it throb hot and heavy in her grip. Pre-cum beaded at the slit, and she thumbed it over the head, spreading it in a slow circle that made his hips buck involuntarily.

"Teach me, professor," she whispered, batting her lashes up at him, her tone shifting to wide-eyed innocence, lips forming a pout that was anything but. "I don't know what I'm doing. I've never... you know, done this before. Show me how to please you properly." Her thumbs stroked along the underside, tracing the ridge, but she kept her touches light, exploratory, playing the novice to perfection.

Ben groaned low in his throat, the act hitting him square in the chest—fuck, he loved it. The way she surrendered control while wielding it, the forbidden edge of their roles sharpening every sensation. His hand came up to cup her chin, thumb brushing her lower lip, parting it slightly.

"Alright, sweetheart," he rumbled, voice dropping into that authoritative timbre she craved. "First lesson: Start slow—lick the head, like you're tasting something sweet. Get it nice and wet for me."

Rey's eyes widened in feigned surprise, but she leaned in eagerly, her breath ghosting over his tip first, making it twitch. She extended her tongue, flat and warm, lapping at the underside from base to tip in one long, deliberate stroke. The salt of his pre-cum burst on her taste buds, and she hummed appreciatively, the vibration sending a jolt straight to his balls.

"Like this?" she asked innocently, glancing up through her lashes as she swirled her tongue around the crown, dipping into the slit to coax more fluid.

"Just like that," Ben praised, his free hand threading into her hair, not pulling yet, just holding, guiding. His cock jumped against her tongue, fully hard now, straining toward her mouth. "Now, take it in. Suck gently—hollow your cheeks. Don't rush; savor it. Pretend it's the only thing that matters right now."

She obeyed, parting her lips wider and sliding the head past them, her mouth enveloping him in wet heat. Her tongue pressed flat against the underside as she sucked, cheeks drawing in just enough to create suction without overwhelming. Inch by inch, she took more, her hands stroking what she couldn't fit yet, twisting lightly at the base. The stretch in her jaw was familiar but thrilling in this game, her saliva coating him generously, dripping down to her fingers. She bobbed shallowly at first, testing, moaning around him as if discovering the pleasure for the first time.

Ben's head fell back against the chair for a moment, a ragged breath escaping him.

"Good girl—fuck, that's perfect. Deeper now. Relax your throat. Breathe through your nose." His grip in her hair tightened slightly, encouraging her forward, his hips lifting just a fraction to meet her.

Rey gagged softly as she pushed further, the head bumping the back of her throat, but she powered through, eyes watering a bit for effect. She hollowed her cheeks more, sucking harder, her tongue flicking relentlessly along the shaft as she bobbed deeper. One hand cupped his balls, rolling them gently, feeling them draw up tight under her touch. The other pumped in tandem with her mouth, slick sounds filling the room—wet slurps and her muffled hums of encouragement.

"Christ, Rey—you're a natural," he growled, the praise slipping out despite the role, his control fraying as pleasure coiled low in his belly. He tugged her hair lightly, pulling her off with a pop, strings of saliva connecting her lips to his glistening cock. "Look at me. Tell me what you want next."

She licked her lips, catching the stray drop, her voice breathy and coy. "I want to make you feel good, professor. Tell me—should I use my hands more? Or... something else?" Her fingers traced the veins, teasing without mercy, her free hand trailing up his thigh to scratch lightly over his hip.

Ben's eyes burned into hers, the innocence cracking his restraint.

"Both. Stroke me while you suck my balls. Get them nice and sloppy—show me how eager you are to learn." He guided her head down, and she dove in, tongue laving his sack first, sucking one ball into her mouth with gentle pulls, then the other. Her hand fisted his cock, pumping steadily, twisting at the head to spread the saliva and pre-cum mingling there.

The dual assault had him grunting, thighs tensing under her.

"Faster now—twist your wrist on the upstroke. Yeah, fuck—imagine I'm grading you on this. A for effort so far." He watched her work, the sight of her on her knees, ass up and swaying, mouth worshipping him—it was intoxicating, pushing him toward the edge faster than he'd admit.

Rey redoubled her efforts, mouth alternating between balls and cock, deep-throating him now with practiced ease masked as novice clumsiness. She gagged dramatically once or twice, pulling back to gasp,

"Am I doing it right? It feels so big— I can barely fit it." But her eyes gleamed with mischief, knowing exactly how to drive him wild.

"You're doing fucking amazing," Ben rasped, his hand fisting her hair tighter, hips thrusting shallowly into her mouth. The coil tightened, balls aching under her tongue. "One more lesson—swallow when I cum. Take every drop like the good student you are."

She nodded around him, sucking harder, hand flying over his length. It only took a few more strokes before he shattered, a deep groan tearing from him as his cock pulsed, shooting thick ropes of cum down her throat. Rey swallowed greedily, milking him with her mouth and hand, not spilling a bit, her throat working visibly. He kept thrusting through it, riding the waves until he slumped back, spent and breathing hard.

She pulled off slowly, licking him clean with soft kitten licks, then sat back on her heels, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, a triumphant smile breaking the innocent facade.

"Did I pass, professor?"

Ben hauled her up into his lap, crushing her against his chest, already stirring again from the contact.

"With fucking honors," he murmured against her lips, kissing her deeply, tasting himself on her tongue.

Ben's arms wrapped around Rey's waist, pulling her flush against his chest as their kiss deepened, tongues tangling in a lazy exploration of shared flavors—his own salt lingering on her lips from her earlier attentions. She melted into him, her naked body molding to his, skin still slick with sweat and the remnants of their releases. His cock, half-hard again from the proximity, pressed against her thigh, but neither moved to escalate; the raw edge of their hunger sated for the moment, leaving a warm, contented haze in its wake.

He broke the kiss first, nipping at her lower lip before resting his forehead against hers.

"We should eat before it turns to complete mush," he murmured, voice gravelly, one hand sliding down to squeeze her ass possessively. The untouched Chinese takeout bags sat forgotten on the kitchen counter, the savory scents now faint under the heavier musk of sex permeating the air.

Rey nodded, a soft laugh escaping her as she disentangled herself, standing on wobbly legs. Cum still trickled down her inner thigh, a sticky reminder of their floor romp, and she made no move to clean up, reveling in the mess they'd made.

"Yeah, professor's orders," she teased, shooting him a wink over her shoulder as she padded naked toward the kitchen, her hips swaying with deliberate allure.

Ben followed, his gaze fixed on the jiggle of her ass cheeks, the faint red marks from his earlier grips blooming on her pale skin. He grabbed the bags, unpacking containers of lo mein, fried rice, orange chicken, and spring rolls onto the counter. The microwave hummed to life as he reheated the first batch, steam rising in fragrant clouds that made Rey's stomach rumble audibly. She hopped up to sit on the edge of the counter, legs dangling, watching him with hooded eyes while she twisted a strand of her disheveled hair around her finger.

"You're staring," he said without looking up, plating the steaming food with efficient movements. A smirk played on his lips, though, as he felt her gaze trace the lines of his back, the flex of his arms.

"Can't help it. You look good all domestic and shit." She swung her feet, toes brushing his calf playfully. The casual intimacy felt new, almost domestic in a way that twisted something sweet in her chest amid the post-orgasm glow.

He chuckled, handing her a plate piled high with noodles and chicken, chopsticks tucked under the edge.

"Eat up. You'll need your energy if this no-pants policy sticks." His eyes dropped to her bare pussy, still puffy and glistening, and she felt a fresh throb of arousal at the hungry gleam there.

They migrated to the living room sofa, plates in hand, the soft leather cool against their heated skin. Ben flicked on the TV with the remote, the screen flickering to life on some mindless reality show he'd left paused earlier—a dating competition filled with drama, fake tans, and over-the-top confessions. He settled back, one arm draped along the couch behind her, pulling her close so her side pressed to his. She tucked her legs under her, digging into the food with enthusiasm, the flavors exploding on her tongue: tangy sauce coating the chicken, the chew of noodles mixed with veggies.

He'd bought plenty—enough for leftovers, maybe even breakfast—and they ate in comfortable silence at first, the clink of chopsticks and the low drone of the TV the only sounds. Rey shoveled bites, moaning appreciatively around a mouthful of rice. 'This hits the spot. Way better than dorm slop.'

Ben nodded, his free hand absently stroking her thigh, fingers tracing idle patterns that sent little sparks up her spine. The show droned on, contestants paired off in some tropical villa, bickering over alliances and hookups. Rey's attention snagged on one couple in particular—a brooding guy with tattoos and a fiery redhead who kept challenging him, their arguments dissolving into heated make-out sessions that the cameras lingered on shamelessly.

She paused mid-bite, noodles dangling from her chopsticks, eyes glued to the screen as the redhead shoved the guy against a palm tree, her hands fisting his shirt while he growled something possessive in her ear. The tension crackled even through the edited footage, the push-pull of dominance and surrender mirroring their own dynamic in a way that hooked her instantly.

"Oh, wait—play that back," Rey said suddenly, nudging Ben's arm. He raised an eyebrow but obliged, rewinding a few seconds with the remote. The scene replayed: the redhead's nails digging into his shoulders as he lifted her, her legs wrapping around his waist, their mouths crashing together in a kiss that looked more like a battle than affection.

Rey's pulse quickened, a flush creeping up her neck unrelated to the food.

"Damn, they're intense. Like, look at how she just... takes what she wants, but he flips it and pins her every time." She leaned forward, plate balanced on her knee, utterly absorbed as the couple broke apart, the redhead smirking triumphantly while he adjusted himself, clearly aroused.

Ben watched her more than the screen, amusement flickering in his eyes at her sudden fixation.

"Hooked already? It's just reality TV trash." But he didn't change the channel, letting it play as he popped a spring roll into his mouth, crunching thoughtfully.

She shook her head, waving her chopsticks for emphasis.

"No, but them? That couple...they've got this vibe. She's all fire, pushing his buttons, and he just... owns it. Makes me wanna root for them to bang it out on national TV."

A giggle escaped her, but her gaze stayed riveted, especially when a confessional clip rolled: the man admitting he loved how she fought him, how it made claiming her sweeter.

Ben's hand on her thigh tightened slightly, thumb pressing into the soft flesh.

"Sounds familiar," he murmured, voice low and teasing, his breath warm against her ear. He set his plate aside on the coffee table, shifting to face her more fully, his cock twitching against his thigh at the way her excitement lit her up.

Rey glanced at him, catching the heat in his stare, and bit her lip.

"Maybe a little." She abandoned her plate too, scooting closer until she straddled his lap, the food forgotten as the show's drama faded to background noise. Her pussy brushed his hardening length, still slick from before, and she rocked subtly, grinding down just enough to feel him thicken beneath her.

On screen, the couple had snuck off to a hidden cabana, the camera cutting away tastefully but implying exactly what happened next—moans audible if you listened close. Rey's breath hitched, her hands sliding up Ben's chest, nails scraping lightly over his nipples.

"Think they'd last outside the show? All that fighting, then fucking... it's gotta burn hot."

He gripped her hips, guiding her roll, his cock now fully erect and nudging her entrance.

"Some do. Others crash and burn." His eyes locked on hers, dark with intent. "But watching you get all worked up over it? That's got me thinking we could recreate a scene or two."

She laughed breathlessly, leaning down to capture his mouth, the kiss turning hungry fast. Her tongue swept in, tasting soy and spice, as she lifted her hips and sank down onto him in one smooth motion, his cock stretching her anew. A gasp tore from her throat at the fullness, walls clenching around him greedily.

Ben groaned into her mouth, hands roaming to cup her breasts, thumbs circling the stiff peaks. He thrust up shallowly, matching her rhythm as she rode him on the sofa, the leather creaking under them. The TV blared on, Rey tuned it out, lost in the slide of Ben inside her, the way he filled her completely.

"Fuck, you feel good," she panted, head falling back as she bounced harder, her ass slapping against his thighs. One hand braced on his shoulder, the other tangled in his hair, pulling just enough to arch his neck.

He bucked up forcefully, hitting that spot deep that made her cry out, his mouth latching onto her collarbone, sucking a mark there.

"Ride me like you mean it, Rey. Show me how hooked you are." His words were a growl, fingers digging into her hips to control the pace, slamming her down onto him repeatedly.

She did, chasing the building pressure, her pussy soaking him, juices dripping down his balls. The couple on TV argued again in the background, but it only fueled her—imagining their raw energy, channeling it into the way she clenched around Ben, milking his cock with every descent.

It didn't take long; the earlier orgasms had left her sensitive, and his relentless thrusts pushed her over fast. She shattered with a keening moan, walls fluttering wildly, cum gushing around him as she ground down, shuddering through the waves.

Ben followed seconds later, burying himself deep and spilling inside her with a guttural curse, hips jerking erratically. He held her tight, riding it out together, breaths mingling in the quiet aftermath as the show credits rolled unnoticed.

Rey slumped against him, chuckling softly.

"Guess the no-pants party comes with encores." He kissed her temple, both of them sticky and sated once more, the takeout cooling on the table like an afterthought.

 

The afterglow settled over them like a soft blanket, Rey's body limp and heavy against Ben's chest as their breathing evened out. The TV hummed faintly in the background, the reality show's credits long since scrolled by, replaced now by some late-night infomercial peddling kitchen gadgets neither of them noticed. Empty takeout containers littered the coffee table, chopsticks abandoned mid-air from her last distracted bite, the remnants of orange chicken congealing in the dim lamplight. Her head rested on his shoulder, one arm draped loosely across his abdomen, fingers twitching occasionally as if chasing dreams already forming at the edges of her mind.

Ben shifted slightly, careful not to jostle her, his hand continuing its lazy path up and down her back. The leather sofa creaked under the subtle movement, cool against his bare skin where sweat had dried into a faint sheen. He glanced down at her face, illuminated softly by the flickering screen—eyelids fluttering, lips parted just enough to let out slow, rhythmic breaths. The flush from their earlier exertions had faded to a gentle pink on her cheeks, her hair a tousled halo spilling over his collarbone. She looked peaceful, vulnerable in a way that tugged at something deep in his chest, a quiet ache that had nothing to do with possession and everything to do with the way she'd burrowed into him, trusting and spent.

"Hey," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, testing if she was still awake. His fingers threaded gently through her hair, combing out the tangles with unhurried strokes. No response came, just a soft sigh as she nuzzled closer, her nose pressing into the crook of his neck. The warmth of her body seeped into his, her curves fitting perfectly against the hard planes of his frame, legs tangled with his in a comfortable knot. He could feel the steady thump of her heart against his side, syncing with his own in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

A small smile curved his lips as he realized she'd drifted off, the exhaustion from the wild night catching up to her at last. The party, the rain, the frantic drive home, their heated reunions—it all piled on like weights she'd carried too long. He didn't mind; if anything, it stirred a protective instinct, urging him to shield her from the world outside these walls. His free hand came up to cup her cheek, thumb brushing lightly over the soft skin there, tracing the faint freckles that dusted her nose. She mumbled something incoherent, a sleepy protest or perhaps his name, before settling deeper into his embrace, her breath warm and even against his skin.

The room felt smaller, cozier with her curled against him like this, the outside world reduced to the distant patter of rain against the windows. Ben's eyes drifted to the ceiling, mind wandering through the day's chaos—the jealousy that had boiled in his veins at the party, the raw need that had driven him to claim her again and again. But now, in this hush, it all softened into something tender, a quiet contentment that wrapped around them both. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head, inhaling the faint scent of her shampoo mixed with the lingering spice of takeout and their shared musk.

Minutes stretched into a languid half-hour, the infomercial giving way to a rerun of some sitcom laugh track that buzzed like white noise. Rey stirred once, her fingers flexing against his stomach as if seeking reassurance, and he tightened his hold just enough to let her know he was there.

"I've got you," he whispered, even though she couldn't hear, the words more for himself than anything. Her body relaxed fully then, curling tighter into his side, one leg hooked over his thigh in a possessive little claim of her own.

Eventually, the sofa's firmness began to make itself known, his back protesting the prolonged recline. He needed to get her somewhere more comfortable, somewhere she could sink into proper rest without waking sore. With infinite care, Ben maneuvered his arms beneath her—one sliding under her knees, the other supporting her back—and lifted her in a fluid motion. She was light in his hold, her head lolling against his shoulder as he stood, the sudden shift barely registering in her sleep. A soft hum escaped her lips, but her eyes stayed closed, lashes fanned dark against her cheeks.

He carried her across the living room, steps measured and quiet on the hardwood floor, the takeout bags left behind like relics of their evening. The stairs loomed ahead, dimly lit by a nightlight on the landing, and he took them one at a time, her weight a welcome burden against his chest. Her arm slipped around his neck instinctively, holding on even in slumber, fingers brushing the nape of his hair. Ben paused midway up, adjusting his grip to nuzzle her temple, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breaths against him. The house was silent save for the creak of the steps and the muffled rain outside, a cocoon of peace that made the moment feel eternal.

At the top, he turned down the hallway toward his bedroom, pushing the door open with his elbow. Moonlight filtered through the half-drawn curtains, casting silvery patterns across the king-sized bed, the sheets still rumpled from earlier escapades. He lowered her onto the mattress with the same gentleness, her body sinking into the plush comforter as he arranged pillows behind her head. She curled immediately, knees drawing up, one hand tucking under her cheek in a childlike pose that made his heart clench.

Ben lingered for a moment, watching her settle, before sliding in beside her. He pulled the covers over them both, the fabric whispering as it draped across their bare skin. Turning onto his side, he drew her back into his arms, her body fitting seamlessly against his front—spooned close, her ass nestled against his hips, his chest to her back. One arm banded around her waist, hand splaying possessively over her stomach, while the other pillowed under her head. She sighed in her sleep, pressing back into him, and he buried his face in her hair, breathing her in.

The bed enveloped them in warmth, the world narrowing to the shared space between their bodies. Ben's fingers traced idle circles on her hip, a soothing rhythm that lulled him toward sleep as well. No words were needed, no grand declarations—just this quiet snuggling, the simple act of holding her through the night. As her breaths deepened into full slumber, he closed his eyes, content in the knowledge that tomorrow could wait; for now, she was safe, warm, and entirely his.

Chapter 9

Notes:

Smut....Smut...Smut...

ITS ALL SMUT....

Sunlight filtered through the half-drawn blinds of Ben's bedroom, casting warm stripes across the rumpled sheets. Rey stirred slowly, her eyelids heavy as she blinked against the intrusive brightness. The bed felt vast and empty beside her, the imprint of Ben's body long cooled. She reached out instinctively, fingers grazing the vacant pillow, a faint frown creasing her brow. Her head throbbed with a relentless pulse, each beat sending a sharp reminder of the previous night's indulgences—the jello shots, the rum, the wild abandon of the party that had spilled into their heated reunion. Groaning low in her throat, she pushed herself up on one elbow, the room tilting slightly as she sat upright. Strands of her hair stuck to her cheek, and she swiped them away with a grimace.

"Okay, maybe he is onto something with all that anti-drinking talk," she muttered to the empty room, rubbing her temples in slow circles. The ache was dull but insistent, like a hangover's signature scrawl across her skull. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet meeting the cool hardwood floor, and stood with a wince. The oversized shirt she'd borrowed from Ben's drawer last night—soft cotton, faintly scented with his cologne—hung loosely on her frame, the hem brushing mid-thigh. It was one of his favorites, a faded gray button-up that dwarfed her, but she liked the way it enveloped her, a subtle claim of his space on her skin.

Padding quietly down the stairs, she followed the savory aroma wafting up from below, her stomach rumbling despite the headache. The house was alive with the sizzle and pop of cooking, a comforting soundtrack that eased the edges of her discomfort. She paused at the bottom step, leaning against the banister to watch Ben for a moment unobserved. He moved with easy confidence in the kitchen, shirtless and clad only in loose black boxers that rode low on his hips. Broad shoulders flexed as he flipped strips of bacon in a cast-iron skillet, the muscles of his back rippling under tanned skin marked by faint scars from old adventures he rarely spoke of. Steam rose in lazy curls, carrying the irresistible scent of crispy edges and melting fat, mingling with the fresh brew of coffee percolating on the counter.

Rey smiled to herself, the sight chasing away some of the fog in her mind. He looked every bit the domestic god in this light, all brooding intensity softened by the simple act of making breakfast. She pushed off the banister and sauntered into the kitchen, her bare feet silent on the tiled floor. Sliding onto a stool at the island, she propped her elbows on the cool marble countertop, chin resting in her hands as she admired the view from behind. His dark hair was tousled, still damp from a quick shower perhaps, and a few droplets clung to the nape of his neck.

"Good morning, Professor," she said, her voice husky from sleep but laced with playful mischief. She leaned forward a bit more, letting her gaze trace the lines of his body unapologetically.

Ben turned at the sound, a spatula in hand, his lips curving into that signature smirk that always sent a flutter through her chest. His eyes, dark and knowing, swept over her in the shirt—his shirt—appreciating the way it clung just enough to hint at the curves beneath.

"Morning, trouble," he replied, voice low and warm, like gravel wrapped in velvet.

"I must say, this is one hell of a view," Rey continued, tilting her head with a grin. "I'll have to give you a solid 10/10 when I do my review of the year." She bit her lip to stifle a laugh, watching as he set the spatula down and pivoted fully to face her, arms crossing over his chest in a way that accentuated the defined planes of his torso.

"Review of the year, huh?" he purred, stepping closer to the island, his tone dripping with amusement and a hint of challenge. He braced his hands on the counter opposite her, leaning in until their faces were mere inches apart, the heat from the stove nothing compared to the spark in his gaze.

"Yeah, how's this?" She shifted on the stool, clearing her throat with a small cough to shake off the last remnants of sleep. Straightening up, she adopted a mock-serious expression, reciting as if reading from an official form. "My final year here has been an experience to say the least. So many amazing teachers. Professor Solo—he went above and beyond to make sure I flourished in his class." She paused for effect, her eyes sparkling with teasing light, then added with a wicked wink, "Or maybe under the end-of-year pics, my quote could be "Ben Solo has a massive cock."'

A chuckle rumbled from Ben's chest, deep and genuine, as he shook his head in feigned exasperation.

"That'd go down in history, alright. Probably get me fired before lunch." He turned back to the stove briefly, plating the bacon with practiced ease—crisp strips glistening with just the right amount of grease—before sliding a generous portion onto a plate alongside fluffy scrambled eggs flecked with herbs. The fork clinked softly as he handed it over, his fingers brushing hers in a deliberate linger that sent a warm tingle up her arm.

Rey accepted the plate with a grateful hum, spearing a piece of bacon and popping it into her mouth. The crunch and salt burst on her tongue, easing the queasy edges of her hangover like a balm.

"Mmm, worth the risk," she mumbled around the bite, swallowing before pointing the fork at him accusingly. "You know, if they ask for teacher recommendations, I might just say you're the best at... extracurricular activities."

Ben poured her a mug of coffee, black and steaming, and set it beside her plate. He rounded the island to stand at her side, one hand resting lightly on the small of her back through the thin fabric of the shirt.

"Careful, Miss Kenobi," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. "Keep talking like that, and your review might turn into a full session right here." His free hand stole a strip of bacon from her plate, crunching it between his teeth with a satisfied grin.

She laughed, nudging him with her shoulder, the simple contact grounding her in the easy rhythm of the morning.

"Promise? Because I'd rate your bedside manner off the charts." The headache was fading now, replaced by the buzz of flirtation, the air between them charged with that familiar electricity. Outside, the rain from last night had cleared, leaving a crisp Saturday promise in the air—lazy hours stretching ahead with no classes, no prying eyes, just them in this sunlit bubble.

"I was thinking we could just enjoy the privacy today?" Ben suggests looking at Rey "I have a hot tub, the library upstairs. Food and TV. Whatever you want to do" He says looking over at her.

Rey let the words hang in the air, her fork clattering softly against the plate as she set it down, the scrambled eggs suddenly forgotten in the face of this revelation. Her hand rested on his, fingers curling around his wrist with a firmness that belied the playful spark in her eyes. She met his gaze head-on, those serious brown depths now flickering with intrigue and a hint of challenge.

"You have a hot tub?" she repeated, her voice a low drawl that stretched the question into something far more suggestive than mere curiosity. The way she said it, with a slight tilt of her head and a slow blink, made it sound like he'd just confessed to hiding a treasure chest in his backyard.

Ben's lips curved into that signature half-smile, the one that always sent a warm flutter through her stomach, as he turned his hand to capture hers fully, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a rhythmic stroke that mirrored the lazy beat of her heart. He leaned back against the counter, his bare chest rising and falling with easy breaths, the morning light catching the faint sheen of sweat from cooking—or perhaps from the way her eyes were devouring him.

"Yeah," he replied, his tone casual but laced with an undercurrent of heat, like he knew exactly where her mind was wandering. "Installed it last summer. Figured a guy needs a way to unwind after dealing with a classroom full of distractions." His eyes dipped briefly to her mouth, then back up, holding her stare with an intensity that made the kitchen feel ten degrees warmer.

She shifted on the stool, the oversized shirt slipping higher on her thigh, exposing more of her skin to the cool air—and to his appreciative gaze. Rey squeezed his hand, pulling him a fraction closer across the island, her free hand reaching out to trace the edge of his boxers where they sat low on his hips.

"Distractions like me?" she teased, her voice dropping to a husky whisper, fingers dancing lightly along the fabric's hem, feeling the heat radiating from his body. The scent of coffee and bacon wrapped around them, but it was his cologne—subtle, woodsy—that made her lean in, inhaling deeply as if committing it to memory.

He didn't flinch at her touch; instead, he stepped forward, closing the gap until his hips brushed the edge of the counter, his body language screaming invitation.

"Especially like you," Ben murmured, his voice a gravelly rumble that vibrated through her. He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a slow kiss to her palm, his stubble grazing her skin in a way that sent tingles racing up her arm. "The tub's got room for two. Bubbles, jets... all the fixings for a proper escape. Just us." His eyes darkened as he spoke, flicking down to the way the shirt gaped at her collarbone, revealing the curve of her breast, before returning to her face with a smoldering promise.

Rey's breath caught, a soft exhale escaping as she imagined it: the two of them submerged in steaming water, her legs tangled with his, hands exploring under the surface where no one could see. She tugged him insistently now, drawing him around the island until he stood between her parted knees, her thighs pressing against his sides.

"Sounds like trouble," she said, but her tone was anything but reluctant—flirty, inviting, with a edge of steam that matched the rising heat between them. Her hands slid up his arms, nails lightly scraping over the taut muscles there, feeling him tense under her touch. She arched her back slightly, the shirt pulling tight across her chest, nipples hardening against the thin fabric from the proximity alone.

Ben's hands settled on her hips, fingers digging in just enough to anchor her, thumbs circling the exposed skin where the shirt ended. He bent down, his face inches from hers, breath mingling in the charged space.

"The best kind," he countered, his lips brushing her ear as he spoke, sending shivers down her spine. "We could grab suits... or not. Your call." The suggestion hung heavy, loaded with implication, and he nipped lightly at her earlobe, a playful bite that made her gasp and clutch at his shoulders.

She turned her head, capturing his mouth in a kiss that started soft but quickly deepened, her tongue slipping past his lips to taste the remnants of coffee on him. Her body pressed forward, molding against his chest, the friction igniting sparks low in her belly. When they broke apart, both breathing heavier, Rey's eyes sparkled with mischief.

"No suits. Definitely no suits," she decided, her hand trailing down his abdomen, fingers splaying over the ridges of muscle, stopping just above his waistband to feel the growing hardness beneath.

Rey stood there in the kitchen, the oversized shirt clinging to her curves like a second skin, but she wasn't content to let it stay on much longer. With a deliberate slowness that made Ben's eyes lock onto her every move, she gripped the hem and peeled it up over her head, letting the fabric whisper against her skin as it slid free. Her breasts bounced slightly with the motion, nipples already pebbled from the cool air and the heat of his gaze. She tossed the shirt aside onto the counter, standing fully naked before him, her body on full display—smooth skin flushed with anticipation, hips swaying just enough to draw his attention downward to the trimmed patch between her thighs.

"Lead the way, Professor," she purred, her voice a sultry rumble that curled around the words like smoke, her eyes half-lidded with invitation as she stepped closer, close enough that her bare breasts brushed his chest.

Ben's breath hitched, his cock twitching visibly in his boxers at the sight of her, hard and straining against the thin material. He didn't waste a second, hooking his thumbs into the waistband and shoving the boxers down his legs in one fluid kick, freeing his thick erection to bob heavily in the open air. It stood rigid, veins pulsing along its length as he straightened up, towering over her with that predatory glint in his eyes. He reached out, his large hand cupping the back of her neck, pulling her in for a brief, searing kiss—tongues clashing, teeth nipping—before releasing her with a growl low in his throat.

"This way," he said, his voice roughened by desire, grabbing her hand and leading her toward the back door.

The morning sun filtered through the trees as they stepped out into the garden, the air crisp but carrying the faint scent of earth and blooming flowers. Ben guided her to the left, where a covered cove nestled against the side of the house, hidden from prying eyes by tall hedges and a wooden lattice overgrown with vines. It was his private sanctuary, a garden man cave he'd built for moments just like this—secluded, indulgent. He pushed open the frosted glass door with his free hand, the hinges silent as they stepped inside. The space enveloped them in warmth: a small mini bar tucked into one corner, stocked with bottles glinting under soft recessed lights; an indoor heater humming quietly, chasing away any chill; a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall opposite, currently dark but ready for lazy afternoons. And there, dominating the center, was the hot tub—a sleek, oversized model bubbling gently with steaming water, jets humming invitingly, surrounded by padded benches and low lighting that cast everything in a golden, intimate glow.

Rey's eyes widened with delight, a soft hum of approval escaping her lips as she took it all in, her naked body silhouetted against the steam rising from the tub.

"This is... perfect," she murmured, squeezing his hand before releasing it to trail her fingers along the edge of the mini bar, imagining the possibilities. Ben watched her explore for a moment, his cock throbbing with need, before stepping up behind her. His hands found her waist, thumbs stroking the dip of her hips as he leaned in, lips brushing her shoulder.

"Get in," he urged, his voice a command wrapped in velvet, guiding her toward the tub with firm pressure.

She complied with a playful glance over her shoulder, stepping up to the edge and dipping a toe into the water first—hot, swirling bliss that made her sigh. Ben steadied her with hands on her hips, helping her ease down into the frothy depths, the water lapping at her calves, then thighs, until she sank onto the built-in seat with a contented moan. Bubbles tickled her skin, the heat seeping into her muscles, relaxing her instantly as she leaned back, arms draped along the rim, her breasts floating just above the surface, nipples tight and begging for attention.

Ben followed without hesitation, swinging one long leg over the side and sliding in opposite her, the water displacing around his broad frame with a splash. He settled against the opposite bench, his erection disappearing beneath the bubbles but not forgotten, standing proud even in the warmth. For a beat, they just stared at each other, the steam curling between them like a veil, building the tension until it was almost palpable. Then, with a smirk that promised sin, Ben reached out, his strong arms encircling her waist under the water. He pulled her effortlessly across the tub, her body gliding through the jets toward him until she was straddling his lap, her knees bracketing his hips, her slick folds pressing directly against the hard length of his cock.

Rey gasped at the contact, her hands flying to his shoulders for balance as she rocked instinctively, grinding her pussy along his shaft, feeling every ridge and vein slide against her clit. The water sloshed around them, warm and insistent, amplifying the friction as she settled fully onto him, her breasts pressing against his chest, nipples dragging over his skin.

"Fuck, Ben," she breathed, her voice husky, lips finding his jaw to nip and suck, leaving faint marks in her wake. His hands roamed her back, one sliding down to grip her ass, fingers digging into the firm flesh to hold her in place while the other tangled in her damp hair, tugging her head back to expose her throat.

He latched onto her neck, sucking hard enough to bruise, his teeth grazing the pulse point as she arched into him, a whimper escaping her.

"You feel that?" he murmured against her skin, his hips bucking up to thrust his cock against her entrance, teasing without entering, the head nudging her folds apart just enough to make her ache. "All for you." Rey's response was a needy grind, her clit throbbing as she circled her hips, coating him with her arousal mixed into the water. She captured his mouth in a deep kiss, tongues dueling hungrily, her nails scraping down his chest to pinch his nipples, eliciting a groan that vibrated through her.

The jets pulsed around them, massaging their bodies as Ben's hand kneaded her ass, spreading her cheeks slightly under the water. Rey broke the kiss with a pant, her forehead resting against his, eyes locked in a heated stare.

"Ride me," he ordered, voice low and commanding, releasing her hair to grip both hips now, lifting her just enough to position his cock at her entrance. Rey didn't hesitate, sinking down slowly, inch by thick inch, her pussy stretching around him with a burn that bordered on exquisite pain. She moaned loudly, head falling back as she bottomed out, his full length buried deep, filling her completely. The water made everything slicker, hotter, as she began to move—lifting and dropping, her ass slapping against his thighs with each descent.

Ben matched her pace, thrusting up to meet her, the angle hitting her g-spot with every plunge, making stars burst behind her eyelids. His hands roamed—squeezing her breasts, pinching her nipples, then sliding down to where they joined, his thumb finding her clit and rubbing in tight circles. Rey's cries echoed in the enclosed space, raw and uninhibited, her body trembling as the pleasure built, coiling tight in her core.

"Harder," she gasped, nails digging into his shoulders, leaving red crescents as she bounced faster, the water foaming around them.

He obliged, one hand fisting her hair again to yank her mouth to his, kissing her fiercely as he pounded up into her, the slap of skin on skin muffled but intense beneath the surface. Rey shattered first, her orgasm crashing over her like a wave, pussy clenching rhythmically around his cock, milking him as she screamed his name into his mouth. Ben followed seconds later, groaning deeply, hips jerking erratically as he spilled inside her, hot pulses flooding her depths, mixing with the warmth of the tub.

Rey remained perched atop Ben, her thighs clamped around his hips, his cock still sheathed deep within her pulsing core. The hot tub's jets thrummed softly beneath them, sending ripples of warmth through her body, but nothing compared to the lingering heat where they were joined—his thick length softening slightly inside her, yet refusing to slip free, as if even in repose it claimed her. Water lapped at her skin, droplets tracing lazy paths down her breasts and over the curve of her belly, mingling with the sweat of their exertion. She could feel every subtle twitch of him buried to the hilt, a reminder of the way he'd stretched her, filled her until there was no room for anything but him. Her hands rested on his chest, fingers splaying over the damp hair there, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing as it synced with hers.

Leaning in close, her lips brushed his ear, her voice a soft, breathless whisper laced with wonder.

"If this is what they call a honeymoon phase, I never want it to end." The words hung in the steamy air, vulnerable and true, born from the haze of satisfaction that wrapped around them like the bubbles rising from the depths. Before he could respond, she captured his mouth in a tender kiss, slow and exploratory, her tongue tracing the seam of his lips as if savoring the taste of their shared release—salty, intimate, utterly theirs.

Ben's eyes fluttered open at her words, dark pools reflecting the golden light of the cove, and he murmured her name like a sacred vow,

"Rey," the syllable rolling off his tongue with reverence, vibrating against her lips in a way that sent fresh shivers down her spine. His hands, large and possessive, slid up her back, one tangling in her wet hair to hold her steady while the other pressed flat against the small of her back, keeping her flush against him.

"It's not a phase... trust me," he rasped, his voice roughened by emotion and the remnants of their passion, before his lips claimed hers again. This kiss was deeper, more fervent—a clash of mouths that spoke of promises unspoken, his tongue delving in to tangle with hers, sucking gently on her lower lip until she whimpered into him.

The kiss stretched on, unhurried yet building in intensity, as if they were sealing a pact amid the swirling water. Rey melted into it, her body responding instinctively, a subtle roll of her hips grinding her sensitive folds against the base of his cock, drawing a low groan from his throat that rumbled through her chest. He was still half-hard inside her, the warmth of his spend leaking slowly from where they connected, mixing with the tub's heat in a slick, intimate reminder of their union. She broke the kiss only to trail her lips along his jaw, nipping at the stubble there, then down to his neck, where she sucked lightly, marking him in the same way he'd bruised her earlier.

Ben's grip tightened, his fingers flexing against her skin as he tilted his head back against the tub's edge, giving her access while his free hand wandered lower, cupping her ass and squeezing the firm globe, pulling her even closer.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he confessed between breaths, his voice a gravelly whisper as her teeth grazed his collarbone. "You drive me crazy Rey...it makes me want to keep you here forever. Locked away in this place, just us—no school, no risks, no one to pull you from me." There was a raw edge to his words, a possessiveness that thrilled her, making her core clench around him involuntarily, eliciting another guttural sound from deep in his chest.

Rey lifted her head, her eyes meeting his, pupils dilated with a mix of lingering lust and something softer, more profound. Strands of her hair clung to her damp cheeks, and she brushed them away with one hand, the other tracing the line of his jaw.

"Then don't let me go," she replied, her tone playful yet earnest, echoing his intensity. She shifted slightly, the movement causing his cock to stir within her, thickening just enough to make her gasp, her nails digging into his shoulders. The water churned around them, the jets massaging her calves and thighs, heightening the sensation as she rocked forward, pressing her clit against his pubic bone in a slow, deliberate grind.

He captured her wrist, bringing her hand to his lips to kiss her knuckles, then guiding it down between them under the water.

"Touch yourself," he instructed, his voice dropping to that commanding timbre she craved, eyes locked on hers with unyielding focus. "Show me how you feel"

Rey's breath hitched, a flush creeping up her neck as she obeyed, her fingers slipping through her slick folds to where he filled her, circling her swollen clit with feather-light strokes. The dual sensation—his girth stretching her from within and her own touch teasing the bundle of nerves—made her moan, low and throaty, her hips circling lazily as pleasure sparked anew.

Ben watched her intently, his chest heaving as he thrust shallowly upward, just enough to nudge deeper, making her fingers brush against him in the process.

"That's it," he praised, his hand covering hers to guide the rhythm, pressing her fingers firmer against her clit while his other arm wrapped around her waist, holding her steady. The steam rose thicker now, enveloping them in a private cocoon, the heater's warmth battling the faint chill seeping from the garden beyond the glass.

Rey's movements grew bolder, her free hand bracing on his chest as she rode the building wave, her pussy fluttering around his now fully hardening cock.

"Ohh, Professor is getting hard again" she panted, surprise and delight mingling in her voice as she felt him swell, inching toward that delicious fullness once more. He smirked against her throat, where his lips had wandered to suck a fresh mark, his teeth grazing the skin.

"Can't help it. Watching you like this... feeling you squeeze me... you're addictive, Rey. My perfect little secret." His words fueled her, and she quickened her pace, fingers rubbing faster, the water splashing softly with each undulation of her hips.

He released her hand, letting her take control, and instead reached for her breast, thumbing the nipple until it peaked under his touch. Pinching lightly, he tugged, drawing a sharp cry from her lips as bolts of pleasure shot straight to her core.

"Come for me again," he demanded, his hips bucking up to meet her grinds, the head of his cock kissing her cervix with each thrust. Rey's head fell back, exposing the line of her throat, her body arching as the tension coiled tighter, her breaths coming in ragged bursts. The jets bubbled insistently against her back, adding to the overload of sensations until she shattered, her orgasm rippling through her like liquid fire, walls clamping down on him in rhythmic pulses that milked his length.

Ben groaned, holding back his own release this time, letting her ride it out as she trembled in his lap, her cries echoing softly off the cove's walls. When she slumped forward, boneless and sated, his finally released. He grunted deep, as he thrusted up, once, twice. A deep grunt as his body trembled from his orgasm.

He panted with Rey leaned against him, her body trembling still, he stroked her hair, murmuring soothing words against her temple.

"Beautiful... so fucking beautiful." They stayed like that for long minutes, connected in every way, the water cooling slightly around them but their bodies burning brighter. Rey nuzzled into his neck, a contented sigh escaping her as reality began to creep back—the weekend stretching ahead, full of possibilities in this hidden haven.

 

The water in the hot tub had cooled just enough to make their skin prickle as they finally disentangled, Rey's body protesting the loss of Ben's warmth with a soft whine. She slid off his lap, his cock slipping free from her with a wet pop, leaving her feeling achingly empty despite the satisfaction humming through her veins. A trickle of their mixed fluids followed, sliding down her inner thigh, warm against the cooler air as she stood on unsteady legs. Ben rose behind her, water cascading off his broad frame like a waterfall over sculpted stone, his muscles flexing as he gripped the edge for balance. He stepped out first, offering her a hand that she took gratefully, their fingers lacing together in a grip that felt as intimate as their earlier joining.

The garden man cave's frosted door slid open with a soft whoosh, admitting them into the warmer embrace of the main house. The transition was seamless—the heated air inside wrapping around their damp bodies like a lover's arms, chasing away the faint chill from the outdoor breeze that had snuck in. Ben's home was a sanctuary of muted luxury: polished hardwood floors underfoot, walls lined with bookshelves that whispered of late-night reads, and the faint scent of sandalwood from a diffuser humming in the corner. The living room sprawled before them, dominated by a massive sectional sofa piled with throw pillows, a flat-screen TV mounted above a stone fireplace that crackled softly with a low flame he'd set earlier.

Ben released her hand only to snatch a thick, fluffy towel from a stack on a nearby rack—soft as a cloud, warmed slightly from the ambient heat. He tossed it to her with a playful flick of his wrist, the fabric unfolding mid-air like a banner of comfort.

"Dry off, gorgeous," he murmured, his voice still husky from their exertions, eyes raking over her naked form with unabashed hunger. The towel landed across her shoulders, and she caught it, rubbing it over her arms and chest, the terrycloth absorbing the droplets that clung to her skin. But before she could reach for more, he grabbed a second item—a soft dressing gown in deep navy silk, the kind that draped like liquid over the body, whispering against bare skin. He threw that too, watching as she shrugged it on, the fabric sliding cool and smooth over her shoulders, tying loosely at her waist to hint at the curves beneath without fully concealing them.

Rey shivered in delight at the luxury, the gown's hem brushing her calves as she padded toward the sofa, her bare feet sinking into the plush rug. She glanced back at him, biting her lip at the sight of Ben wrapping a towel low around his hips, the white cotton stark against his tanned skin, barely containing the bulge that still strained from their time in the tub. Water beaded on his chest, trailing down the defined ridges of his abs, disappearing into the towel's edge. He caught her staring and smirked, that possessive glint in his eye making her pulse quicken.

"Eyes up here, Rey," he teased, though his tone held no real reprimand—only the promise of more if she pushed.

He moved to the kitchen island, a sleek marble expanse that separated the living area, pulling out his phone to scroll through a delivery app. His fingers tapped efficiently, broad shoulders shifting as he selected their order: greasy burgers loaded with cheese and bacon, crispy fries doused in truffle oil, and thick milkshakes to cut the salt—comfort food that screamed lazy indulgence.

"What do you want on yours?" he called over his shoulder, not looking up but already knowing she'd crave extra pickles and a side of onion rings. Rey flopped onto the sofa, remote in hand, the dressing gown parting slightly to reveal the smooth expanse of her thigh.

"Everything," she replied with a grin, her voice light and sated, though a flicker of heat stirred low in her belly at the domestic normalcy of it all—him providing, her lounging like she belonged.

Ben chuckled, adding her preferences to the cart before hitting confirm.

"Fifteen minutes," he announced, pocketing the phone and sauntering over to her. He dropped onto the cushions beside her, close enough that his thigh pressed against hers through the thin silk, the heat of his body seeping into her like an invitation. The towel rode low, threatening to slip with every shift, and Rey's gaze dipped involuntarily, tracing the V of muscle leading downward. He noticed, of course—Ben always noticed—and draped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side. His fingers toyed with the gown's tie, loosening it just a fraction so his hand could slip inside, palm flat against her bare stomach, thumb circling her navel in lazy strokes.

Rey leaned into him, remote clicking through streaming options, the TV flickering to life with previews of thrillers and rom-coms. She scrolled past the heavy dramas, landing on a steamy erotic thriller she'd heard about—something with tangled sheets and forbidden affairs that mirrored their own life a little too closely.

"This one?" she asked, tilting the screen toward him, the trailer's sultry music filling the room with promises of tension and release. Ben's hand stilled on her skin, his breath warm against her temple as he nodded. "Perfect. Reminds me of us." His voice dropped lower, lips brushing her ear. "Except in our version, the professor doesn't hold back."

She laughed softly, a breathy sound that turned into a gasp when his hand ventured lower, fingers dipping beneath the gown's hem to trace the crease where thigh met hip. The delivery timer ticked down on his phone, but time felt elastic here, stretched by the easy intimacy. Rey set the remote aside, turning into him, her own hand exploring the taut line of his abdomen, nails scraping lightly over the towel's edge.

"You're still half-hard," she observed, bold and teasing, her palm pressing flat against the growing ridge beneath the fabric. Ben groaned, hips twitching upward into her touch.

"Blame yourself. Can't be around you like this and not want more."

The movie started with a low hum of suspenseful score, shadows playing across the screen as characters circled each other with loaded glances. Rey nestled closer, her head on his shoulder, but her hand didn't stop its exploration—slipping under the towel to wrap around his thickening cock, stroking slowly from base to tip. The skin was velvet over steel, still sensitive from the tub, and he hissed through his teeth, his arm tightening around her.

"Rey... food's almost here." But there was no real protest, only encouragement as he spread his legs wider, giving her better access.

She pumped him leisurely, matching the movie's building tension, her thumb swiping over the slit to spread the bead of pre-cum that welled there.

"It can wait at the door" she whispered, nipping at his collarbone, the gown falling open to expose one breast. Ben's free hand captured it immediately, kneading the soft flesh, pinching the nipple until it hardened into a peak. He turned his head, claiming her mouth in a deep kiss that tasted of lingering chlorine and desire, tongues sliding together in a rhythm that echoed her strokes on his length.

The doorbell chimed just as the on-screen couple shared their first illicit touch, pulling them apart with reluctant curses. Ben adjusted his towel, standing with a tent that he didn't bother hiding fully, grabbing his wallet from the counter.

"Stay put," he ordered, voice rough, eyes promising payback. Rey pulled the gown closed, smirking as she watched him answer the door—quick transaction, bag rustling, and he was back, setting the food on the coffee table with steaming efficiency.

They ate cross-legged on the sofa, burgers dripping juices onto napkins, fries shared from greasy fingers that Ben sucked clean after feeding her one. Milkshakes slurped through striped straws, cold sweetness cutting the savory heat. The movie played on, dialogue murmuring about secrets and seduction, but their attention was fractured—stolen glances, knees brushing, his hand resting possessively on her thigh under the gown. Halfway through her meal, Rey set her half-eaten burger aside, licking sauce from her lips before crawling into his lap, straddling him much like in the tub but with the barrier of his towel.

Ben's hands settled on her hips, guiding her as she rocked against him, the silk whispering over his skin.

"Movie's not over," he murmured, but his eyes were dark with intent, burger forgotten. She leaned in, kissing him with sauce-sweet lips.

"Neither are we." Her hands tugged at the towel, freeing his cock to slap against his stomach, hard and ready. She sank down slowly, taking him inch by inch, her pussy still slick from before, welcoming him home with a clench that made him buck upward.

They fucked like that—slow at first, her grinding down while he thrust up, the sofa creaking under them. The TV's glow illuminated their joined bodies, casting flickering shadows as she rode him, breasts bouncing free from the gown. Ben's mouth latched onto one nipple, sucking hard enough to draw a moan from her throat, his hands gripping her ass to control the pace.

"Fuck, Rey... so tight, so wet for me," he growled, teeth grazing the sensitive bud before switching to the other. She threaded her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, her hips circling to rub her clit against his base with every descent.

The intensity built, mirroring the film's climax, but theirs crested first—Rey's orgasm crashing over her in waves, walls fluttering around him as she cried out his name. Ben followed seconds later, spilling deep inside her with a guttural groan, holding her down to take every pulse. They collapsed together, panting, the movie's credits rolling unnoticed as the fireplace's warmth enveloped them.

Sated once more, Rey curled against his chest, the gown tangled around her waist, his arms a secure cage. Food wrappers littered the table, but neither cared—the world outside forgotten in this bubble of theirs.

"Best weekend ever," she sighed, tracing patterns on his skin. Ben kissed her forehead, voice a rumble.

"Just the beginning sweetheart."

 

The credits rolled across the screen in a slow cascade of white text on black, the movie's theme song fading into a soft instrumental that blended with the dying crackle of the fireplace. Rey's eyelids grew heavy, her body sinking deeper into Ben's chest, the steady rise and fall of his breathing lulling her like a gentle tide. His arms encircled her waist, one hand splayed possessively across her lower back, fingers tracing idle patterns on the silk of the dressing gown that had bunched up around her hips. The air in the living room hung thick with the scents of sex, fast food, and the faint smokiness from the fire, creating a cocoon of indulgence that made the outside world feel impossibly distant.

Ben shifted slightly, pulling a throw blanket from the arm of the sofa and draping it over them both with a lazy flick. The fabric was soft, woven with subtle threads that caught the firelight, settling over their tangled limbs like a shared secret. Rey murmured something incoherent, nuzzling closer, her leg hooking over his thigh to draw him in tighter. His towel had long since loosened, falling away unnoticed during their earlier frenzy, leaving him bare beneath the blanket. She could feel the solid length of him softening against her hip, a comforting weight rather than an insistent demand now. His hand ventured upward, cupping the nape of her neck, thumb stroking the sensitive skin there in slow, soothing circles that sent ripples of relaxation through her muscles.

The sofa enveloped them, its deep cushions molding to their forms as if designed for this exact purpose—hours of whispered confessions and stolen touches. Rey's fingers, still loosely curled around his side, twitched faintly, her nails grazing the faint scars on his ribs, remnants of some long-forgotten adventure he hadn't yet shared. She didn't mind the mysteries; they added to the allure, the way he unfolded layer by layer, revealing depths that made her heart ache with a mix of fear and fierce want. The room dimmed further as the fireplace embers glowed low, casting elongated shadows that danced across the walls lined with leather-bound books and framed maps of distant places Ben dreamed of exploring someday—with her, he'd hinted once, his voice rough with unspoken promises.

Sleep crept in gradually, starting as a haze at the edges of her vision. A soft sigh escaped her lips, her body going limp against him. Ben's breathing deepened, his chest rumbling with a contented hum as he pressed a kiss to her forehead, lips lingering there as if sealing the moment. His free hand joined the first, both arms now wrapping her fully, cocooning her in the heat of his larger frame. She fit perfectly against him, small and fierce, her curves slotting into the hard planes of his body like puzzle pieces long separated.

Chapter 10

The first rays of Sunday morning sunlight pierced through the half-drawn curtains, painting the living room in soft golds and muted shadows. Rey stirred slowly, her body heavy with the remnants of deep sleep, cocooned in the warmth of Ben's arms. The throw blanket had twisted around their legs during the night, trapping her against his solid chest, where she could still feel the faint thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palm. His head had lolled back against the sofa cushion, dark hair tousled and falling across his forehead in disarray. A low, rhythmic snore escaped his parted lips, the sound rough and endearing, vibrating through his frame and into hers. She lay there for a moment, savoring the quiet intimacy, the way his arm draped possessively over her waist even in slumber, fingers loosely curled against the curve of her hip.

But the air carried a subtle shift today—a quiet melancholy that seeped into her bones like the cooling embers in the fireplace. Tonight, she would have to leave, slipping back into the rigid routine of the boarding school, the secrecy, the constant juggling of lies to her friends and the watchful eyes of the faculty. The thought twisted in her gut, making the weekend's bliss feel fragile, like a dream on the verge of shattering. Five more months until graduation. The words echoed in her mind, a mantra of hope laced with doubt. If she even made it that far. The risks piled up: the forbidden nights with Ben, the close calls with Rose's suspicions, the headmaster's increasing scrutiny on campus behavior. One wrong move, and it could all unravel—expulsion, scandal, her future derailed before it began.

Rey shifted carefully, not wanting to wake him just yet. She eased her leg from between his, feeling the brush of his thigh hair against her skin, and gently lifted his arm from her waist. He mumbled something incoherent in his sleep, his brow furrowing briefly before smoothing out again, snores resuming their steady cadence. She smiled faintly, tracing the line of his jaw with her eyes—the sharp angle softened in repose, the stubble shadowing his cheeks from a weekend unshaven. He looked younger like this, less like the brooding professor who commanded the classroom and more like the man who whispered her name in the dark, who held her through storms of emotion.

Slipping from the sofa, she stood on bare feet, the wooden floor cool against her soles. The dressing gown hung loose on her frame, silk whispering as she tied the sash tighter around her waist. Her muscles ached pleasantly from the night's exertions—the hot tub, the couch, the raw urgency of their bodies colliding again and again. She glanced back at him once more, his chest rising and falling under the blanket, before padding quietly toward the kitchen. The house was still, save for the distant hum of the refrigerator and the soft patter of rain starting against the windows, a light drizzle that matched her mood.

The kitchen was bathed in the same diffused light, counters cluttered with the evidence of their lazy evening: empty takeout containers pushed to one side, a half-full bottle of wine on the island. Rey moved with purpose, filling the coffee maker with fresh grounds from the canister Ben kept stocked—dark roast, bold and unapologetic, just like him. The machine gurgled to life as she pressed the brew button, the rich aroma beginning to fill the air, chasing away the faint staleness of sleep. She leaned against the counter, arms crossed over her chest, staring out the window at the garden beyond.

She hates the fact it's almost over. The thought looped in her head, bitter as the first sip she imagined. This weekend had been a stolen paradise. But reality loomed, the drive back to campus tonight a countdown she dreaded. Rose would be waiting, probably with a barrage of questions about where Rey had been all weekend.

"Her father having a go at her," she'd say, the lie tasting sour even in anticipation. And Ben... he'd return to his role, the untouchable professor, while she sat in his class, fighting the urge to stare too long, to let her mind wander to the way he filled her, claimed her.

She poured the coffee into two mugs once it finished brewing, the steam rising in lazy curls. Black for him, a splash of cream for her. Carrying them back to the living room, she set his on the coffee table and sank onto the edge of the sofa beside him. Ben stirred at the movement, his snores cutting off mid-breath. His eyes fluttered open, dark and hazy with sleep, focusing on her with a slow blink.

"Rey?" His voice was gravelly, thick from disuse, and he reached out instinctively, his hand finding her knee under the blanket.

"Morning," she murmured, offering a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She handed him the mug, watching as he sat up, the blanket pooling around his waist, revealing the broad expanse of his chest marked with faint red lines from her nails the night before. He took a sip, sighing in contentment, then glanced at her, reading the shadows on her face.

"What's wrong?" He set the mug down, shifting closer, his arm sliding around her shoulders to pull her against him. The warmth of his skin seeped through the thin silk, grounding her.

She leaned into him, inhaling the familiar scent of him—musk and soap and something uniquely Ben.

"Just... thinking about graduation. It's so close, but it feels like everything could fall apart before then." Her voice cracked slightly, vulnerability slipping through the cracks she'd tried to seal. She took a sip of her coffee, the bitterness mirroring her thoughts. Five months. A lifetime in secrecy, or freedom if they played it right. But the 'if' gnawed at her—the what-ifs of discovery, of losing him, of facing the world alone after her family's fractures.

Ben's hand stroked her arm, slow and reassuring, his thumb circling the inside of her elbow.

"Hey, look at me." She did, meeting his gaze, steady and intense even in the morning light. "You're going to graduate. Top of your class if I have anything to say about it. And until then, we make the most of every stolen moment. No letting the what-ifs win."

She nodded, but the sadness lingered, a quiet ache in her chest. He pulled her closer, pressing his lips to her temple, lingering there as if to absorb her worries. They sat like that for a while, coffee cooling between them, the rain picking up outside. Rey traced patterns on his thigh, her fingers dipping under the blanket's edge, feeling the heat of him. Not urgent, not yet—just a touch to remind herself he was real, here, hers in this bubble.

Eventually, he stood, tugging her up with him, the blanket falling away to leave him in nothing but his skin. He didn't bother covering up, striding to the kitchen naked and unselfconscious, hips swaying with that confident grace that always made her pulse quicken.

"Let me make breakfast," he said over his shoulder, pulling eggs and bacon from the fridge. "Something to send you off properly."

Rey followed, perching on a stool at the island, watching him move. The way his muscles flexed as he cracked eggs into a bowl, the casual dominance in how he commanded the space—it stirred something low in her belly, a mix of desire and affection.

As the sizzle of bacon filled the kitchen, Ben glanced at her, eyes darkening with that familiar hunger.

"After we eat, we have the whole day. Hot tub again? Or the library—I've got that first edition you wanted to see." His voice dropped, teasing. "Or we could skip straight to round... what is it now? I've lost count."

She laughed, the sound lightening the air, and reached across to trail her fingers down his arm. "All of the above. But first, food. And more coffee." The sadness ebbed, not gone but held at bay by his presence, the promise of hours yet to claim.

 

The remnants of breakfast lingered in the air—a faint trace of coffee and toasted bread—as Ben and Rey left the kitchen behind, their footsteps echoing softly on the hardwood floors. The house felt alive with the quiet hum of morning, sunlight slanting through the windows to cast golden pools on the stairs. Ben's hand rested lightly at the small of her back as they ascended, a casual touch that sent subtle sparks up her spine, guiding her without demand. She glanced up at him, catching the way his dark hair fell slightly tousled over his forehead, and felt that familiar pull, the one that made her want to tangle her fingers in it and draw him down for a kiss right there on the landing.

The library door creaked open under his push, revealing the room's familiar embrace: towering shelves lined with leather spines and dust-kissed volumes, the scent of aged paper mingling with the faint polish of wood. A large bay window overlooked the rain-dampened garden, where droplets still clung to the leaves like scattered jewels. She moves to the bookcases. Her fingers running over the books. All the books to choose and she picks.

Miss Chastity Lover.

Ben watched her from the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his casual shirt rolled up to reveal forearms corded with quiet strength. He leaned against the frame, a smirk playing at the edges of his mouth as she settled into the chair, legs tucking beneath her, the book already open in her lap. The morning light caught the curve of her cheek, and he felt that possessive tug in his chest, the one that made him want to claim every moment like this.

"Didn't peg you for the type to do homework to my house. Trying to impress me?"

Rey looked up from the page she'd just turned, her lips curving into a sly smile that reached her eyes, sparkling with mischief. She marked her place with a thumb and tilted her head, letting her hair cascade over one shoulder. The way he lounged there, all easy confidence and teasing intent, made her pulse quicken just a touch. She shifted in the chair, uncurling her legs to let one foot brush against his calf in retaliation, the contact light but deliberate.

"This is research." Her eyes locked onto his, holding the challenge, the air between them thickening with that unspoken heat they both thrived on. She loved teasing him.

He chuckled, the sound deep and rumbling, vibrating through the space like a promise. Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, he fixed her with a stare that was equal parts playful and predatory.

"Research, huh? More like just killing time until I give you something better to focus on?" His foot hooked around her ankle now, tugging gently, drawing her closer without moving from his seat. The gesture was intimate, teasing the boundaries of their lazy morning flirtation.

Rey's breath hitched at the pull, but she didn't yield; instead, she leaned in too, mirroring his posture, the book forgotten on the cushion beside her. Her gaze dropped to his mouth for a split second—those full lips she knew could turn demanding in an instant—before flicking back up. Heat bloomed in her cheeks, but she embraced it, letting it fuel her retort. She smirked fully now, the expression wicked and inviting, as she uncrossed her arms and let one hand trail idly along the armrest toward him.

"I have to get ahead in class somehow," she said, her voice a sultry purr, eyes narrowing with feigned superiority. "Not all of us can sleep our way to the top." The words hung in the air, sharp and sassy, delivered with a wink that softened the jab into pure flirtation. She watched his reaction, savoring the way his eyes darkened, the subtle flex of his jaw as amusement warred with desire.

Ben's laugh burst out, genuine and unrestrained, filling the room with warmth. He released her ankle only to stand, closing the distance in two strides until he loomed over her chair, one hand bracing the backrest while the other reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His thumb lingered on her jawline, tracing the soft skin there with a feather-light touch that belied the intensity in his gaze.

"Oh, is that right?" he murmured, his breath warm against her temple as he bent closer, voice dropping to a husky whisper. "Careful, Rey. Keep talking like that, and I might have to demonstrate just how far sleeping your way up can get you."

She shivered at the proximity, the scent of him—fresh soap and that underlying musk—enveloping her like a caress. Her hand came up instinctively, fingers wrapping around his wrist, not to push away but to hold him there, her thumb brushing the pulse point that matched the quickening of her own.

"Threat or promise?" she shot back, tilting her chin up defiantly, lips parting just enough to invite more. The flirtation danced on the edge of something deeper, the library's quiet amplifying every rustle of fabric, every shared breath.

For a moment, he hovered, the tension coiling like a spring, his free hand sliding to cup her cheek fully, thumb grazing her lower lip in a way that made her core tighten. But then he pulled back with a groan, straightening up though his eyes promised retribution.

"Both," he said, voice roughened by restraint. "But if we dive into that lesson now, we'll miss the rest of this so-called 'relaxing' day." He offered her a hand, pulling her to her feet with effortless strength, their bodies brushing in the rise—chest to chest, thigh to thigh—sending a jolt through her that she felt echo in him.

Rey stood on tiptoe, pressing a quick, teasing kiss to the corner of his mouth before stepping back, book in hand once more.

"Fine. But don't think I've forgotten that extra credit offer." She sauntered toward the window seat, hips swaying just a fraction more than necessary, knowing his eyes followed every step. Settling there with the book propped on her knees, she shot him a glance over her shoulder. "Your move, Professor."

Ben sank back into his chair, picking up a volume of his own but making no pretense of reading. Instead, he watched her, the flirtation simmering in the air like the first notes of a symphony, building toward whatever crescendo the day—and their touches—would bring. The library held them in its hush, a private stage for their games, where words were weapons and glances were foreplay.

 

Rey nestled deeper into the window seat, the plush cushions cradling her as she flipped another page in Miss Chastity Lover. The library's hush wrapped around her like a secret, broken only by the occasional creak of the house settling or the distant patter of rain against the panes. Sunlight filtered through the clouds now, casting a soft glow over the words that danced before her eyes. The story had pulled her in fully, the protagonist's world of hidden trysts and bold seductions mirroring the thrill buzzing under her skin from their earlier banter.

She shifted, crossing her ankles, her bare toes curling against the cool fabric of the seat. The scene unfolded on the page: the hero pinning his lover against a wall of ancient tomes, his hands rough and claiming as he hiked up her skirts. Rey's breath caught, her cheeks warming as the description grew vivid—his mouth devouring her neck, fingers plunging deep into her wetness, her gasps echoing in the shadowed alcove. The words painted a hunger that made her thighs press together instinctively, a subtle ache building low in her belly.

"Oh my," she gasped softly, the sound slipping out unbidden, laced with a breathy surprise that carried across the room. She pressed the book closer to her chest for a moment, as if to contain the heat rising within her, then glanced sideways toward Ben. Her lips curved into a teasing smile, knowing full well he was attuned to every shift in her demeanor.

"He sounds so dreamy," she added, her voice a playful lilt, dripping with mock admiration. She bit her lower lip, teeth grazing the soft flesh in a deliberate display, her eyes flicking back to the page but not really seeing it anymore.

Ben's book lowered slowly, his dark gaze lifting over the edge like a predator sensing prey. He sat sprawled in the armchair, one leg extended, but now his posture tensed, muscles coiling under the casual shirt that clung to his broad shoulders. The way she bit her lip—plump and inviting, a silent invitation—sent a jolt straight to his cock, already half-hard from their flirtation. He watched her, unblinking, as she pretended to read, her chest rising a fraction quicker, the thin fabric of her top outlining the hardening peaks of her nipples. She knew he was watching; the subtle arch of her back, the way her fingers traced the book's edge, all screamed it.

"Dreamy, huh?" he rumbled, his voice low and edged with gravel, setting his book aside with a deliberate thud on the side table. He rose from the chair in a fluid motion, towering as he crossed the rug toward her, his bare feet silent on the fibers. The air thickened, charged with the scent of old books and their shared arousal, as he stopped just short of the window seat. His eyes roamed her form, lingering on the flush creeping down her neck, the way her legs shifted restlessly.

Rey's gaze lifted fully now, meeting his with a spark of challenge, her lip still caught between her teeth before she released it with a soft pop. She closed the book, tossing it onto the cushions beside her, and uncrossed her legs slowly, letting her knees part just enough to draw his eye downward.

"Maybe," she teased, her tone husky, laced with that feigned innocence she wielded like a weapon. "He's got this way of taking what he wants... right against the shelves. No hesitation."

Her words hung between them, a dare wrapped in silk, as she stood, closing the gap until her body nearly brushed his.

Ben's hand shot out, fingers wrapping around her wrist in a firm grip, pulling her flush against him. The heat of her seeped through their clothes, her breasts pressing into his chest, and he felt her heartbeat racing in tandem with his own.

"Is that what you want?" he growled, his free hand sliding to the nape of her neck, tilting her head back to expose the column of her throat. His thumb stroked the pulse there, feeling it flutter. "Me taking you like that? Hard?"

She nodded, a whimper escaping as his mouth descended, teeth grazing her skin before his lips sealed over the spot, sucking hard enough to mark.

"Yes," she breathed, her hands fisting in his shirt, yanking him closer. The bookcase loomed behind her now, its shelves a shadowed promise as he backed her toward it, step by insistent step. Her back hit the wood with a soft thud, volumes jostling slightly, and she gasped again, the vibration of it humming against his tongue.

Ben's body pinned hers, his erection grinding against her belly through his pants, thick and insistent. He devoured her neck, licking a hot path up to her ear, nipping the lobe as his hand released her wrist to roam lower, cupping her ass and squeezing the firm flesh.

"You're soaked already, aren't you?" he murmured, voice rough with need, his fingers dipping under the hem of her shorts to confirm it. She was—her pussy slick and hot, folds parting easily for his probing touch. He circled her clit with his thumb, drawing a moan from her that echoed off the walls.

"Rey," he groaned, the sound primal, as she arched into his hand, her hips bucking for more friction. He withdrew his fingers just long enough to spin her around, pressing her front to the bookcase, her cheek resting against a row of leather-bound classics. The cool spines pressed into her breasts, a stark contrast to the fire building inside her. His hands were everywhere—yanking her shorts down her thighs, exposing her bare ass, then freeing his cock from his pants with urgent tugs.

She glanced over her shoulder, eyes glazed with lust, biting her lip again as she watched him stroke himself, the veined length throbbing in his fist.

"Fuck me," she demanded, voice breathless, pushing back against him. Her legs trembled, but she spread them wider, bracing her hands on the shelves for leverage.

Ben didn't make her wait. He gripped her hip with one hand, the other guiding his cock to her entrance, the broad head nudging her slick folds apart. He thrust in with one savage push, burying himself to the hilt in her tight heat. Rey cried out, the stretch burning sweetly as he filled her completely, his balls slapping against her clit.

"God, you're so fucking amazing," he grunted, pulling back only to slam forward again, the bookcase rattling with the force.

Her walls clenched around him, milking his shaft as he set a punishing rhythm, hips snapping against her ass. Each plunge drove deeper, his cock dragging along her inner walls, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind her eyelids. She pushed back to meet him, her fingers digging into the wood, dislodging a book that tumbled to the floor with a muffled thump. The sound only spurred him on, his free hand sliding up her shirt to pinch her nipple, rolling the hard bud between his fingers until she keened.

"Turn around," he commanded suddenly, withdrawing with a wet pop that left her aching and empty. Before she could protest, he spun her to face him, lifting her effortlessly. Rey wrapped her legs around his waist, ankles locking at his back, her arms looping around his neck as he hoisted her higher. The bookcase dug into his shoulders now, but he didn't care—his focus was her, the way her pussy hovered over his cock, dripping onto his length.

He impaled her again, gravity aiding the descent as she sank down, taking every inch until he bottomed out.

"Fuck, Ben," she moaned, head falling back against the shelves, her nails raking his shoulders through his shirt. He gripped her ass, fingers bruising as he bounced her on his cock, the angle letting him grind against her clit with every upward thrust. Her breasts bounced with the motion, nipples scraping his chest, and he captured one in his mouth, sucking hard while his hips pistoned relentlessly.

The library filled with the obscene sounds of their joining—skin slapping skin, her breathless cries, his guttural groans. Sweat slicked their bodies, her thighs quivering around him as pleasure coiled tighter.

"Harder," she begged, grinding down to take him deeper, her pussy fluttering around his thickness. Ben obliged, fucking up into her with feral intensity, the bookcase creaking under the assault, more volumes teetering precariously.

He released her nipple with a pop, claiming her mouth in a bruising kiss, tongues tangling as he swallowed her moans. His hand slipped between them, thumb finding her swollen clit and rubbing firm circles that had her shattering.

"Come for me," he demanded against her lips, his own release barreling down as her walls spasmed, clenching him like a vice.

Rey shattered first, her orgasm crashing over her in waves, pussy gushing around his cock as she screamed his name. The intensity tipped him over, Ben thrusting deep one last time, spilling hot cum inside her, pulse after pulse flooding her core. He held her there, pinned against the shelves, their breaths mingling in ragged harmony as aftershocks rippled through them.

Slowly, he lowered her legs, but kept her close, foreheads pressed together as reality seeped back in—the scattered books, the lingering scent of sex.

"Dreamy enough for you?" he murmured, a satisfied smirk tugging his lips.

She laughed softly, weak-kneed and sated, stealing a lazy kiss. "For now."

 

The library's afterglow lingered in the air like a shared secret, the scattered books hastily righted and the faint musk of their passion masked by the earthy scent of aged paper. Rey smoothed her clothes, her body still humming from the intensity against the shelves, a satisfied ache between her thighs reminding her of Ben's possession. He watched her with hooded eyes, adjusting his pants before pulling her into a lingering embrace, his lips brushing her temple.

"Dinner" he murmured, voice rough but tender, "then I'll take you back."

By 7 p.m., the sky outside Ben's house had deepened to a velvety indigo, streetlights flickering on in the neighborhood like hesitant stars. The kitchen glowed warm under the soft overhead lights, the sizzle of garlic and herbs filling the space with comforting aromas. Ben moved with easy confidence at the stove, his broad back to her as he stirred a pot of creamy risotto, the steam rising in lazy curls. He'd thrown on a simple black t-shirt that hugged his shoulders, sleeves pushed up to reveal forearms corded with muscle from earlier exertions. Rey perched on a barstool at the island, chin in hand, stealing glances at him— the way his dark hair fell slightly over his forehead, the focused set of his jaw.

"You didn't have to cook," she said softly, though her tone held a note of delight, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the cool marble countertop. The day's flirtations and the library's heat had left her relaxed, boneless in the best way, her skin still flushed.

Ben glanced over his shoulder, a smirk tugging his lips as he added a handful of fresh mushrooms to the pan, their earthy scent blooming.

"Wanted to. Besides, you need something substantial after... everything." His eyes dipped meaningfully, darkening with memory, and she felt a fresh spark low in her belly. He plated the risotto with practiced ease, topping it with shaved parmesan and a sprinkle of parsley, then added grilled asparagus on the side, the spears glistening with olive oil. He slid a plate in front of her, his hand lingering to brush hers, thumb stroking the back in a gentle circle.

They ate at the small dining table tucked by the window, the rain from earlier now a soft patter against the glass, creating a cocoon of intimacy. Rey savored the first bite, the rice creamy and rich, flavors exploding on her tongue.

"This is incredible," she murmured around a mouthful, meeting his gaze across the table. Ben leaned back in his chair, fork in hand, watching her with that intense focus that always made her feel seen, claimed.

"Told you I'm good for more than just pinning you against bookcases," he teased, his voice low and playful, but his eyes held a warmth that softened the edges. She laughed, a light sound that eased the quiet, and reached across to steal a mushroom from his plate, popping it into her mouth with a grin. He caught her wrist mid-motion on the next attempt, pulling her hand to his lips and kissing her knuckles, his stubble grazing her skin.

The meal stretched unhurried, conversation weaving between light topics. Rey felt the weight of the evening's end approaching, a subtle sadness tugging at her chest.

As plates emptied, Ben cleared the table, waving off her offer to help. Instead, he pulled her chair closer when he returned, settling her between his knees as he sat. His hands framed her face, thumbs tracing her cheekbones, and he drew her in for a kiss—slow, exploratory, tasting of wine they'd shared. Her lips parted under his, a soft sigh escaping as his tongue teased hers, gentle but insistent. She melted into it, fingers threading through his hair, tugging lightly to angle him deeper.

They broke apart only to breathe, foreheads resting together, breaths mingling in the scant space between.

"Stay a little longer," he whispered, though he knew she couldn't, his voice rough with reluctance. Rey nodded, stealing another kiss, this one playful, nipping his lower lip before soothing it with her tongue. He groaned softly, hands sliding to her waist, pulling her onto his lap. She straddled him there at the table, the chair creaking under their combined weight, her thighs bracketing his hips.

For a few stolen minutes, they lost themselves in cute, tender moments—her giggling as he peppered kisses along her jaw, him murmuring nonsense praises against her neck, calling her his 'troublemaker' with a fond rumble. She traced the line of his collarbone through his shirt, feeling his heartbeat steady and strong, and he captured her hand, pressing it over his chest. 'Feel that? All yours,' he said, eyes locking with hers, vulnerability flickering in the depths.

But time pressed on, the clock ticking past 8 p.m. Ben sighed, reaching into his pocket to pull out her phone—confiscated earlier in their games, now handed back with a wry smile.

"Don't go flirting with those other boys again," he teased, though his grip on it lingered, as if reluctant to let go of even this small tether.

Rey pocketed it, rolling her eyes but leaning in for one last, deep kiss—passionate yet bittersweet, her hands cupping his face as if to memorize the feel of him.

"Only you," she promised against his mouth, the words half-joke, half-truth.

 

He drove her back in his sleek black car, the engine a low hum through the quiet streets. The neighborhood lights blurred past, rain-slicked roads reflecting neon glows. Rey sat close, her hand on his thigh, fingers drumming a soft rhythm as tension from the day ebbed away. Ben's free hand covered hers, squeezing reassuringly, the silence between them comfortable, charged with unspoken 'see you soons.'

A few blocks from her dorm, as always to avoid prying eyes, he pulled over under the shadow of a large oak tree, the leaves whispering in the breeze. The engine idled, and he turned to her, cupping her cheek for a final kiss—lingering, heated, his tongue sweeping in one last claim.

"Text me when you're safe inside," he said, voice gravelly, eyes dark with the promise of more.

She nodded, stealing a quick peck on his jaw before slipping out, the cool night air kissing her skin. As she walked the short distance, glancing back once to see his taillights fade, a smile curved her lips—sated, cherished, already counting the hours until next time.

 

The cool night air nipped at Rey's skin as she hurried down the dimly lit sidewalk, her sneakers padding softly against the damp pavement. The rain from earlier had left puddles that reflected the orange glow of streetlamps, and she dodged them with quick steps, her heart still thrumming from the goodbye kiss in Ben's car. His taillights had vanished around the corner minutes ago, leaving her alone with the quiet hum of the neighborhood settling into sleep. It was well past curfew—9:30 p.m., she guessed from the position of the moon peeking through scattered clouds—and the boarding school's gates loomed ahead like silent sentinels.

Rey glanced over her shoulder one last time, ensuring no prefects or wandering staff were patrolling the perimeter. The wrought-iron entrance was unlocked at this hour for latecomers, but sneaking in meant avoiding the main path and the creaky side door that led to the girls' dormitory wing. She slipped through the hedge bordering the property, thorns snagging at her jeans—Ben's oversized hoodie swallowed her frame, the sleeves bunched at her wrists, carrying his faint cologne that made her stomach twist with a mix of longing and nerves. Underneath, her skin still tingled from the evening's warmth: the risotto's richness on her tongue, his hands gentle on her waist during those final, stolen kisses at the table.

The dorm building rose like a shadowed monolith against the night sky, its brick facade dotted with glowing windows from girls cramming for midterms or whispering about weekend escapades. Rey pressed against the wall, edging toward the side entrance—a weathered door half-hidden by ivy that she'd exploited more times than she cared to count. Her breath came in shallow puffs, fogging slightly in the chill, as she fished her key from her pocket. The metal clicked softly in the lock, and she eased the door open inch by inch, wincing at the faint groan of hinges that seemed deafening in the silence.

Inside, the hallway stretched dim and empty, linoleum floors scuffed from years of footsteps. The air smelled of stale popcorn from the common room microwave and the underlying mustiness of old wood. Rey moved like a shadow, toes light on the ground, avoiding the floorboards she knew creaked near the stairs. The fake text Ben had sent from her phone, impersonating her to Rose about heading home for the weekend because of her dad's concern over the party fiasco, had bought her time.

She climbed the stairs two at a time, hand trailing the banister for balance. The hallway upstairs was quieter still, doors closed, muffled laughter seeping from behind one or two. Rey reached their door, and turned the knob with agonizing slowness. It swung inward without a sound, the room's interior spilling a sliver of lamplight onto the threshold.

She stepped inside, letting the door click shut behind her, the sound echoing like a finality in her ears. The space was familiar: twin beds pushed against opposite walls, Rose's side a riot of colorful posters and scattered jewelry, hers neater with books stacked on the nightstand. The air held the faint vanilla scent of Rose's body spray, mixed with the sharper tang of nail polish remover—signs of a girls' night in that Rey had missed. She exhaled, shoulders slumping in relief, already mentally composing a vague excuse about studying late in the library.

But then, movement in the corner of her vision froze her mid-step. Rose stood there, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her silhouette framed by the desk lamp's glow. She was in her pajamas—oversized pajama pants dotted with stars and a tank top that hung loose on her frame—hair pulled into a messy bun, but her expression was anything but relaxed. Dark eyes narrowed, jaw set in that stubborn line Rey knew all too well from arguments over shared chores or borrowed clothes. The room felt smaller suddenly, the walls pressing in as Rose's gaze pinned her in place.

"Where the fuck have you been?" Rose's voice sliced through the quiet, low but laced with steel, her arms tightening across her chest like a barrier. She didn't move, didn't uncross them, just stood there blocking the path to Rey's bed, her posture radiating accusation.

Rey's mouth went dry, her pulse spiking in her throat. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out—words tangled in the sudden panic rising like bile. The hoodie suddenly felt too heavy, Ben's scent a damning clue she couldn't hide. Rose's eyes flicked over her, taking in the disheveled hair, the flush still high on her cheeks from the drive, the way she shifted her weight uneasily.

"Because you have not been with your dad," Rose continued, her tone firm, unyielding, stepping forward just enough to close the gap and emphasize the lie she'd seen through. The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of secrets unraveled, Rose's disappointment sharpening them like a blade.

Rey stood frozen on the spot, caught like a deer in headlights, her backpack slipping slightly from her shoulder as her body locked up, every muscle taut with the terror of exposure.

Chapter 11

The lamplight cast long shadows across the dorm room floor, turning the space into a stage for this unwelcome drama. Rey's backpack hung limp from her shoulder, the strap digging into her skin like an anchor pulling her down. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, a flush that had nothing to do with the warmth of Ben's earlier embrace and everything to do with the spotlight of Rose's scrutiny. The air between them thickened, charged with unspoken accusations, the vanilla scent now cloying, suffocating.

Rose's arms remained crossed, a fortress of crossed limbs that barred any easy escape. Her dark eyes bored into Rey's, unblinking, the hurt simmering just beneath the surface like embers ready to ignite. She was shorter than Rey, but in that moment, she seemed to tower, her presence filling the room with an intensity that made the walls feel closer, the door farther away. The messy bun of her hair had a few strands escaping, framing her face in disarray that mirrored the chaos unfolding.

"Well?" Rose pressed, her voice dropping to a sharp whisper that cut through the silence like glass. "Come on. You've been gone all weekend, Rey. Where the fuck have you been?" She uncrossed one arm briefly to gesture at Rey's outfit, her finger jabbing toward the oversized hoodie and joggers that swallowed Rey's frame. "It's happened before. You've left wearing one thing and come back in a hoody and joggers. What is going on? I thought we were friends, Rey."

The words landed like punches, each one heavier than the last, forcing Rey to take a stumbling step back until her calves bumped against the edge of her bed. Her mind raced, scrambling for the lie she'd rehearsed on the walk back—the library, a group study session that ran late, crashing at a friend's off-campus—but it all crumbled under Rose's gaze. The hoodie, Ben's hoodie, carried his scent, a subtle musk of cologne and clean linen that Rey suddenly realized might betray her. She tugged at the sleeves self-consciously, pulling them down over her hands as if they could shield her.

"We are friends...I... I was just..." Rey started, her voice faltering, the words tasting like ash on her tongue. She forced a weak smile, the kind that never reached her eyes, and straightened her posture, trying to summon some semblance of confidence.

"I... I needed to sort some stuff out. The clothes? I spilled something on mine, so I borrowed some. That's all." The excuse tumbled out in a rush, too quick, too rehearsed, and even as she said it, Rey knew it rang hollow. Her eyes darted to the floor, avoiding Rose's stare, the scuffed hardwood suddenly fascinating.

Rose's expression hardened, her lips pressing into a thin line. She shook her head slowly, the motion deliberate, laced with disbelief.

"No, Rey. You are lying to me." Her voice cracked on the last word, the anger giving way to a raw edge of pain that made Rey's stomach twist. Rose took a step closer, uncrossing her arms fully now, hands clenching at her sides as if to keep herself from reaching out—or pushing away.

"We're best friends, and you are keeping something from me, and I don't understand why. We are practically sisters, Rey. We tell each other everything. What's going on with you?"

The plea hung in the air, vulnerable and piercing, stripping away the last of Rey's defenses. Rose's eyes glistened now, not with tears exactly, but with the shimmer of betrayal, her chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths. She looked smaller in that moment, the fire in her posture dimming to reveal the hurt beneath—the fear of losing the one person who'd been her anchor through the boarding school's isolation, the late-night confessions, the shared secrets that had bound them like blood. They'd navigated heartbreaks and triumphs together, Rose always the fierce protector, the one who dragged Rey to parties when she wanted to hide, who held her during the quiet sobs over her family's fractures. And now, this wall of silence Rey had built around Ben, around the stolen weekends and heated nights, threatened to crack that foundation.

Rey's argument died in her throat, the words evaporating like mist. She froze, her body going rigid as if turned to stone, the backpack finally slipping to the floor with a soft thud that echoed in the stillness. Her hands trembled at her sides, fingers curling into fists to hide the shake, but inside, turmoil churned—a storm of guilt and fear that left her breathless. Rose was so upset, her face a mask of confusion and sorrow, the lines around her mouth deepening with every unspoken question. Rey didn't know what to do; the truth clawed at her chest, begging to spill out—the intoxicating pull of Ben's touch, the secrecy that both thrilled and terrified her—but the risk was too great. Exposure meant ruin, for both of them. Yet lying to Rose, her best friend, the sister she'd chosen, felt like a deeper betrayal still.

Rose stood there, hurt radiating from her like heat from a flame, waiting for an answer that Rey couldn't give, the room pulsing with the weight of their fractured trust.

The dorm room felt smaller than ever, the air heavy with the weight of words unsaid, pressing down on Rey like an invisible hand. Rose's threat hung between them, sharp and final, slicing through the fragile thread of their friendship.

"Look, if this is how it's going to be—secrets and lying and sneaking in late and disappearing for days—then I think I might ask for a new roommate," Rose said, her voice steady but laced with a tremor of resolve. She held Rey's gaze, arms recrossing over her chest as if to steel herself against the fallout, her brown eyes reflecting a mix of frustration and deep-seated fear. The words landed like a gut punch, echoing off the plain white walls adorned with faded posters of bands they'd discovered together during freshman orientation.

Rey's stomach dropped, a cold plummet that left her reeling, her knees weakening as if the floor had tilted beneath her. The friendship they'd built—forged in late-night study sessions, whispered dreams under the covers, and unbreakable loyalty through the school's relentless grind—was teetering on the edge of a precipice. Rose wasn't just her roommate; she was the sister Rey had never had, the one who'd patched her up after falls both literal and emotional, who'd shared stolen sips of contraband vodka and plotted escapes from boring lectures. Losing that? It would unravel everything, leaving Rey more isolated than ever in this sprawling campus of strangers. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic rhythm that drowned out the distant hum of the hallway's fluorescent lights.

"No, Rose," Rey said, her voice breaking as she stepped forward, closing the gap between them in two urgent strides. The floorboards creaked under her sneakers, still dusted with the faint grit from Ben's driveway. She reached out instinctively, her hand hovering near Rose's arm before dropping away, afraid touch might shatter the moment.

"Look, I... I can't tell you." The admission clawed its way out, raw and reluctant, her breath coming in shallow bursts. She leaned in closer, her whisper barely audible over the pounding of her pulse. "I wish I could. I do. God, I have so much to tell you, but I can't. It's too risky."

Her eyes pleaded, wide and glistening, the hoodie sleeves bunched in her fists as she fought the urge to spill it all right there.

Rose's brow furrowed, confusion etching lines across her forehead as she searched Rey's face for clues. She tilted her head, her messy bun shifting slightly, a stray curl falling across her cheek.

"What are you on about, Rey? We've done some illegal-ass shit, and this you can't tell me?"

Her tone mixed exasperation with a hint of amusement, but the hurt lingered, sharpening her words like a blade. They had—sneaking out past curfew, forging notes for skipped classes, even that wild night with the pilfered exam keys from the dean's office. Drinking and drugs. Those secrets had bonded them, a shared rebellion against the school's iron rules. But this? This felt different, heavier, like Rey was carving out a space Rose couldn't enter, and it stung.

Rey held Rose's stare for a long moment, the silence stretching taut, her mind a whirlwind of what-ifs. The risk of confession loomed large—Ben's career, her own future, the scandal that could erupt like wildfire across the campus. But the alternative, watching Rose walk away, was unbearable. She let out a heavy sigh, the sound ragged, and muttered,

"Fuck!" before moving with purpose. Gently but firmly, she guided Rose toward the bed, her hands on her friend's shoulders, pressing her down onto the rumpled comforter. The mattress dipped under Rose's weight, the faint scent of her lavender body spray rising up. Rey sat opposite on her own bed, knees almost touching Rose's, the space between them a chasm bridged only by desperation.

Leaning forward, elbows on her thighs, Rey lowered her voice to a conspiratorial hush, her eyes locking onto Rose's with unyielding intensity.

"I swear to God, if you tell a soul, I will tell the headmaster that you started the fire in the science lab just to skip a test you didn't study for... Got it?"

The words were a weapon, wielded with a mix of regret and necessity, her threat hanging like smoke. She hated using it—the lab incident had been Rose's panicked bid for a delay, a stupid, reckless act born of all-nighters and fear of failure. But Rey needed leverage, something to bind Rose's silence as tightly as her own secrets.

Rose's eyes widened for a split second, surprise flickering across her features before it melted into a reluctant grin. She let out a soft, disbelieving laugh, shaking her head as the tension eased just a fraction.

"Oh shit... this is serious. You are blackmailing me... I'm so proud." The smile reached her eyes this time, a spark of their old camaraderie igniting amid the storm. It was classic Rose—deflecting pain with humor, turning vulnerability into armor. She leaned back slightly on her hands, the bed creaking, waiting, her curiosity now piqued beyond the hurt.

Rey didn't smile back; the gravity of the moment pinned her in place. She swallowed hard, her throat dry, and extended her pinky finger in a childish gesture that belied the adult stakes.

"Swear on your life, Rose. You won't tell a soul what I'm about to tell you." Her voice trembled, the whisper fierce, her gaze unwavering. This was it—the line crossed, the dam about to break. Every nerve ending buzzed with anxiety, her palms slick against her joggers.

Rose's expression sobered, mirroring Rey's intensity. She hooked her pinky around Rey's without hesitation, their fingers interlocking in a pact sealed by years of trust.

"Oh my God, Rey, I swear. Spill already." Her voice was eager now, laced with impatience and a thrill of forbidden knowledge, her body leaning forward as if pulled by an invisible string. The room seemed to hold its breath, the outside world fading—the murmur of students in the hall, the tick of the clock on the wall—all irrelevant in the face of this unraveling.

Rey's chest tightened as she drew in a deep, shuddering breath, the air in the dorm room feeling thick and stagnant, like it was pressing against her lungs. The dim glow from the desk lamp cast long shadows across the walls, highlighting the faint cracks in the plaster and the scattered remnants of their shared life—textbooks piled haphazardly, a half-eaten bag of chips from last night's cram session, Rose's favorite stuffed bear propped against the pillow. Her pinky still linked with Rose's, the simple gesture grounding her as the words she'd held back for so long clawed their way to the surface. She met Rose's eyes, those warm brown depths now wide with anticipation, and forced herself to speak, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside.

"Me and Professor Solo have been... seeing each other.... fucking... uh... all of it really," Rey said firmly, the confession tumbling out like a dam finally bursting.

She didn't shy away from the rawness of it, the explicit truth that had defined her stolen moments for nearly two months.

"Started last month, then all this month. So almost two months. We first fucked the night of the church party. Remember I said I hooked up with someone? Yeah... Professor Solo."

Rose's mouth fell open, her lips parting in a perfect O of shock that stretched wider with every word Rey uttered. Her eyes, usually so quick to sparkle with mischief, now bulged in disbelief, the color draining slightly from her face before rushing back in a wave of excitement. She pulled her pinky free, her hand flying to her chest as if to steady her racing heart, a soft gasp escaping her. The bed shifted as she leaned forward, the comforter bunching under her knees, her messy bun coming loose with a few strands framing her stunned expression.

"Are you?" Rose stuttered, her voice cracking on the words, the syllables tripping over themselves in her haste.

She blinked rapidly, as if trying to process the impossibility of it all, her mind clearly reeling from the revelation. Professor Solo—the brooding new English teacher with the sharp jawline and piercing stare that had set half the campus whispering from day one. The man who'd commanded the classroom with an authority that made Rey's pulse quicken just thinking about it.

"You and Mr. Solo?" The question hung in the air, laced with awe, before it shattered into a high-pitched squeal that pierced the quiet room. Rose clapped her hands over her mouth too late, the sound muffled but no less ecstatic, her body rocking back and forth on the bed in unrestrained glee.

"Oh my God! YES! Rey gets yours, girl!" She bounced slightly, her enthusiasm bubbling over like champagne, the earlier tension dissolving into pure, unfiltered joy for her friend's audacious secret.

Rose's laughter followed, light and infectious, cutting through the heaviness that had cloaked the room moments before. She reached out, grabbing Rey's hands in a tight squeeze, her nails—painted a chipped red from their last manicure session—digging in just a bit from the force of her grip.

"And of course, I won't tell a soul. You and the professor!" Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper on the last words, eyes darting to the door as if the walls themselves might eavesdrop. The promise was ironclad, sealed not just by their pinky swear but by the unbreakable bond they'd forged through years of shared rebellion. Rose's face lit up with a grin that crinkled the corners of her eyes, her initial hurt forgotten in the thrill of being let in on the ultimate taboo.

"Tell me everything! And I mean everything," she begged, her tone pleading and eager, leaning so close that Rey could smell the faint mint of her toothpaste mixed with the lingering vanilla from her lotion. Rose's curiosity was a living thing now, hungry for the juicy details—the stolen glances in class, the risky touches under desks, the way Ben's voice dropped low when he whispered her name in the dark.

Rey hesitated for a beat, the floodgates open but the vulnerability still raw, her throat tight with the relief of unburdening. But Rose's excitement was contagious, pulling more from her like a tide. She shifted on the bed, crossing her legs beneath her, the joggers—still Ben's, oversized and carrying his scent—rustling softly.

"It was insane from the start," Rey began, her voice gaining strength as she dove deeper. She recounted everything. "God, Rose, he fucks like its his fucking job and he's the boss'"

Rose hung on every word, her mouth still slightly agape, nodding furiously as Rey described the progression—their first classroom encounter after that night, the way Ben's lectures took on new meaning with their shared secret humming beneath. She talked about the office romps: Ben locking the door, bending her over his desk, his cock sliding into her from behind while papers scattered to the floor. The weekends at his place, where he'd cook for her, draw her baths scented with his cologne, then fuck her slow and deep in the tub, water sloshing over the edges as she rode him. Rey spared no details—the way fucked her, or how she'd drop to her knees for him, sucking his thick cock until he groaned her name and came down her throat. The emotional layers too: the confessions in the afterglow, her family's fractures spilling out as he held her, his own guarded past peeking through in quiet admissions.

As Rey spoke, the room transformed, the air lightening with Rose's reactions—gasps at the risk, squeals at the heat, wide-eyed awe at the depth of it. Rose interrupted with questions, her hands gesturing wildly:

"Wait, in his office? During school hours?" or "He cooks? Like, actual romantic shit?"

Her pride shone through, mixed with a vicarious thrill, as if Rey's boldness reflected on them both. By the time Rey trailed off, voice hoarse from the outpouring, the clock on the wall ticked past midnight, the dorm silent save for their hushed voices. Rose pulled Rey into a fierce hug, arms wrapping tight around her shoulders, the embrace a reaffirmation of their sisterhood now fortified by this shared secret.

"You're living a damn novel, Rey," Rose murmured into her hair, pulling back with a wicked smile. "But seriously, be careful. This could blow up everything."

The warning was gentle, laced with concern, but her eyes sparkled with excitement. For the first time in weeks, Rey felt the burden halved, even as the danger loomed larger in the light of confession.

Rey's shoulders slumped with a visible release, the tension that had knotted her muscles for weeks uncoiling like a spring finally sprung. The dorm room, with its familiar clutter of posters peeling at the edges and the faint hum of the radiator kicking in against the chill seeping through the window, felt safer now, the air less oppressive. She rubbed her thumbs over the backs of Rose's hands, still clasped in hers, the warmth of her friend's skin a lifeline in the vulnerability of the moment. The words she'd just unleashed hung between them, raw and unfiltered, but instead of regret, a wave of gratitude washed over her, loosening the knot in her chest.

"I'm so fucking glad you know," Rey explained, her voice softening from the firmness of her confession, laced now with a quiet relief that bordered on exhaustion. "It's been hard not saying nothing."

She let out a shaky laugh, the sound light but edged with the weight of all those silent days—pretending in class while Ben's eyes lingered on her a beat too long, dodging Rose's probing questions about her 'study sessions,' the constant gnaw of isolation amid the thrill of their hidden nights. For almost two months, she'd carried it alone, the secret a delicious poison that thrilled and terrified in equal measure. Sharing it felt like exhaling after holding her breath underwater, the surface breaking with a gasp that left her dizzy but alive.

Rose's eyes, still wide but now shimmering with a mix of empathy and lingering excitement, softened as she absorbed Rey's words. She squeezed Rey's hands tighter, her thumbs mirroring the gesture, a silent acknowledgment of the burden lifted. The bed creaked under their shifting weight as Rose scooted closer, her knee bumping Rey's in a casual intimacy that spoke volumes. The room's single lamp flickered slightly, casting a warm halo around them, turning the ordinary space into a confessional cocoon. Rose's initial squeal had faded into a more subdued energy, her body language shifting from bouncy enthusiasm to attentive support, though the spark in her gaze promised she was far from done prying.

"I can only imagine," Rose murmured, her voice gentle, pulling one hand free to tuck a stray lock of Rey's hair behind her ear—a sisterly touch that eased the last remnants of Rey's guard. "Hiding that? With him? Girl, you're braver than I gave you credit for."

She paused, her lips curving into a soft smile, the hurt from earlier confrontation dissolving completely in the face of this deeper trust. Rose leaned back against the headboard, drawing her knees up and patting the space beside her, inviting Rey to settle in for the long haul. The comforter pooled around them like a shared fortress, muffling the distant sounds of footsteps in the hall.

Rey accepted the invitation, stretching out beside her, the mattress dipping under her weight. She propped her head on one hand, staring up at the ceiling where glow-in-the-dark stars from their freshman year still faintly dotted the plaster, a remnant of simpler times.

"It started so fast," she continued, the words flowing easier now, propelled by Rose's encouraging nod. "That night at the church... I was wasted, dancing like an idiot. Ben just... appeared. He led me outside. All intense and pissed off. We argued, but it turned into this... thing. He took me back to his place, and we fucked."

Rose's breath hitched, her cheeks flushing a deep pink as she listened, rapt. She bit her lower lip, shifting slightly on the bed, her own imagination clearly firing on all cylinders.

"Holy shit," she whispered, fanning herself dramatically with one hand. "No wonder you've been spacing out in class. I'd be a mess too."

Her laughter was soft, conspiratorial, drawing Rey in further. She reached for a pillow, hugging it to her chest as if to contain her bubbling reactions, her eyes never leaving Rey's face.

"It's not just the sex," Rey admitted, her voice dropping to a vulnerable hush, the emotional undercurrents surfacing amid the heat. "He's... intense. Listens when I talk about my family—how Mom bailed when I was fifteen, Dad shipping me here like I'm a problem to solve. He holds me after, traces patterns on my back, makes me feel seen. But it's dangerous. One slip, and we're done."

The confession brought a sting to her eyes, but she blinked it away, focusing on Rose's reassuring presence.

Rose nodded solemnly, her excitement tempered by genuine concern. She set the pillow aside, scooting closer until their shoulders touched, a solid wall of solidarity.

"I get it. The thrill, the fear—it's like living in a romance novel, but with real stakes. And the way you light up talking about him? Rey, that's real. Just... promise you'll be smart about it. No more vanishing weekends without a heads-up, okay? I was worried sick." Her tone was light, but the plea underneath was earnest, rebuilding the trust that secrets had strained.

Rey turned her head, meeting Rose's gaze with a small, grateful smile.

"Promise. And thanks—for not freaking out, for wanting the dirt. It means everything."

 

The dorm room enveloped Rey like a cocoon of shadows and quiet sighs, the air thick with the remnants of their late-night confessions. Rose's form was a gentle rise and fall across the room, her breathing even and deep, a testament to the trust they'd rebuilt in the hours since Rey's truths had tumbled out. Rey eased herself onto her mattress, the springs creaking faintly under her weight, still wrapped in the borrowed layers of Ben's clothing that clung to her like a second skin. The joggers hung loose on her hips, the hoodie swallowing her shoulders, both infused with his essence—a subtle woodsy aroma that grounded her amid the emotional whirlpool.

She tugged the covers up, the fabric cool against her flushed cheeks, and reached for her phone on the bedside table. The screen flickered to life, casting a pale blue halo that danced across the walls. There it was: a message from Ben, unread and waiting, sent just after she'd slipped through the door. In the chaos of unpacking her heart to Rose—the shock, the questions, the eventual embrace of solidarity—she'd let the promised text to him slip her mind entirely. A pang of regret twisted in her gut, sharp but fleeting, replaced by the familiar thrill of connecting with him again.

Her fingers moved swiftly, composing the message with care.

Hi sorry, was catching up with rose. Miss you x

She sent it off, the whoosh echoing softly in the silence, and held her breath, curling onto her side with the device clutched in her palm. The response came almost instantly, as if he'd been poised, phone in hand, the distance between them no barrier to his attentiveness.

'Finally. Was about to send a search party. What kept you so long? Everything okay?'

Rey smiled into the darkness, her thumb tracing idle patterns on the case as she pictured him—perhaps lounging in his armchair by the window, the house quiet around him, his mind replaying their earlier parting. The concern laced through his words warmed her from the inside out, a balm against the chill of the unheated room.

Yeah, just girl talk that ran late. She's out cold now. Wish I was with you instead. This bed feels empty without you crowding it.

She added a heart emoji, letting the flirtation seep in naturally, like honey into tea. The ellipsis blinked, his typing indicator a teasing pulse that mirrored her quickening heartbeat. When his reply landed, it carried that signature blend of playfulness and heat, drawing her deeper into their private world.

'Empty, huh? I can fix that in your imagination. Tell me, what are you wearing? Still got my stuff on?'

Heat crept up her neck, her body responding to the implication even as fatigue tugged at her limbs. She glanced down, the hoodie's sleeve slipping over her hand as she shifted, and typed back with a mischievous grin.

Maybe. They're soft, but not as good as your hands. What if I said I was thinking about peeling them off right now?

The message flew out, bold and inviting, her free hand slipping under the covers to toy with the drawstring of the joggers. Rose's soft snore punctuated the quiet, a reminder of the thin veil of secrecy still shrouding this part of her life. Ben's replies came in quick succession, building the tension like a slow-burning fuse.

'Now that's a visual. I'd start with the hoodie—lift it slow, kiss every inch of skin I uncover. Your neck, your collarbone... down to those curves I can't get enough of.'

Rey's breath caught, her thighs clenching as vivid flashes assaulted her: his lips trailing fire, his breath hot against her pulse. She squirmed against the sheets, the phone nearly slipping from her grasp.

Ben... you're making it hard to stay put. Keep going—what next?

His next message arrived with a pause that stretched her anticipation taut.

*'Next, I'd tug those joggers down your legs, spread you out and bury my face where you need me most. Taste you until you're shaking, begging. But I know you're wiped out. Rain check?'

A whimper escaped her, stifled into the pillow as arousal pooled low in her core. He always knew the perfect balance—pushing just far enough to leave her aching, then reeling it back with care. The clock on her phone glowed 2:15 AM, the lateness seeping into her bones, making her eyes heavy even as her mind spun with desire.

Tease. You're right, though—eyes are closing. But tomorrow... yeah. Night, handsome. Dream of me.

Always Rey. See you tomorrow

She powered down the screen, the room plunging back into obscurity.

Chapter 12

The morning sun filtered through the tall arched windows of the lunch hall, casting golden streaks across the long wooden tables laden with trays of scrambled eggs, toast, and steaming mugs of coffee. The air buzzed with the low hum of chatter from early risers—students shaking off the remnants of sleep, some nursing hangovers from weekend escapades, others buried in textbooks to cram for the week ahead. Rey and Rose had claimed their usual spot in the far corner, tucked away like conspirators in a dimly lit booth, the high-backed benches shielding them from the main flow of traffic. It was their sanctuary amid the chaos, a place where secrets could spill without echoing too far.

Rey poked at her oatmeal with a spoon, the bland mush doing little to settle the butterflies still fluttering in her stomach from the night's revelations. Across from her, Rose was midway through a stack of pancakes drowning in syrup, her fork pausing mid-air as she leaned in, eyes wide with that mix of disbelief and delight that hadn't faded since Rey's confession.

"Girl, I'm still shook about last night," Rose had whispered the moment they sat down, her voice a hushed squeal that made Rey's cheeks burn. "Tell me anything you missed."

"I told you the important parts," Rey hissed back, glancing around to ensure no one was eavesdropping. But the giggles bubbled up anyway, infectious and light. Rey swatted at her arm, laughing despite herself, the tension of secrecy easing into something almost playful. For the first time in weeks, sharing the weight felt... freeing. Rose's shock had morphed into giddy support, peppered with questions that made Rey's heart race all over again.

Their laughter rang out in soft peals, drawing a few curious glances from nearby tables, when the sound of heavy footsteps approached. Poe and Finn sauntered over, trays balanced precariously, Poe's backpack slung over one shoulder and Finn's hair still tousled from a rushed morning. Poe slid into the seat next to Rose with a grin, while Finn took the spot beside Rey, both boys oblivious to the undercurrent of girl-talk that had just been interrupted.

"What's so funny over here? You two plotting world domination or just swapping beauty tips?" Poe teased, digging into his bacon with gusto. Finn chuckled, nodding hello as he unwrapped a muffin.

Rey's eyes flicked to Rose, a silent warning flashing between them. The last thing she needed was these two prying into her love life—especially one that could get Ben fired and her expelled. Her foot shot out under the table, connecting with Rose's shin in a sharp kick. Rose yelped softly, rubbing her leg with a mock glare, but caught the hint instantly. She straightened up, plastering on her best innocent smile.

"Oh, nothing major. Just... uh, talking about that ridiculous biology quiz coming up. You know, the one with all the diagrams?" Rose pivoted smoothly, steering the conversation away from forbidden territory. Poe and Finn bought it without question, launching into complaints about the professor's dry lectures, the group settling into easy banter.

But then Finn, ever the organized one, pulled a crumpled syllabus from his bag and glanced at it.

"Speaking of classes, so are we ready to hand in our poem assignments to Professor Solo this morning? I stayed up way too late polishing mine."

Rey's head tipped up slowly, her spoon freezing halfway to her mouth. The words hung in the air like a thunderclap, her mind scrambling to catch up. Poem assignments? To Ben? This morning?

"Nooooo," she groaned, drawing out the word in pure shock, her oatmeal forgotten. "We had homework?"

Finn blinked at her, fork paused mid-bite.

"Yeah, he gave it to us last week? During that discussion on romantic literature. Remember? The one where he went on about passion and forbidden love?"

Poe snorted, leaning back with a smirk looking at Rey.

"Dude, you were zoning out hard that day. Or were you too busy staring at the hot prof?"

"What? Are you guys fucking with me?" Rey demanded, her voice rising an octave as panic clawed at her chest. She racked her brain, fragments of that class surfacing—Ben's deep voice weaving through sonnets, his eyes lingering on hers just a beat too long. But the assignment? It had slipped through the cracks amid stolen nights and secret texts.

Rose, catching the distress in Rey's eyes, leaned forward with a dramatic sigh.

"Oh baby girl, We're deadly serious. Better get cracking."

"Fuck!!!" Rey exploded under her breath, slamming her spoon down. The table rattled slightly, drawing a shush from a nearby group. "What's it about?"

Poe gagged theatrically, shoving a piece of toast into his mouth.

"It's about love. Barf. Who even writes poems anymore?"

The word 'love' hit Rey like a splash of cold water, freezing her in place. Her gaze locked onto Rose's for a split second, the implication hanging heavy between them. Love. Of all topics. With Ben as the recipient. Her mind reeled, a whirlwind of emotions crashing together—mortification, inspiration, a spark of something dangerously intimate. She could pour her heart into this, every stolen kiss and whispered promise, but handing it over? To him? In front of the class?

Rey's hands scrambled inside her book bag, fingers closing around her worn notebook and a pen that had seen better days. She yanked them out, her movements frantic, like a soldier gearing up for battle.

"Details now," she demanded of Rose, her voice a urgent whisper-shout. "I have first period free—I can run to the library and bang something out."

Rose's lips curved into a knowing smirk, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she recited the guidelines from memory.

"Okay, it's not that serious. Just a basic poem, babe—about love. Free verse or structured, whatever. Explore emotions, metaphors, the whole shebang. Ten percent of our final grade, so... yeah, don't bomb it." She paused, then added with a wink that made Rey's stomach flip, "Should be easy for you, right? All that real-life inspiration you've got."

Rey's eyes widened, heat flooding her face as Rose's words danced too close to the truth. The boys were too engrossed in their breakfasts—Poe inhaling eggs while Finn scrolled his phone—to notice the loaded exchange. Rey shot Rose a glare that promised retaliation later, but there was no time for that. She shoved her tray aside, slung her bag over her shoulder, and bolted from the table without another word.

Her sneakers squeaked against the polished floor as she wove through the crowded hall, dodging clusters of students and the occasional janitor pushing a cart. The library was her lifeline, just across the quad—a sprawling brick building with towering shelves and quiet nooks that had always been her refuge. Heart pounding, she burst through the double doors, the cool, musty air hitting her like a wave. A few early birds glanced up from their tables, but Rey ignored them, beelining for her favorite corner by the window overlooking the gardens.

She dropped into a chair, flipping open her notebook to a fresh page, pen gripped so tightly her knuckles whitened. Love. The word mocked her from the blank paper. How could she capture it? The way Ben's hands felt on her skin, rough and reverent? The thrill of his texts lighting up her phone in the dead of night? Or the deeper pull, the ache of wanting more than stolen moments?

Minutes ticked by as she scribbled, crossing out lines, her mind a storm of verses. 'Your gaze, a forbidden verse, / Ink bleeding into my veins...' She paused, chewing her lip, the memory of their last encounter flooding back—his body pressed against hers in the library of his home, books tumbling around them. No, too explicit. Keep it poetic, not pornographic.

By the time the bell rang for first period, she had finally had something—a raw, heartfelt piece that blurred the line between homework and confession. Folding the paper carefully, Rey gathered her things, a mix of dread and excitement bubbling in her chest. Handing this to Ben? It was risky, intimate, a piece of her soul on display. But as she headed to English class, notebook clutched like a talisman, she couldn't deny the rush. Maybe, just maybe, he'd read between the lines.

 

The corridors of the university blurred into a frenzy of motion as Rey sprinted toward the English building, her backpack thumping against her back with every stride. Her lungs burned from the dash across campus, the crisp autumn air still clinging to her skin like a reminder of her narrow escape from disaster. Students milled about in clusters, laughing and chatting, but Rey weaved through them like a shadow, her mind fixed on the door at the end of the hall. The library session had stretched longer than planned—those ten lines had ballooned into revisions, erasures, and a frantic rewrite that left her notebook pages smudged with ink. But she had it. She had something.

She burst through the classroom door just as the final bell echoed, the crowd of latecomers parting like a reluctant sea. Her desk in the back row, wedged between Rose's and an empty seat, beckoned like a safe harbor. Rey shoved her way past a few stragglers, dropping her bag with a thud and collapsing into the chair. She nodded at Rose, who was already seated with her notebook open, a sly smile playing on her lips.

"I did it," Rey breathed, her chest heaving as she gulped down air. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. "Forbidden true love."

She threw her head back against the wooden slats of the chair, a dramatic exhale escaping her. Her heart hammered not just from the run, but from the weight of what she'd poured onto the page—fragments of her reality disguised as poetry, raw and unfiltered.

Rose's eyes sparkled with amusement and a touch of sympathy.

"You look like you just ran a marathon, babe. But yeah, that title? Chef's kiss." She mimed an explosion with her fingers, keeping her voice low amid the settling rustle of the class.

Before Rey could respond, the door swung open with authority, and the room fell into a hushed silence. Professor Ben Solo strode in, his tall frame filling the doorway, dressed in a crisp button-down shirt that hugged his broad shoulders and dark slacks that spoke of effortless command. His hair was slightly tousled, as if he'd run a hand through it on the way over, and his eyes—those dark eyes—swept the room, lingering just a fraction longer on the back row. On her.

Rose caught the moment and winked at Rey, a quick, conspiratorial flick that made Rey's stomach twist. She slouched deeper into her seat, the world narrowing to the grain of the desk in front of her. The poem burned in her bag like a live coal; handing it over would be one thing, but reading it aloud? In front of him? The thought made her palms slick with nervous sweat.

Ben set his briefcase on the podium with a soft click and leaned against it, his presence commanding without effort.

"Good morning, everyone," he began, his voice a deep rumble that cut through the lingering murmurs. "Second class on a Monday. I know, it sucks." A low chuckle escaped him, warm and disarming, drawing a few tentative smiles from the front rows. He straightened, his gaze roaming the class with that subtle intensity that always made Rey's pulse quicken. "But we get to read all of your beautiful poems today. So, let's make the best of it. We'll go in alphabetical order—keep it fair and orderly."

He pulled out the stack of submitted papers—those who'd turned in early, anyway—and flipped to the list. The class shifted in their seats, a mix of groans and excited whispers rippling through. Names were called one by one: a shy freshman stumbling through a sonnet about unrequited crushes, a jock reciting something hilariously off-rhyme about his girlfriend's smile. Ben nodded along, offering constructive feedback with a balance of encouragement and critique that kept the energy light.

Then came Poe. 'Dameron,' Ben announced, glancing up with a half-smile. Poe sauntered to the front, clearing his throat dramatically as if he were about to deliver Shakespeare himself. He unfolded his paper with flair and launched into his poem—a cheeky ode to 'love like a starship crash,' full of sci-fi metaphors and punchy lines that had the class chuckling by the end.

Ben crossed his arms, tapping his chin thoughtfully as Poe returned to his seat. 'Bold choice, Poe. The imagery's vivid—almost cinematic. But tighten up the rhythm in the second stanza; it drags a bit like a faulty engine. Solid effort, though. You've got a voice.' Poe pumped his fist subtly, grinning as he slid back down the aisle.

The air in the room thickened as Ben scanned his list again. Next: Rey.

Rey's name hung in the silence like a verdict. She looked at Rose, who gave an encouraging nod, but Rey's throat tightened. She gulped audibly, the sound swallowed by the creak of her chair as she pushed herself up. Her legs felt like lead, each step to the front a deliberate effort under the weight of twenty pairs of eyes—and his. Ben's gaze met hers briefly, neutral and professional, but it sent a jolt through her all the same.

She reached the podium, her hands trembling slightly as she unfolded the paper. The words blurred for a second, her nerves fraying the edges of her vision. Taking a shaky breath, she began, her voice starting soft but gaining strength with each line.

"We were never meant to touch— not with the world watching, not with fate whispering do not dare. But every time your eyes meet mine, rules crumble like ash in a wind that knows our names.

There’s a wicked sweetness in the space between us, charged and trembling, as if the universe itself holds its breath when you reach for me.

Your hands— they know the map of my want, tracing the borders we’d promised we’d never cross, igniting the night with every stolen brush of skin.

Loving you is a secret fire— one I cup in my palms knowing it could burn us both, and yet I’d choose the scorch of you over a lifetime untouched.

And when you whisper my name, soft, sworn, forbidden, I swear the stars lean closer just to listen— because even they know some desires are too true to be denied."

The final words faded into the quiet, the classroom holding a collective breath. Rey didn't look up—not at Ben, not at anyone. Her cheeks burned, the vulnerability of the piece stripping her bare. She folded the paper with unsteady fingers and hurried back to her seat, burying her head in her arms on the desk. The wood was cool against her forehead, a small mercy as her heart thundered in her ears.

Ben paused, his fingers drumming lightly on the podium as he absorbed the poem. The class waited, the usual post-reading chatter subdued by the intensity of her words. "Miss Kenobi" he said finally, his tone measured, laced with something unreadable—appreciation? Recognition? "That's... powerful. The imagery of the 'secret fire' and crumbling rules captures the essence of forbidden longing beautifully. It's raw, evocative. You've woven emotion into every line without forcing it. Excellent work—truly stands out."

His praise washed over her like a wave, but she kept her face hidden, the heat in her chest a mix of relief and terror. Did he hear himself in those lines? The stolen touches, the whispered names? Rose squeezed her arm under the desk, a silent "you killed it"'

Ben moved on seamlessly. 'Next: Tico.' Rose stood with more confidence than Rey had mustered, her poem a lighter take on love as a chaotic adventure, full of humor and heart.

"We shouldn’t flirt—everyone says so—but you smile at me, like you’re already breaking the rules.

I brush your hand, “accidentally,” and you laugh, and suddenly trouble tastes like sugar.

Maybe it’s forbidden, maybe it’s fate—but stars wink overhead, as if they’re in on the secret too."

Ben's feedback was warm, praising her wit and flow. As Rose finished and returned to her seat, the readings continued, but Rey remained slouched, the world muffled around her. The poem lingered between her and Ben like an unspoken thread, pulling taut with every glance she dared not take.

 

The final poem wrapped up with a smattering of polite applause, the classroom easing into that end-of-session hum where backpacks zipped and chairs scraped against the floor. Students began gathering their things, chatter bubbling up, but Ben held up a hand from the podium, his voice cutting through the noise with quiet authority.

"Hold on, everyone—just one more thing before you go." He stepped away from the desk, moving into the center of the room with a deliberate slowness that drew all eyes back to him. The air shifted, curiosity rippling through the seats like a wave. "I figured I'd join you all today. Share a little of my own work. So we're all a little embarrassed together, yeah? Fair's fair."

A murmur of surprise swept the class—professors didn't usually bare their souls like this. Whispers exchanged glances, and even the most distracted heads turned. Rey, still half-hidden behind her arms on the desk, lifted her gaze slowly, her heart stuttering as she watched him. Ben stood there in the middle of the worn linoleum floor, the fluorescent lights casting shadows across his sharp jawline, his broad chest rising and falling with a breath he seemed to steady. He pulled a folded sheet from his pocket, his fingers lingering on the edges as if anchoring himself.

Everyone watched him. Especially Rey. Her body went still, the world narrowing to the man before her—the man whose hands had mapped her skin in secret, whose whispers had unraveled her in the dark. What was he doing? The question burned in her chest, but she couldn't look away, pinned by the vulnerability flickering in his eyes.

He cleared his throat, a touch awkward, rubbing the back of his neck before unfolding the paper. His voice started low, almost hesitant, but it built with each line, raw and resonant, filling the room like smoke.

"You move through the room like a spark looking for something dry enough to burn, and every damn time it’s me.

I tell myself you deserve a gentler orbit, a man who isn’t made of fault lines and wants and too much hunger— but you glance my way and the ground cracks open again.

You’re too beautiful for the things I feel. Too rare. Too luminous. I should worship from afar, hands folded, heart restrained. I should be good.

But I’m not.

I keep tasting the danger of you like it’s oxygen. I keep coming back for another hit— your laugh, your warmth, your eyes pulling me apart thread by thread.

You’re the sweetest addiction I’ve ever known, the kind that ruins men and makes them grateful for the ruin.

And I’m selfish enough to want every forbidden piece of you.

If loving you is wrong, then let me sin. Let me fall. Let me burn for you again and again.

Because the truth is simple, and it terrifies me— I could live without many things, but I can’t live without the taste of you on my soul."

The last words hung in the air, heavy and electric, the silence that followed thicker than before. Ben folded the paper slowly, his gaze dropping to the floor for a beat, as if the confession had cost him something vital. But when he looked up, his eyes found hers—dark, intense, a storm of unspoken promises locking onto Rey's stunned expression.

She was frozen, her breath caught in her throat, body rigid in the chair. The poem wasn't just words; it was them—the stolen glances, the hunger that clawed at them both, the terror of what they risked. Her mind reeled, replaying lines like echoes: the danger of you like it’s oxygen, every forbidden piece of you. It was a mirror to her own verses, a public unraveling of their secret that left her exposed, aching, her skin prickling with the heat of recognition. Her hands clenched under the desk, nails digging into palms, as the classroom erupted around her.

"Whoa," Rose breathed beside her, eyes wide as saucers, leaning in close enough that Rey could feel the warmth of her excitement.

Poe let out a booming laugh from the front, slapping his desk.

"Save some girls for the rest of us, Prof! Damn, that's lethal." The class chuckled, the tension breaking into relieved amusement, a few girls fanning themselves dramatically.

"Nah, we're doomed, bro," Finn added from behind Rey, his voice laced with mock despair, elbowing the guy next to him. Laughter rippled again, lightening the mood, but Rey barely registered it. Her world had tunneled to Ben, who stood there absorbing the reactions with a wry half-smile, though his eyes never left her for long.

She turned to Rose, her face pale, lips parted in shock. Rose met her gaze and mouthed, 'Oh my god,' while fanning herself vigorously with her notebook, her cheeks flushed. The gesture was pure Rose—equal parts awe and mischief—as if she'd just witnessed the scandal of the century.

Ben cleared his throat again, steering the class back.

"Alright, alright—easy there. Just thought it'd be fun to show you it's not easy for anyone." He moved back to the podium, stacking papers with feigned casualness. "Class dismissed. See you Wednesday. And remember, revisions on those poems if you want extra credit."

The room burst into motion, students filing out with animated discussions, snippets of the poem already being quoted and dissected. 'Did you hear that line about the addiction?' one girl whispered to her friend.

"Prof's got game." Poe high-fived Finn on the way out, still chuckling, while others lingered, stealing glances at Ben.

Rey stayed rooted, her bag forgotten on the floor, pulse roaring in her ears. Rose nudged her gently.

"Earth to Rey? You okay? That was... intense. For him to read that? In front of everyone?" Her voice was a hushed thrill, eyes darting to Ben, who was now erasing the board, his back to them—but Rey knew he was aware of every shift in the room.

"I... I don't know," Rey whispered, her voice barely audible, throat tight. The poem replayed in her mind, each stanza a brush of his fingers against her skin, a press of his lips in the shadows. Stunned didn't cover it; she was adrift, caught between the thrill of being seen so deeply and the fear of what it meant. Had he written it for her? Abouther? The forbidden fire she'd confessed in her own words now blazed back at her, undeniable.

Rose grabbed her arm, pulling her up.

"Come on, we need to talk about this. Like, now. That man just poured his soul out, and you're looking at him like he hung the moon." She glanced back at Ben, who turned just then, his gaze catching Rey's once more—a flicker of something raw, possessive, before he nodded subtly and looked away.

As they shuffled toward the door, Rey's legs felt unsteady, the weight of his words pressing on her chest. The hallway awaited, buzzing with the aftermath, but inside her, a spark ignited—mirroring his poem exactly. The burn was coming, and she wasn't sure she could—or wanted to—put it out.

The door to the English classroom swung shut behind them with a decisive click, sealing away the lingering echoes of Ben's poem like a vault. Rey's legs moved on autopilot, propelled by Rose's insistent tug on her arm, the hallway unfolding before them in a blur of lockers and scuffed tile floors. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows that did nothing to dim the heat flushing Rey's cheeks. Her mind was a whirlwind, replaying Ben's words in an endless loop—the danger of you like it’s oxygen, every forbidden piece of you—each syllable a spark igniting the raw nerve endings of her exposed heart. How could the world just... continue? Students milled about, laughing and shoving, oblivious to the seismic shift that had just cracked open inside her chest.

Rose dragged her forward with purpose, her grip firm but gentle, weaving them through the post-class crowd toward the debates room at the far end of the hall.

"Come on, slowpoke," Rose muttered under her breath, though her eyes sparkled with barely contained energy. Rey barely registered the words, her thoughts tangled in the intensity of Ben's gaze as it had locked onto hers, dark and unyielding, stripping her bare in front of everyone. He wrote that for me. About me. The realization settled like a stone in her gut, heavy with thrill and terror. What now? The secret they'd guarded so fiercely had just been etched into the air, public yet veiled, a poem that screamed their truth without naming it.

How could something so boring follow that? Rey's internal groan echoed as they approached the debates classroom door, the mundane reality of arguing about policy resolutions or historical hypotheticals crashing against the poetic high still thrumming in her veins. The bell rang sharply, a shrill reminder that life didn't pause for confessions of the soul. Students funneled in around them, backpacks thumping against shoulders, voices rising in complaints about the reading load. Rey let Rose pull her into the flow, their bodies close in the press, huddling instinctively as whispers spilled out between them.

"Rey," Rose hissed once they were clear of the thickest crowd, leaning in so close that her breath tickled Rey's ear, warm and conspiratorial. They slipped into the debates room, claiming seats in the back row where the fluorescent hum was louder and the professor's eagle eye less piercing. The room smelled faintly of dry-erase markers and old textbooks, rows of tables arranged in a semi-circle for the inevitable clashes of opinion. Rose dropped her bag with a thud and turned fully toward Rey, her face alight with that mix of awe and envy that made her eyes crinkle at the corners.

"That was 100% about you." she whispers "Fuck, Rey. Did you see the way he looked at you? Like you were the only one in the room. And those lines... the sweetest addiction, burn for you again and again? That's not some generic prof poetry. That's him, pouring out his guts for you."

Rey sank into her chair, her skirt bunching slightly against the hard plastic seat, fingers twisting the strap of her bag as she tried to steady her breathing. The class was filling up—Finn and Poe sliding into seats a few rows ahead, already ribbing each other about the poem, their laughter a low rumble that grated against her frayed nerves. She glanced at the door, half-expecting Ben to appear, but the hallway outside was emptying, the moment slipping away like sand.

"I... I'm stunned" she whispered back, her voice a fragile thread, eyes darting to ensure no one was eavesdropping. The professor at the front was shuffling papers, droning about today's topic—something dull about ethical debates in modern media—but Rey's world had narrowed to this bubble with her best friend, the air between them thick with unspoken questions.

Rose scooted her chair closer, their knees brushing under the table, her hand finding Rey's in a quick, reassuring squeeze.

"Don't play dumb with me. You felt it too, right? The way the whole room went still? But you... you're the spark he was talking about." She paused, her expression shifting from excitement to a wistful ache, brows furrowing as she stared at the table's scarred surface. "Where do I find that kind of love? It's nowhere, Rey. Boys are boys and men... well, men like him are a myth. Passionate, intense, writing poems that make your heart ache just hearing them. I mean, look at Finn and Poe—they're fun, sure, but that's not this. That's not someone seeing your soul and saying, 'I can't live without you.' It's like... fairy tales for adults, but real. And you have it. How?"

Rey's throat tightened, a swell of emotion rising that she swallowed down hard. Rose's words hit too close, mirroring the doubts that had plagued her own nights—was this real? Could it last? She squeezed Rose's hand back, the warmth grounding her amid the chaos in her chest. The professor's voice cut through, calling the class to order, but their huddle persisted, whispers dropping even lower.

"It's not that simple," Rey murmured, her gaze flicking to the window where rain streaked the glass, blurring the gray world outside. "It's scary, Rose. What if it's too much? What if we get caught? But... yeah. It feels like that. Like he's the only one who sees me, really sees me."

Her mind flashed to stolen moments—the press of his body against hers in the shadows, the way his voice roughened when he whispered her name. The poem had crystallized it all, making the forbidden feel inevitable.

Rose nodded, her free hand gesturing animatedly but quietly, careful not to draw attention as the first debate pairs were announced.

"Scary or not, it's beautiful. I'm jealous, but in a good way? Like, it gives me hope that maybe there's someone out there who'll write poetry for me someday." She grinned, though her eyes held a genuine longing, the kind that came from too many superficial flings and not enough depth. "Just promise you'll tell me everything. No more secrets, okay? After that display, I need details to live vicariously."

Rey managed a small laugh, the sound shaky but real, easing the knot in her stomach just a fraction.

"Deal. But for now... debates. How thrilling." The sarcasm dripped, and Rose snorted softly, both of them turning toward the front as the professor launched into the rules. Yet even as arguments began to fly—heated words about truth in journalism—Rey's thoughts drifted back to Ben, to the burn he'd promised in his verses. The class dragged on, voices rising and falling in rhythmic cadence, but inside her, the real debate raged: surrender to the fire or pull back before it consumed them both. Rose's shoulder bumped hers in solidarity, a silent anchor, as the rain outside pounded harder, mirroring the storm she couldn't outrun.

 

The debates class blurred into a haze of half-hearted arguments and scribbled notes, the professor's voice droning on about media ethics while Rey's mind wandered far from the semi-circle of tables. Rose's earlier words lingered like a sweet aftertaste, a reminder of the fragile bubble they'd created amid the mundane. Every tick of the clock felt like a countdown to the next stolen glance or whispered secret, but as the bell finally pierced the air—sharp and liberating—the group gathered their things with the usual rush. Bags zipped, chairs scraped against the linoleum, and the room emptied in a wave of chatter about weekend plans and cafeteria gripes. Rey slung her backpack over one shoulder, falling into step beside Rose as they spilled into the hallway, Finn and Poe already ahead, their broad shoulders cutting through the throng of students.

The air in the corridor carried the faint scent of rain-soaked earth drifting in from the open doors at the end, a promise of the storm that had been brewing all morning. Thunder rumbled distantly as they pushed toward the front entrance, the group's pace quickening with the lure of lunch. Rey's stomach twisted—not just from hunger, but from the undercurrent of everything unsaid since the poetry reading. Ben's words still echoed in her ears, a private symphony amid the public noise, and she caught herself scanning faces for any sign of recognition. But the hallway was alive with oblivious energy: lockers slamming, laughter bouncing off the walls, the occasional shout about forgotten homework.

By the time they reached the front doors, the rain had intensified, sheets of it slashing against the glass panes in relentless rhythm. The group huddled there, peering out at the world beyond—a gray expanse of quad turned muddy slick, the grass glistening under the downpour. In the distance, under a sagging blue tent staked into the lawn, sat the pizza van, its faded sign barely visible through the haze. Steam rose faintly from the serving window, a beacon for the brave, but only a handful of students had ventured out. Umbrellas bobbed like colorful mushrooms, and a few drenched figures dashed back toward the building, pizza boxes held aloft like trophies, water streaming from their hair and clothes.

"What a washout," Rey said, pressing her forehead against the cool glass, her breath fogging a small circle. The thunder cracked again, closer this time, vibrating through the doors and sending a shiver down her spine. She could almost taste the pizza from here—greasy cheese and tangy sauce—but the storm made it feel like a distant dream.

Poe leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, his dark curls already frizzing from the humidity seeping in. He squinted out at the tent, rain blurring the view like a watercolor gone wrong.

"Does one go and order for everyone? Or do we all suffer?" he debated aloud, his tone half-joking, half-serious, as he rubbed his chin in mock contemplation. The group had a ritual to these lunch dilemmas, a blend of laziness and camaraderie that turned even the simplest choices into an event.

Rose chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes dancing with amusement despite the gloom.

"Ah, see, now why wasn't this today's debate subject?" She gestured dramatically at the storm, her voice light but edged with the frustration of a girl who hated soggy anything.

Rey joined in the laughter, the sound bubbling up unexpectedly, easing the knot of tension from earlier.

"Because arguing over what color the new music room will be is topical and very important," she replied, her sarcasm thick as she rolled her eyes skyward. "First world problems."

The words came out with a chuckle, sarcastic but affectionate, the kind of banter that knit them tighter. She imagined the debates room erupting over pepperoni versus veggie, and the thought almost made the rain bearable.

Finn, ever the voice of reluctant realism, shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged, his lanky frame slouched against the wall.

"I think we all suffer," he added to the pizza problem, his grin crooked as he nodded toward the downpour.

"Mmm, I hear you..." Rose replied, her expression sympathetic at first, but then her chin lifted with that spark of determination she got when she was about to lay down the law. She smoothed her skirt, glancing down at her small heels—practical for school but murder on wet grass.

"BUT," she continued, drawing out the word for emphasis, "I am wearing not waterproof makeup, and I'm in small heels. The grass will swallow me whole out there. Also, it's cold, and I don't want to get wet. So I vow you boys be men and get us food like the true gentlemen you are."

She said it proudly, hands on hips, as if she'd just delivered a mic-drop speech in debates class.

Finn and Poe turned to her in unison, their stares blank for a beat before they both burst into stitches, laughter echoing off the tiled floor. Poe doubled over, clutching his side, while Finn wheezed,

"Whoever said we were gentlemen lied!" The words tumbled out between gasps, their faces red from the hilarity of it all.

Rose rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn't stick, her lips pursing in exaggerated defeat. She shot a sidelong glance at Rey, mumbling under her breath,

"These are boys, not men." With a sigh, she rummaged in her bag and pulled out her biology textbook, flipping it open as if to signal the end of negotiations. "Fine, we all suffer." The defeat was theatrical, but there was a glint in her eye that said she wasn't entirely done scheming.

Rey watched the exchange, her own amusement fading into resolve. The rain pounded harder, thunder rolling like an impatient drum, but the growl in her stomach won out. She shrugged off her jacket—a lightweight denim thing she'd thrown on that morning—and hooked it over her head like a makeshift shield, the fabric draping down to cover her shoulders.

"Screw it," she said, determination flashing in her eyes. "I'm starving. Who's with me?"

The group exchanged looks—Rose's wide-eyed protest, Poe's reluctant nod, Finn's shrug of 'why not'—and in a sudden surge, they burst through the doors. The rain hit like a wall, cold and stinging, soaking Rey's arms instantly as she clutched the jacket tighter. Water splashed up from the pavement, puddling around their shoes, and the wind whipped the drops sideways, plastering hair to faces and chilling skin through clothes. They ran in a loose pack, skirts and pants flapping, laughter mixing with yelps as thunder boomed overhead.

The grass was a nightmare—squelching underfoot, turning the quad into a slippery mess that tugged at heels and sneakers alike. Rose cursed under her breath, her small heels sinking with each step, arms flailing for balance as she clung to her book like a life raft.

"This is insane!" she shouted over the roar, but she was grinning now, the absurdity pulling her along. Poe led the charge, his longer strides eating up ground, while Finn lagged a bit, splashing through a puddle that sent water arcing toward Rose.

Rey felt the rain seep through her jacket, trickling down her neck and soaking her shirt, but the thrill of the dash made it exhilarating. Lightning forked across the sky, illuminating the tent ahead like a stage light, and they finally stumbled under its cover, breathless and drenched. The pizza van's warmth enveloped them immediately— the scent of baking dough and melted mozzarella cutting through the wet earth smell. A few other students huddled there, shaking off water like dogs, their orders clutched in soggy napkins.

Poe slapped Rey on the back, water dripping from his curls.

"We made it" he declared, still catching his breath. Rose wrung out her hair, makeup smudged just a touch but intact, and shot Rey a grateful look.

"Better be good god damn pizza" Finn nodded, already eyeing the menu board, the group's energy shifting from chaos to contentment as they lined up, the storm raging on outside their fragile shelter.

In that moment, amid the laughter and shared misery, Rey felt a pang of normalcy—a brief respite from the secrets weighing on her. The rain showed no signs of stopping, but neither did the bonds that pulled them through it, slice by warm slice.

 

The afternoon sun filtered weakly through the library's tall, arched windows, casting elongated shadows across the worn oak tables and rows of towering bookshelves. The storm from lunch had eased into a steady drizzle, tapping rhythmically against the panes like impatient fingers, but inside, the air hung heavy with the scent of aged paper and polished wood. The library was a sanctuary of sorts—a vast, echoing space divided into quiet zones by partitions of dark leather and brass lamps that glowed softly against the encroaching gray outside. Students dotted the area in small clusters, heads bent over laptops or notebooks, the occasional page-turn breaking the hush like a sigh.

Rey and her friends had claimed their usual corner near the literature section, a nook partially shielded by a massive globe and a shelf of leather-bound classics. The table before them was a battlefield of scattered papers: crumpled drafts, highlighters in neon streaks, and coffee cups ringed with faint stains. The poetry assignment loomed large—final revisions due by week's end, each line scrutinized for rhythm, imagery, and that elusive spark Professor Solo demanded. Rey's notebook lay open, her pen hovering over a stanza about shadowed glances and unspoken yearnings, words that danced too close to her own hidden truths. She chewed her lip, adjusting a metaphor that felt raw, exposed, even in its vagueness.

Rose sat across from her, legs tucked under the chair, her biology book abandoned in favor of a fresh sheet where she sketched out metaphors for her piece on fleeting connections.

"This line about 'whispers in the wind'—too cliché?" she murmured, tilting the paper toward Rey without looking up, her dark hair falling in a curtain that she absentmindedly pushed back.

Poe sprawled in the chair beside Rose, his long legs stretched out, one foot tapping an irregular beat against the table leg. His poem, a satirical take on unrequited crushes in the digital age, sprawled across two pages, annotations scribbled in the margins like frantic afterthoughts.

"Nah, it's fine. Solo eats it up." He grinned, popping a piece of gum and offering the pack around, the sharp mint cutting through the musty air.

Finn leaned back against the shelf behind him, arms crossed, his draft folded neatly but untouched for the last ten minutes. He stared at the ceiling, as if inspiration might drip from the ornate molding.

"Mine's done. Short and sweet—about loyalty or something. Don't need to overthink it." His voice was low, practical, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, the kind that came from knowing Ben's critiques could dissect a poem like a surgeon.

The heavy library door creaked open then, admitting a gust of cool, rain-scented air that rustled the edges of loose papers. Ben Solo stepped inside, his presence immediate and commanding, like a shadow elongating in the dim light. He wore a dark wool coat over his usual button-down, droplets beading on the shoulders and tracing paths down the fabric, evidence of the dash from his office across the quad. His hair, usually impeccably combed, bore the disheveled mark of the wind, a few strands falling across his forehead in a way that softened the sharp lines of his jaw. He paused just inside, shaking off the moisture with a subtle roll of his shoulders, his eyes scanning the room with that habitual intensity—part professor, part predator.

The librarian looked up from her desk near the entrance, her glasses perched on the end of her nose, a stack of returns before her. She was a fixture here, stern but fair, with a bun so tight it seemed to pull her eyebrows into perpetual surprise. Ben approached her counter with measured steps, his voice low and polite as he leaned in.

"Afternoon, Mrs. Hargrove. I need to borrow the Keats collection again—volume three, if it's not out."

She nodded, fingers flying over her keyboard, the clack of keys a staccato in the quiet.

"It's in, Professor Solo. Back last night. I'll fetch it." She rose, disappearing into the stacks with efficient grace, leaving Ben to drum his fingers lightly on the scarred wood of the counter, his gaze wandering.

It landed on their group almost immediately, drawn like a magnet to the huddled forms in the corner. Rey felt it before she saw it—that prickle along her skin, the air thickening as if charged. She kept her head down, pen scratching deliberately across the page, but her pulse quickened, a traitorous heat blooming in her chest. Rose noticed first, her pen pausing mid-stroke, a sly smile tugging at her lips as she nudged Poe under the table.

Ben collected the book with a murmured thanks, tucking it under his arm, and then he was moving toward them, his strides unhurried but purposeful, weaving through the aisles with the ease of someone who knew every corner of this place. The coat hung open now, revealing the crisp white shirt beneath, sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing forearms corded with quiet strength. He stopped at the edge of their table, towering slightly, his shadow falling over the scattered drafts like an omen.

"Revisions?" he asked them all, his voice a deep rumble that carried both inquiry and command, the single word encompassing the chaos before him. His eyes swept the group—Poe's grin, Finn's casual slouch, Rose's bright curiosity—before settling, inevitably, on Rey. There, the contact lingered a fraction too long, a spark hidden in the depths of his dark gaze, unspoken questions flickering like lightning in a bottle.

Poe straightened first, snapping his gum with a pop.

"Yeah, Prof. Trying to polish these gems before you tear 'em apart." He slid his draft forward half-jokingly, but there was respect in his tone, the kind earned from Ben's sharp but fair feedback.

Rose leaned forward, her eyes alight.

"Ours are almost there. Want a peek? I could use your take on the imagery—make sure it's not too on-the-nose." She pushed her paper toward him, ever the bold one, her voice threaded with genuine eagerness.

Finn shrugged, unfolding his poem with reluctance.

"Mine's straightforward. Figured you'd appreciate the brevity." He handed it over, meeting Ben's eyes steadily, a silent challenge in the exchange.

Rey kept her notebook angled away at first, her fingers tightening on the pen, but she forced herself to look up, meeting his gaze with a composure that belied the storm inside.

"Working on the ending," she said simply, her voice even, though her mind raced with the echoes of their last private exchange—the heat of his touch, the possessiveness in his whispers. She slid the page across, careful not to brush his hand, the paper a fragile bridge between public facade and private fire.

Ben took them one by one, his long fingers careful as he scanned the lines, a faint smile ghosting his lips—not quite approving, but intrigued. He leaned against the table's edge, the wood creaking faintly under his weight, the scent of rain and his cologne—something woody and dark—wafting subtly toward them.

"Good start," he murmured to Poe, tapping a line. "But deepen the irony here—make it bite." To Rose: "Evocative, but layer in sensory details; let the reader feel the wind, not just hear it." Finn's earned a nod. "Concise. Effective. Trust it."

And then Rey's. He held it longer, his eyes tracing the words with deliberate slowness, as if committing them to memory. The air between them thickened, the group's chatter fading to a distant hum.

"This... captures something raw," he said finally, his voice lowering just for her, though the others might catch the edge. "The tension in the final stanza—it's potent. Refine the rhythm, but don't lose that edge." He handed it back, his fingers grazing hers in the exchange—accidental, perhaps, but electric, a secret pulse that sent warmth coiling through her.

"Also the headmaster would like to see you," Ben said, his tone even, almost casual, but there was a undercurrent there—a flicker of concern in the way his jaw tightened imperceptibly, or perhaps it was just the angle of the light playing tricks. He addressed it directly to her, no preamble, as if the words had been waiting on his tongue since he'd entered.

Rey's world narrowed to that statement, the library's vastness compressing around her like a vice. Her eyes snapped to Rose first, wide and unblinking, pupils dilating in a rush of adrenaline that flushed her cheeks pale. Rose's own gaze mirrored the shock, her highlighter frozen mid-air, mouth parting in a silent 'oh' that spoke volumes. The secret they'd guarded—the stolen nights, the fevered touches in hidden corners—flashed through Rey's mind like a warning flare. Had someone seen? Whispered? The headmaster's summons could mean anything, but in this web of clandestine passions, it felt like the unraveling of everything.

"Ohhhh, you're in trouble," Poe drawled, his teasing lilt cutting through the tension like a knife, though his grin faltered at the edges, eyes darting between Rey and Ben with a mix of amusement and curiosity. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest, the gum in his mouth working overtime as if to mask the awkwardness. Finn shot him a sidelong glance, elbowing him lightly, but the damage was done—the words hung there, lighthearted on the surface but stirring the pot of Rey's churning gut.

Rey swallowed hard, the gulp audible in the hush, her throat dry as sandpaper despite the sip of lukewarm coffee she'd taken earlier. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat that drowned out the rain's patter. She forced her eyes back to Ben, schooling her features into something resembling composure, though her voice emerged thin and edged with nerves.

"Do you know why, Professor?" The words tumbled out, laced with a desperation she couldn't quite hide—nervous as fuck, her mind screaming possibilities: the late nights she'd slipped away, the poetry too revealing, the rumors about Miss Jullian twisting toward her own shadows.

Ben held her gaze steadily, his expression unreadable, a mask honed from years of navigating the treacherous waters of academia and forbidden desires. He shifted his weight, the floorboard creaking faintly under his boot, and for a split second, his eyes softened—just enough to convey a silent reassurance, or was it worry?

"Unfortunately not," he replied, his voice low and measured, carrying across the table without drawing undue attention from the scattered students nearby. "Just told me in the hall if I'd seen you today." He paused, letting the words settle, his fingers flexing subtly around the book's spine as if anchoring himself. The implication lingered unspoken: the headmaster had sought her out through him, a thread connecting their worlds that could snag and pull everything apart.

The group absorbed it in waves—Rose's brow furrowing in concern, her hand reaching out to squeeze Rey's arm under the table, a silent anchor of solidarity. Poe's teasing grin faded entirely now, replaced by a furrowed brow as he exchanged a look with Finn, who mouthed 'what the hell?' silently. The library felt smaller, the shelves closing in like witnesses to this budding storm, the scent of old books now cloying, heavy with anticipation.

Rey's mind raced, piecing together fragments: the confrontation with Rose earlier, the blackmail over the lab fire, the flirty texts Ben had intercepted and silenced. Had the headmaster caught wind of her absences, her disheveled returns to the dorm? Or worse—something about Ben, their charged interactions in class, the way his critiques always lingered on her work? She nodded numbly, forcing a weak smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"Thanks for letting me know," she managed, her voice steadier than she felt, though her fingers twisted in her lap, nails digging into her palms to ground the rising panic.

Ben inclined his head, a subtle nod that might have been professional courtesy to anyone watching, but to Rey, it carried the weight of their shared secrets—a promise to navigate this together, somehow.

"Of course. Don't keep him waiting." With that, he turned fully this time, his footsteps measured as he wove back toward the entrance, the coat swinging from his shoulder like a cape.

The table erupted into hushed whispers the moment he was out of earshot. Rose leaned in first, her voice a urgent hiss.

"What could it be?" Her voice is eyes searched Rey's face, the earlier teasing gone, replaced by genuine worry—the kind that came from knowing too much without knowing everything.

Poe whistled low, pushing back from the table.

"Headmaster's not one for chit-chat. Remember what happened to that kid who snuck out last term? Never saw him again." He tried to inject humor, but it fell flat, his usual bravado tempered by the real edge of consequence.

Finn rubbed his chin, glancing toward the door.

"Could be nothing. Assignment stuff, maybe? Or family—your folks call or something?" But even he sounded unconvinced, the group's easy vibe shattered, papers forgotten in the face of this new uncertainty.

Rey stared at her poem, the words blurring under the assault of her thoughts. Trouble. The word echoed Poe's tease, but it felt prophetic now, a shadow over the passion that had defined her days. She pushed back her chair, the scrape loud in the quiet.

"Guess I'll find out." She forced a laugh, but it came out brittle, her wide eyes betraying the storm inside as she gathered her things, the weight of the unknown pressing down like the rain-sodden sky outside.

As she headed toward the exit, the library's warmth gave way to the chill of the corridor, her steps echoing her pounding heart. Whatever waited in the headmaster's office, it threatened to pierce the veil of her double life.

Chapter 13

The corridor outside the headmaster's office stretched long and dimly lit, the polished wooden floors reflecting the faint glow from the overhead lamps like a mirror to Rey's turbulent thoughts. Her footsteps had slowed to a hesitant shuffle as she approached the heavy oak door, its brass nameplate gleaming under the light: Headmaster Elias Thorne. The summons replayed in her mind like a looped reel—Ben's measured voice delivering the message, the group's wide-eyed stares, Poe's teasing that now felt like a harbinger rather than a joke. Her palm hovered over the wood, slick with a nervous sweat despite the chill seeping through the stone walls from the ongoing rain outside. What if it was about the absences? The late nights that blurred into mornings, her disheveled hair and flushed cheeks excused as study marathons? Or worse, the poetry class, Ben's lingering gaze that someone might have noticed, piecing together the forbidden threads of their connection?

Rey drew in a deep breath, the air tasting of aged varnish and faint polish, her chest rising and falling in a deliberate rhythm to steady the frantic pulse at her throat. She could almost feel Ben's presence echoing from the library, his unspoken worry in that final nod, a silent tether pulling her back even as she faced this unknown alone. With a final exhale, she rapped her knuckles against the door—three sharp knocks that sounded too loud in the empty hall, reverberating like accusations.

"Enter," came the response, muffled but warm, carrying the gravelly timbre of a man who'd spent decades herding students through the halls of academia.

She pushed the door open, the hinges creaking softly in protest, and stepped inside. The office enveloped her immediately—a sanctuary of scholarly clutter amid the school's austere uniformity. Bookshelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, groaning under the weight of leather-bound tomes and dog-eared journals, their spines a rainbow of faded colors. A large bay window overlooked the sodden quad, rain streaking the panes in silvery trails, while the headmaster's desk dominated the center, a massive slab of walnut piled with files, a half-empty mug of tea steaming faintly, and a brass lamp casting a golden pool of light. Behind it sat Headmaster Thorne, a portly man in his late fifties with wire-rimmed glasses perched on a bulbous nose, his tweed jacket straining at the buttons, exuding the kind of avuncular authority that made even the rowdiest seniors straighten up.

His face lit up as she entered, the lines around his eyes crinkling in genuine delight, a far cry from the stern interrogations Rey had imagined during her anxious trek here.

"Ah, Miss Kenobi!" he boomed, his voice filling the room like a hearty handshake. He gestured expansively to the worn leather chair positioned before his desk, its arms polished smooth from years of nervous fidgeting. "Sit, please—do sit. No need to hover like a ghost in the stacks."

Rey managed a small nod, her shoulders still tense as she shrugged off her bag, letting it thud softly to the floor beside the chair. The strap had left a faint red mark on her shoulder, a reminder of the hurried dash from the library, her notebooks and pens spilling slightly from the open top. She lowered herself into the seat, the leather creaking under her weight, her hands folding automatically in her lap to hide their slight tremble. The room smelled of pipe tobacco and old paper, comforting in its familiarity, yet it did little to ease the knot twisting in her stomach. She glanced at the door, half-expecting Ben to materialize like some protective shadow, but it remained firmly shut, leaving her to navigate this solo.

"You wanted to see me?" she ventured, her voice emerging softer than intended, laced with that lingering nervousness. She shifted slightly, the chair's springs protesting again, and met his gaze directly, though her fingers twisted the hem of her sweater beneath the desk.

"Am I in trouble?" The question hung there.

Headmaster Thorne chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that shook his belly and dispelled the tension like mist in sunlight. He shook his head vigorously, the motion sending his glasses slipping down his nose before he pushed them back up with a forefinger.

"No, no, my dear—not at all," he assured her, leaning forward with his elbows on the desk, steepling his fingers in a gesture of paternal pride. His eyes twinkled behind the lenses, appraising her with the warmth of a mentor rather than the scrutiny of a disciplinarian.

"Quite the opposite, in fact. I've been going over the graduation rosters and end-of-year evaluations—tedious business, but necessary—and I simply had to pull you aside to share the good news personally."

Rey's breath caught, her wide eyes fixed on him as relief began to seep in, tentative at first, like sunlight piercing storm clouds. Graduation. The word alone conjured a whirlwind: caps tossed in the air, diplomas in hand, the freedom to step beyond these ivy-clad walls and into a life unscripted, unburdened by secrets. But intertwined with it was the ache of leaving Ben behind, their stolen moments confined to memory, the passion that had ignited in church parties and library alcoves now facing an expiration date.

Thorne continued, his voice swelling with enthusiasm as he tapped a thick folder on his desk—her file, no doubt, emblazoned with her name in neat block letters.

"You are top of all your classes, Rey. Top marks across the board—English, science, even that infernal debate club that's had me fielding complaints all term. You'll definitely graduate in the summer, mark my words. I just wanted to let you know now, before the rush hits. Well done, truly. You've earned every bit of it." He beamed, his cheeks flushing with vicarious triumph, as if her success were a personal victory.

The praise washed over her, warming the chill that had settled in her bones during the walk here. Rey blinked, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the emotional undercurrents swirling beneath.

"I'll graduate?" she stuttered, the words tumbling out in a mix of disbelief and quiet joy. It felt surreal, this validation after months of balancing academics with the intoxicating risk of her affair—the late-night revisions interrupted by Ben's texts, the poems infused with their hidden desires. Summer loomed not as an end, but a bridge, perhaps, to whatever came next for them.

"Indeed you will," Thorne affirmed, nodding sagely as he leaned back in his creaky desk chair, the wood groaning in sympathy. "This past year, your professors have been singing your praises. Steady improvement, insightful contributions—happy doesn't even cover it. Even Professor Solo mentioned how you've excelled in his class; said he's sad he only got a few months with your imagination before the term wraps. Quite the compliment from him—he's not one to hand those out lightly." He clapped his hands together sharply, the sound echoing like a punctuation mark, his enthusiasm infectious. "Congratulations, Miss Kenobi. You've made us all proud."

Rey's heart skipped at the mention of Ben, a flush creeping up her neck that she hoped passed for pride rather than the spark of something deeper. His words—sad he only got a few months with your imagination—echoed with double meaning, a veiled nod to the creativity she'd poured into their private world, the fantasies they'd woven in heated whispers and tangled sheets. She swallowed, forcing her expression to remain neutral, though her mind raced: Did he suspect? No, Thorne's tone was pure admiration, oblivious to the undercurrents. As the headmaster reached for her file, preparing to close it with a satisfied snap, his eyes caught something on the top page, and he paused, glancing up at her with a curious tilt of his head.

"Oh, it's your birthday on Friday?" he inquired, his brow arching in mild surprise, as if the detail had slipped his mind amid the academic fervor.

Rey nodded, the moment pulling her back to the present, the nervousness ebbing into a wry amusement.

"Yeah, nineteen. Whoop whoop," she muttered, her tone light but undercut with a hint of sarcasm, the words carrying the weight of her complicated life. Birthdays had always been low-key—another day amid the grind—but this one felt loaded, shadowed by her secrets, the impending milestone of adulthood clashing with the thrill of her forbidden romance.

"Just another day, sir."

Thorne chuckled again, sliding the file shut with finality and setting it aside.

"Nineteen—practically ancient in student years," he teased gently, his eyes softening with understanding. "Well, make it a good one. You've earned a bit of celebration amid the studies. And remember, relax a touch; we've got Christmas next month to break the monotony. Mulled wine, carols, the works—though I daresay you'll be buried in revisions by then. Time flies, Rey. By May, you'll be free to fly." To illustrate, he lifted his hands, flapping them in an exaggerated mimicry of wings, his fingers wobbling comically as he grinned like a mischievous boy. The gesture was absurd, endearing in its simplicity, cutting through the formality and drawing a genuine laugh from Rey despite herself.

She rose as he dismissed her with a wave, retrieving her bag and slinging it over her shoulder, the weight feeling lighter now.

"Thank you, sir. Really," she said, her voice steadier, infused with a gratitude that extended beyond the academics—to the reprieve from disaster, the affirmation that her path forward was secure, even if her heart's desires remained tangled.

"Anytime, Miss Kenobi. Keep shining," Thorne replied, already turning to the next file as she slipped out, the door clicking shut behind her.

The door to the headmaster's office clicked shut behind Rey with a soft, decisive thud, sealing away the warmth of Thorne's praise and the absurd flapping of his hands like some oversized bird taking flight. The corridor, still echoing faintly with the patter of rain against the distant windows, felt narrower now, the air thicker with the residue of her lingering nerves. She paused for a beat, her hand lingering on the cool brass knob, letting the reality sink in—graduation, top of her classes, Ben's indirect compliment wrapped in academic approval. A smile crept across her lips, tentative at first, then blooming into something brighter, chasing away the shadows of suspicion that had clung to her during the summons.

But the moment of solitary triumph shattered as she turned, her eyes locking onto Rose, who stood just a few paces away, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her dark hair falling in loose waves around a face etched with barely contained anxiety. Rose's stare was intense, her brown eyes wide and searching, flicking from Rey's expression to the door and back again, as if willing the wood to confess its secrets. The fluorescent light overhead cast harsh shadows under her eyes, highlighting the faint smudges of mascara from earlier worries, her school skirt slightly rumpled from a day of fidgeting in classes.

"Oh god," Rose breathed, her voice a hushed explosion of dread as she uncrossed her arms and began to pace in tight, frantic circles right there in the hall. Her sneakers squeaked against the polished floor, each step a staccato beat underscoring her spiraling thoughts. "Does he know? He knows, doesn't he? Oh my god, Rey!"

The words tumbled out in a rush, her hands gesturing wildly—one pressing to her forehead, the other clutching at her sweater—as if she could physically ward off the catastrophe she imagined. Her pacing quickened, carrying her past Rey and back again, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts that made her chest heave.

Rey couldn't help it; a chuckle bubbled up from her throat, light and disbelieving, cutting through the tension like a ray of unexpected sun. She reached out, her fingers brushing Rose's arm to halt the frantic orbit, the touch grounding and affectionate.

"Calm down, Rose," she said, her voice laced with amusement and a touch of exasperation, though her eyes softened with understanding. Rose's paranoia was a mirror to her own earlier fears, the shared weight of secrets making every official summons feel like a guillotine's shadow. Rey's laughter eased the knot in her own chest further, transforming the relief into something shared, almost giddy.

Instinctively, Rey slipped her hand into her bag, fishing out her phone with the intent to fire off a quick message to Ben—something teasing about his 'imagination' comment relayed through Thorne, a digital spark to bridge the distance until she could see him properly. But as she pressed the power button, the screen remained stubbornly dark, the battery icon flashing a mocking empty symbol before fading to black. She sighed, tucking it away with a wry shake of her head. Dead. Of course it was.

"He just wanted me to know I'll graduate," Rey explained, her tone lifting with the words, the excitement bubbling over now that the fear had dissipated.

Rose froze mid-pace, her eyes snapping back to Rey's face, disbelief warring with hope.

"Graduate? For real? " Her voice pitched higher, the panic fracturing into tentative joy as the implications sank in. She launched herself at Rey without warning, wrapping her arms around her best friend's waist in a fierce, exuberant hug that squeezed the air from Rey's lungs. They swayed together in the empty corridor, Rose's cheek pressed against Rey's shoulder, her body vibrating with shared elation.

"Oh my god, Rey! That's huge! We're getting out of here—diplomas and freedom and no more curfews!"

Giggles erupted from them both, light and infectious, echoing off the stone walls like a secret rebellion. Rey hugged her back just as tightly, her chin resting on Rose's head, the warmth of the embrace chasing away the last chill of uncertainty. In that moment, amid the laughter, the weight of their secrets felt lighter, buoyed by the promise of an end to the boarding school's confines.

Arm in arm, still chuckling and whispering excited what-ifs about post-graduation adventures—road trips, escaping the rain-soaked campus for sunnier horizons—they made their way toward the dining hall. The corridors buzzed with the end-of-day hum: students spilling from classrooms, lockers slamming, the distant chatter of groups forming for the evening meal. The air grew warmer as they descended the main staircase, carrying the mingled scents of roasting meats and fresh bread wafting from the kitchens below. Rey's steps felt lighter, her posture straighter, the graduation news infusing her with a quiet confidence that made her cheeks glow.

The dining hall was a cavernous space, its long wooden tables lined with benches under vaulted ceilings adorned with faded banners from past graduations. Chandeliers hung low, casting a golden haze over the platters of shepherd's pie, steamed vegetables, and crusty rolls being passed around. Students clustered in familiar groups, the clatter of silverware and bursts of laughter creating a lively symphony. Rey and Rose slid onto a bench near the center, joining the usual crew—Poe already midway through his second helping, regaling Finn with some exaggerated tale from debate club, his fork waving like a conductor's baton.

"And then she says, "Poe, your logic is as solid as wet paper!" Can you believe it?" Poe crowed, his grin wide and unrepentant.

Finn snorted, pushing his glasses up his nose as he piled more peas onto his plate.

"Sounds about right. You do talk in circles sometimes." Rose slid in beside him, stealing a roll from his tray with a playful wink, while Rey settled across from them, her eyes scanning the room instinctively. There, at the far end of the hall, near the faculty table, sat Ben. He was alone amid the scattering of professors, his broad shoulders hunched slightly over a modest plate of food, his dark hair falling forward as he cut into a piece of chicken with deliberate precision. The lamplight caught the sharp line of his jaw, the intensity in his posture that always made Rey's pulse quicken, even from afar.

Their eyes met almost immediately, a magnetic pull across the crowded space. Ben's gaze held hers for a lingering second, dark and probing, laced with that unspoken question—What happened? Are you okay?—before he looked away, forking a bite to his mouth with feigned nonchalance. Rey felt a flush warm her skin, her fork pausing midway to her lips as she imagined the heat of his hands, the way he'd draw her close later, demanding every detail in that low, possessive rumble. But she tore her attention back to the table, laughing at Poe's dramatic reenactment, though her thoughts drifted like smoke toward the man at the other end.

Throughout the meal, Ben's glances were subtle but persistent—a flick of his eyes over the rim of his water glass, a momentary pause in conversation with a passing colleague to watch her animated gestures as she recounted the headmaster's bird impression to the group. Rose leaned in close, her shoulder bumping Rey.

Each time she risked a look back, Ben's stare met hers, heavy with restrained longing, his fork scraping his plate a touch too forcefully, as if channeling the frustration of their enforced distance. The air between them crackled invisibly, charged with the memory of tangled sheets and whispered promises, making the mundane act of eating feel like foreplay.

 

Finally, as plates emptied and desserts—soggy sponge cake and custard—were cleared away, the group rose in a loose herd. Rose linked her arm through Rey's once more, tugging her toward the exit with a yawn and a comment about needing to charge her own phone for tomorrow's notes.

"Come on, graduate girl—let's crash before you start planning your escape to the big city." They wove through the thinning crowd, the hall's warmth giving way to the cooler drafts of the corridors, the rain's rhythm a steady drum outside.

Rey glanced back as they reached the doors, her neck craning despite Rose's pull. Ben was still seated, his plate pushed aside, his eyes fixed on her retreating form with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. He didn't smile, didn't wave—just watched, his gaze a promise of later reckonings, of pulling her into the shadows where words could turn to touches, secrets to skin. She held his stare for a heartbeat longer, her lips parting slightly in silent invitation, before Rose's laughter yanked her forward. The door swung shut behind them, severing the line of sight, but the heat lingered, a ember in her veins as they headed toward the dorms under the watchful night sky.

The walk back was filled with Rose's excited babble—visions of summer beach trips, the freedom of no more surprise inspections—but Rey's responses were half-hearted, her mind replaying those glances, the unspoken hunger in Ben's eyes. By the time they reached their room, the door clicking open to the familiar mess of books and scattered clothes, Rey's dead phone felt like a cruel joke, denying her the outlet to text him her relief, her want. She plugged it in with a frustrated huff, collapsing onto her bed as Rose flopped beside her, the giggles from earlier fading into comfortable silence. Graduation loomed bright, but so did the shadows of their passion, pulling her deeper into the web of desire and danger.

 

The dorm room was a cocoon of soft lamplight and quiet domesticity, the kind that settled over the space after the day's chaos had ebbed away. It was pushing eleven now, the digital clock on Rey's nightstand glowing with unyielding precision, its red numerals casting a faint crimson hue across the rumpled bedsheets and scattered notebooks. The rain pattered relentlessly against the windowpane, a soothing white noise that mingled with the occasional distant rumble of thunder rolling over the hills. Rey sat cross-legged on her bed, her laptop balanced on a pillow, fingers flying across the keys as she hammered out the final revisions to her history essay. The words blurred slightly under her focus, her mind still buzzing from the evening's revelations—the headmaster's praise, the promise of graduation, those stolen glances across the dining hall that had left her skin tingling with unmet need.

Rose lounged on her own bed opposite, propped up against a fortress of pillows, her phone held aloft like a talisman. The glow from the screen illuminated her face in staccato flashes as she scrolled through TikTok, her thumb flicking endlessly through dances, memes, and viral challenges. Soft laughter escaped her lips now and then, a snort at a particularly absurd cat video or a sigh at some dramatic lip-sync. The room smelled faintly of the vanilla candle they'd lit earlier to mask the lingering scent of takeout pizza from lunch, now reduced to a waxy puddle in its holder on the desk.

Rey's phone, freshly charged and humming with life after its earlier betrayal, vibrated sharply against the wooden nightstand. The sound cut through the ambient hush like a spark, jolting her from her concentration. She glanced down, her heart skipping as Ben's name lit up the screen. The message was simple, urgent:

"I'm in my car. Usual spot, can we talk?"

A rush of warmth flooded her chest, chasing away the academic drudgery. She set the laptop aside, the essay forgotten, and looked across at Rose. Her best friend was mid-scroll, oblivious for the moment, her dark hair tied back in a messy ponytail that bobbed with each tilt of her head. Rey bit her lip, weighing the words before speaking, the secrecy of their late-night habits a familiar thrill laced with caution.

"Ben wants me to meet him in his car," Rey said, keeping her voice low, conspiratorial, as if the walls themselves might eavesdrop. "You okay if I dip? I won't be out long."

Rose's eyes flicked up from her phone, a sly grin spreading across her face like dawn breaking. She lowered the device, propping her chin on her hand, her gaze twinkling with knowing amusement. No judgment, just the easy solidarity of a friend who'd long since pieced together the puzzle of Rey's disappearances.

"Go girl," she replied, punctuating the words with an exaggerated wink that crinkled the corners of her eyes. "Tell Professor Dreamy I said hi. And don't do anything I wouldn't do—which, let's be real, isn't much."

Rey laughed softly, the sound light and relieved, as she swung her legs off the bed and reached for her coat draped over the chair. The fabric was cool against her skin, a woolen barrier against the chill night air. She shrugged it on, zipping it up to her chin, and grabbed her keys from the desk, the metal jangling softly.

"Back soon," she promised, already edging toward the door. Rose waved her off with a flourish, her attention drifting back to the screen, but not before mouthing a silent Have fun that made Rey's cheeks flush.

The door clicked shut behind her, sealing the warmth of the dorm away, and Rey stepped into the corridor. The hallway lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting elongated shadows that danced with her hurried steps. She took the stairs two at a time, her sneakers silent on the worn carpet, emerging into the lobby where the night porter dozed behind his desk, oblivious to her passage. Outside, the rain greeted her with a misty veil, the air thick and heavy with the scent of wet earth and pine from the surrounding woods. She pulled her hood up, tugging the strings tight, and broke into a run, her breath fogging in the cool downpour.

The usual spot was a few blocks over, tucked away on a quiet side road where the campus edged into the shadowed fringe of the forest. The path wound past the sports fields, now slick and gleaming under the security lights, and she splashed through shallow puddles that soaked the hems of her jeans. Her heart pounded in rhythm with her footfalls, a mix of exertion and anticipation, the rain drumming on her hood like impatient fingers. By the time she rounded the final bend, her coat clung damply to her shoulders, but the sight of Ben's car—his sleek black sedan—parked discreetly under the sprawling branches of the old oak tree made the discomfort vanish.

The tree's canopy offered scant shelter, leaves rustling in the wind as rain dripped through in fat, sporadic drops, but the car's interior glowed invitingly through the fogged windows. Rey approached the passenger side, her hand on the handle, and pulled the door open with a whoosh of warm air that carried the faint, comforting scent of his cologne—sandalwood and leather, mingled with the crispness of rain on metal.

Ben sat in the driver's seat, his profile sharp against the dashboard lights, broad shoulders filling out his dark jacket. The heater blasted steadily, a low hum underscoring the patter outside, turning the cabin into a steamy haven. He turned as she slid in, closing the door against the storm with a solid thunk, water sluicing off her coat onto the floor mat.

"Hey!" Rey breathed, the word half-exhale, half-laugh, as the tension of the day uncoiled in her chest. She shook out her hood, droplets scattering like tiny jewels, and leaned across the console toward him. Their eyes met—his dark and intense, stormy with the day's pent-up longing—and then she closed the distance, her lips finding his in a kiss that ignited like dry tinder.

It was heated from the first press, no tentative brush but a full, demanding clash that spoke of hours denied. Ben's hand cupped the back of her neck, fingers threading into her damp hair, pulling her closer as his mouth moved against hers with a hunger that bordered on desperation. Rey melted into it, her palm flattening on his chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heart beneath the fabric of his shirt. He tasted of mint and the faint bitterness of coffee from earlier, his tongue sweeping in to claim her, deepening the kiss until her breath hitched. She shifted in the seat, the seatbelt digging into her hip, but she didn't care—the world narrowed to the slide of his lips, the scrape of his stubble against her chin, the way his free hand gripped her thigh, squeezing through her jeans as if anchoring himself.

They broke apart only when air became necessity, foreheads resting together, breaths mingling in the heated space between them. Rey's lips tingled, swollen and sensitive, and she chased another quick peck, nipping at his lower lip before he pulled back just enough to speak. His voice was rough, gravelly with restraint, eyes searching hers in the dim glow.

"What happened in the office?" he murmured, the words punctuated by another soft kiss, his thumb stroking her jawline. "I've been going out of my mind—every glance across that damn hall, wondering if Thorne had sniffed something out."

Rey smiled against his mouth, her fingers tracing the line of his collar, dipping beneath to brush the warm skin of his neck. The heater's warmth seeped into her bones, chasing the chill, and she savored the intimacy of the moment—the rain cocooning them, the car a private world amid the storm.

"Nothing bad," she assured him, her voice a husky whisper as she leaned in for another kiss, slower this time, savoring the drag of his tongue. "Quite the opposite, actually. He called me in to say I'm top of my classes—graduating with honors this summer. And get this: he mentioned you. Said my 'imagination' impressed you."

Ben's chuckle rumbled low in his chest, vibrating against her as he captured her lips again, the kiss turning languid, exploratory, his hand sliding up to tangle more fully in her hair.

"Imagination," he echoed between breaths, nipping at her earlobe before trailing kisses along her jaw. "If only he knew how vivid it really is. The things you do to me, Rey... all day, watching you laugh with your friends, knowing I couldn't touch you. It was torture."

She shivered at his words, not from cold but from the raw edge in his tone, the possessiveness that always set her aflame. Her hand ventured lower, palm pressing against the hard plane of his abdomen, feeling the muscles tense under her touch. The console dug into her side, an awkward barrier, but she arched closer anyway, her knee nudging his thigh.

"I felt it too," she confessed, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, her eyes dark with mirrored want. "Every look you sent my way... I kept imagining dragging you into the storage closet, locking the door, and—"

He silenced her with another kiss, fiercer now, his grip tightening on her thigh, inching higher until his fingers brushed the seam of her jeans. The heat built between them, steamier than the fogged windows, the rain's rhythm fading to a distant roar. Ben's other hand released her hair, trailing down her arm to intertwine their fingers, grounding the passion in something tender amid the fire.

"Tell me everything," he urged, his lips hovering over hers, breath hot against her skin. "Every word he said. I need to know you're safe— that we're safe."

Rey nodded, her free hand cupping his cheek, thumb tracing the sharp angle of his cheekbone. She recounted the meeting in hushed tones, interspersed with soft kisses—Thorne's enthusiastic praise, the bizarre bird-flapping gestures, the indirect nod to Ben's influence on her work. With each detail, Ben's tension eased, his kisses growing deeper, more assured, as if her words were a balm to the jealousy and worry that had simmered all evening. The car rocked gently with the wind, but inside, time stretched, their bodies leaning into each other, the conversation weaving seamlessly with caresses—his hand squeezing hers, her fingers toying with the buttons of his shirt.

By the time she finished, the clock on the dashboard read 11:20, the night deepening around them. Rey's coat lay discarded in her lap, the heater's warmth making her skin flush, her body attuned to every shift of his. "See? All good," she murmured, sealing the reassurance with a lingering kiss, her tongue teasing his until he groaned softly.

Ben pulled back reluctantly, his eyes heavy-lidded, a smile tugging at his lips despite the evident strain of restraint. "Graduating top of your class... I'm not surprised. But hearing it from him—knowing he sees your potential...." His voice trailed off, thumb brushing her swollen lips. "Proud of you, Rey. More than you know."

 

The rain hammered the car roof in relentless sheets, turning the world outside into a blurred watercolor of night and storm. Inside, the heater's warm blast mingled with the rising heat from their bodies, fogging the windows until the oak tree's branches were mere ghosts against the glass. Rey's head rested on Ben's shoulder, her fingers idly tracing patterns on his chest through his shirt, the fabric warm and slightly damp from the earlier chill. His arm encircled her waist, holding her close in the confined space, his thumb rubbing slow circles on her hip. The conversation about the office had eased the day's tension, but it hadn't quenched the fire that had smoldered since their eyes met across the dining hall.

Ben shifted slightly, his hand sliding up her back, fingers curling into the collar of her coat. With a low murmur against her hair,

"Can't stand this barrier anymore" he tugged at the zipper, peeling the wet wool from her shoulders. Rey lifted her arms to help, letting him pull it free and toss it onto the passenger seat in a sodden heap. The action left her in just her thin sweater and skirt, the air in the car feeling charged, intimate. She shivered, not from cold, but from the way his gaze raked over her, dark eyes hooded with intent.

Before she could settle back, Ben's hands gripped her hips firmly, his strength lifting her effortlessly over the console. He guided her across his lap, positioning her so she straddled him, her knees sinking into the leather seats on either side of his thighs. The steering wheel pressed against her back, a minor inconvenience in the surge of proximity. Rey's breath caught, her hands bracing on his shoulders as she adjusted, feeling the solid heat of him beneath her. The skirt rode up her thighs from the movement, exposing more skin to the warm air, and she pressed down instinctively, grinding her core against the growing bulge in his pants.

"Did you like the poem, Professor?" she whispered, her voice husky with tease. She rolled her hips slowly, deliberately, the friction sending sparks through her as she felt him harden under the denim.

Ben groaned, the sound deep and guttural, vibrating up through his chest to hers. His hands clamped tighter on her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he fought the urge to thrust up.

"Fucking loved it," he rasped, his head falling back against the headrest, eyes squeezing shut for a beat before locking onto hers again. The words came out strained, his cock twitching beneath her teasing pressure, straining against the confines of his pants.

Rey smiled, a wicked curve of her lips, and leaned in closer, her breath fanning his jaw.

"I loved yours too," she murmured, before dipping her head to kiss his neck. Her lips brushed the pulse point just below his ear, soft at first, then sucking lightly, teeth grazing the skin in a way that made him hiss. As she worked her mouth along the column of his throat—licking, nipping, tasting the salt of his skin—her hands roamed lower. Fingers trailed down his chest, over the ridges of his abs, until they reached his belt. She fiddled with the buckle, the metal clinking softly in the humid space, then popped the button of his jeans and tugged the zipper down with deliberate slowness.

Ben's breath hitched, his hips bucking up once, involuntarily, as her hand slipped inside. She palmed his cock through his boxers, feeling the thick length throb under her touch, hot and rigid.

"Rey," he growled, one hand sliding up her thigh, pushing her skirt higher until it bunched at her waist. His fingers found the edge of her panties, tracing the lace before hooking them aside, exposing her wet folds to the air. She was slick already, arousal coating her inner thighs, and he groaned again at the feel of it on his fingertips.

She didn't waste time. With her other hand steadying herself on his shoulder, Rey shifted, lifting her hips just enough to free his cock from the boxers. It sprang out, heavy and veined, the head glistening with pre-cum. She gripped the base, stroking once, twice, feeling him pulse in her fist, before positioning herself above him. Lowering slowly, she guided him to her entrance, the broad tip nudging her pussy lips apart. Inch by inch, she sank down, enveloping him in her tight heat. A gasp escaped her as he stretched her, filling her completely, the sensation of being so full making her walls clench around him.

"Fuck," Ben bit out, his hands guiding her hips down the final distance until she was seated fully, his cock buried to the hilt inside her. Her panties, pushed to the side, rubbed against his base with every subtle shift, adding to the friction. Rey paused there, savoring the stretch, the way he throbbed deep within her, before she began to move.

It was slow, torturously so—her hips circling in languid rolls, rising just enough to let half his length slide out before sinking back down, taking him deep again. She rode him with teasing control, the pressure building a slow burn in her core. Ben's head tipped back, a low moan rumbling from his throat as he watched her through half-lidded eyes, her breasts bouncing slightly under the sweater with each motion.

"God, you feel so good," he murmured, his voice rough, hands roaming up her sides to cup her breasts through the fabric. He squeezed, thumbs circling her nipples until they pebbled hard, straining against the knit. Rey arched into his touch, her pace unwavering—up and down, slow drags that let her feel every ridge and vein of his cock sliding along her inner walls. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on his chest, nails digging in as she picked up the slightest rhythm, but still kept it teasing, denying him the fast pound he craved.

The car filled with the sounds of their joining: the wet slide of her pussy taking him, her soft whimpers mingling with his grunts, the creak of the seats under their weight. Rain lashed the windows, but inside, sweat beaded on their skin, the air thick with the musk of sex. Rey's skirt was a crumpled band around her waist, her panties damp and askew, and she reveled in the exposure, in the way Ben's eyes devoured her.

"Slower," she breathed, though she was already dictating the pace, lifting higher now so only the tip remained inside before dropping back, impaling herself fully. His cock hit that spot deep inside, making her gasp, her walls fluttering around him. Ben's hands gripped her ass, spreading her cheeks as he helped guide her, but he let her lead, his restraint evident in the tension of his jaw, the way his fingers trembled slightly.

"You're killing me," he groaned, thrusting up shallowly to meet her descent, but she pinned him with her weight, controlling the depth. She kissed him then, messy and open-mouthed, tongues tangling as she rocked her hips side to side, stirring him inside her without lifting. The grind made her clit throb, pleasure coiling tighter in her belly, and she broke the kiss to nip at his lip, drawing a hiss from him.

"Want me to stop?" she teased, voice breathy, rising again to let him almost slip free before sinking down with a deliberate squeeze of her pussy muscles. Ben's eyes flashed, dark with need, and he shook his head, one hand fisting in her hair to pull her mouth back to his neck.

"Don't you dare," he demanded, sucking in a sharp breath as she complied, her teeth grazing his collarbone while she continued the slow ride. Up, down, circle—each movement calculated to build him toward the edge without pushing over. His cock swelled thicker inside her, the head nudging her cervix on deeper strokes, and she felt her own release hovering, a slow simmer from the prolonged friction.

Minutes stretched, the teasing pace turning the quick rendezvous into an agonizingly drawn-out claiming. Ben's hands explored everywhere—sliding under her sweater to pinch her nipples, rolling them until she moaned against his skin; tracing the curve of her spine, dipping to where they joined to feel his cock disappear into her slick pussy. Rey's breaths came faster, her movements growing just a fraction more urgent, but she held back, wanting to draw out his desperation.

"Rey... fuck, please," he finally begged, voice breaking on the words, hips jerking up harder despite her control. She laughed softly, the sound vibrating through her chest, and rewarded him by grinding down fully, holding there as her inner muscles milked him in rhythmic pulses.

"Not yet," she whispered, lifting again, the cool air hitting her wet folds for a split second before she took him back in. The sensation made them both shudder, her pace teasing him toward madness. Ben's free hand slipped between them, fingers finding her clit, rubbing firm circles that matched her slow rhythm. The added pressure shattered her restraint; she cried out, riding him faster now, but still not frantic—deep, rolling thrusts that had her pussy clenching erratically.

Orgasm built like a wave, cresting slowly under the deliberate pace. Rey's nails raked his shoulders, her mouth latching onto his neck again, sucking a mark into the skin as pleasure spiked. Ben's fingers pressed harder on her clit, his other hand holding her hip steady as he thrust up to meet her, the car rocking subtly with the motion.

"Come for me," he growled, the command tipping her over.

She did, shattering around him with a keening moan, her pussy spasming tight, walls gripping his cock in waves that pulled him deeper. The release washed through her, hot and prolonged from the teasing build, her juices soaking them both as she ground down, riding out the pulses. Ben followed seconds later, groaning her name as he came, his cock jerking inside her, flooding her with thick spurts of cum that filled her to overflowing.

They stilled, panting, her forehead against his, bodies locked together in the aftermath. His cock softened slowly within her, their mingled fluids trickling down her thigh, but neither moved to separate. The rain continued its symphony outside, a private curtain for their stolen moment, as Rey pressed a lazy kiss to his lips, savoring the taste of satisfaction.

The rain's rhythm softened to a steady patter against the car's roof, a soothing counterpoint to the ragged breaths still echoing in the humid confines. Rey lingered for a moment longer, her body draped over Ben's, their sweat-slicked skin cooling in the recycled air. His cock slipped free from her with a wet sound as she shifted, a trickle of his cum leaking from her pussy, soaking into the displaced fabric of her panties. She felt the warmth of it on her thighs, a sticky reminder of their union, and a lazy smile curved her lips as she finally peeled herself away.

Carefully, she swung her leg over the console, settling back into the passenger seat with a soft sigh. The leather stuck to her bare skin where her skirt had ridden up, and she tugged it down, smoothing the wrinkles with trembling hands. Her pussy throbbed, tender from the slow, deep riding, and she clenched her thighs together, savoring the ache. Leaning toward the visor mirror, she flipped it down, inspecting the disheveled state of her reflection—lips swollen from kisses, hair a wild tangle, neck marked with faint red blooms from his teeth. She looked thoroughly ravished, like she'd been tumbled by a storm herself.

Ben watched her from the driver's seat, his chest rising and falling heavily, jeans still unzipped, his softening cock resting against his thigh, glistening with their combined release. He reached over, fingers brushing her arm, but she batted them away playfully, running her fingers through her hair to tame the mess.

"See... this is what I am on about," Ben breathed, his voice low and husky, laced with awe. He leaned closer, elbow on the console, eyes tracing the flush on her cheeks. "You must be a sorceress, Rey, because I am under your spell." The words hung in the air, intimate and raw, his gaze locking onto hers in the mirror's reflection.

Rey paused, comb in hand from her purse, a soft laugh bubbling up as she met his eyes. The compliment sent a fresh wave of heat through her, making her core clench emptily now that he was out of her.

"Sorceress, huh?" she murmured, twisting a strand around her finger. "Maybe I hexed you back in that classroom. One look, and you're hooked."

She straightened her sweater next, pulling the neckline back into place, though the fabric clung damply to her breasts, outlining her hardened nipples. A quick wipe with a tissue from the glove compartment cleaned the smudges of mascara under her eyes, and she adjusted her panties properly, though the cum-smeared lace chafed deliciously against her sensitive folds. Almost presentable again—or as much as one could be after fucking in a car during a downpour.

But Ben wasn't having it. As she reached for her coat on the seat beside her, he murmured,

"Oh no," his tone a velvet rumble of protest. His hand shot out, capturing her wrist gently but firmly, tugging her back toward him. "Stay dirty," he whispered, the words hot against her ear as he pulled her across the console once more. His free hand dove into her hair, fingers threading through the strands he'd just watched her neaten, fisting lightly to angle her head for his kiss.

The contact was rougher this time, demanding—his mouth crashing onto hers with a hunger that hadn't fully abated. Lips parted immediately, tongues sliding together in a slick, urgent dance, tasting the salt of sweat and the faint tang of her arousal from where his mouth had been on her earlier. Rey moaned into it, her body yielding instinctively, one hand bracing on his thigh while the other cupped his jaw, nails scraping the stubble there. He nipped her lower lip, hard enough to sting, then soothed it with a slow suck, drawing a gasp from her.

Ben's grip in her hair tightened, tilting her head back to expose her throat. He broke the kiss to trail his mouth down, teeth grazing the fresh marks he'd left before, sucking anew until she whimpered, her pulse racing under his tongue.

"Look at you," he growled against her skin, his other hand sliding up her thigh, pushing the skirt back up without preamble. Fingers delved between her legs, finding the mess he'd made—her pussy still slick with cum, swollen and sensitive. He stroked through the wetness, circling her clit lightly, making her hips jerk.

"Ben," she breathed, half-protest, half-plea, her voice muffled as she turned her face into his neck. The console dug into her side, an awkward barrier, but the discomfort only heightened the thrill, the secrecy of it all. She could feel his cock stirring again against her hip, thickening as he pressed closer, the zipper of his jeans rasping against her skin.

"Shh," he hushed, his breath fanning her ear, fingers dipping inside her briefly—two thick digits sliding into the cum-filled heat, pumping once, twice, before withdrawing to smear the evidence over her inner thigh. "I like you like this. Messy. Mine." The possessiveness in his tone sent shivers down her spine, and she arched into his touch, her own hand wandering to his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart.

He pulled her hair again, not painfully, but enough to guide her mouth back to his, the kiss turning feral—teeth clashing, tongues battling for dominance. Rey pushed against him, her free hand fumbling with his shirt buttons, popping one open to slide her palm over his bare chest, tweaking a nipple until he groaned into her mouth. The sound vibrated through her, pooling fresh arousal between her legs, and she ground against his hand, chasing the friction of his fingers on her clit.

The car windows were completely fogged now, a cocoon of steam and desire, the outside world obliterated. Ben's hand left her hair to cup her breast, squeezing through the sweater, thumb rolling the nipple until it ached. She retaliated by palming his cock, stroking the hardening length through the open fly, feeling it pulse hot and heavy in her grip. Pre-cum beaded at the tip, and she swiped her thumb over it, spreading the slickness down the shaft.

"Fuck, Rey," he panted, breaking the kiss to rest his forehead against hers, eyes dark and dilated. His fingers plunged back into her pussy, curling to hit that spot that made her see stars, thrusting in a steady rhythm that had her clenching around him. She rode his hand shamelessly, hips bucking, the wet sounds obscene in the close space. Cum from before mixed with her new wetness, dripping onto the seat, but neither cared—the mess was part of the claim, the rawness of their need.

She leaned in, nipping his earlobe, whispering hotly,

"I'm I am..." she pants "A sorceress, then you are a sorcerer Ben" she cries out.

"Is that so?" his fingers pump harder.

"Cast your spell on me, Professor. Make me forget everything but you." Her words were a challenge, and he accepted, withdrawing his fingers only to lift her slightly, positioning her so her ass perched on the edge of the console, legs spread wide over his lap.

With a swift motion, he freed his cock fully, guiding it to her entrance. She was still loose from earlier, slick and ready, and he thrust up in one smooth push, burying himself balls-deep. Rey cried out, the sudden fullness stretching her anew, her walls fluttering around the intrusion. He didn't move immediately, just held her there, grinding deep, his pubic bone rubbing her clit as his hands roamed— one tangling back in her hair, the other hiking her sweater up to expose her breasts.

He latched onto a nipple, sucking hard, teeth grazing the peak while she rocked on him, setting a slower pace this time, savoring the drag of his cock along her sensitive insides. The angle was awkward, her back arched against the dashboard, but it allowed him to hit deeper, the head nudging her cervix with each downward slide. She tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer to her chest, urging him to devour her as she rode.

"That's it," he murmured against her skin, voice muffled, laving the other nipple with his tongue before biting down just enough to make her yelp. "Ride me like you own me, sorceress." His hips snapped up to meet her, the slap of skin on skin punctuating the rain, building the tension coil by coil.

Rey's breaths came in short gasps, her pussy gripping him tighter, the second orgasm building faster from the overstimulation. She ground down harder, circling her hips to feel him everywhere, her clit throbbing against him. Ben's hand slipped between them again, pinching her clit, rolling it until tears pricked her eyes from the intensity.

"Come again," he demanded, thrusting up roughly now, the car shaking with the force. She shattered, screaming his name, her release gushing around his cock, soaking his balls. He followed with a guttural roar, pumping her full once more, cum spilling out around his base as he held her down, pulsing deep inside.

They collapsed together, her head on his shoulder, his arms wrapping around her in a fierce hold. The kisses turned softer, lazy pecks along her jaw, as the storm outside mirrored the one they'd unleashed within. "Stay dirty," he whispered one last time, a smile in his voice, and she laughed breathlessly, content to remain marked by him, spellbound in his embrace.

 

The aftershocks of their passion lingered in the steamy confines of the car, the rain a relentless drumbeat on the roof as Rey slumped against Ben's chest. His arms encircled her waist, holding her close, their bodies still joined in the lazy aftermath—his cock softening inside her, a warm, slick connection that grounded them both. She could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing syncing with hers, the scent of sex and rain mingling in the air. They talked about nothing, really—whispers of the storm outside, a half-hearted joke about the fogged windows hiding their sins, the way the wipers slapped rhythmically like a heartbeat. His fingers traced idle patterns on her back, dipping into the curve of her spine, while she nuzzled into the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar musk of his skin.

But the idyll couldn't last. Rey shifted slightly, feeling the cum ooze from where they were connected, a sticky trail down her thigh that made her clench around him one last time. She lifted her head, propping her chin on his chest to gaze at him, her eyes soft but shadowed.

"I have to go soon," she sighed sadly, the words heavy with reluctance. The dashboard clock glowed accusingly—late. "I can't wait to graduate and then we're free."

Ben's hand stilled on her back, his dark eyes meeting hers with a mix of tenderness and something unspoken, deeper. He brushed a damp strand of hair from her forehead, his thumb lingering on her cheek.

"Do you know what you wanna do after?" he asked her, voice low and probing. "After you leave?"

Rey hesitated, her fingers toying with the collar of his shirt, still rumpled from their frenzy. She leaned up a bit more, her breasts pressing against him, nipples grazing his chest through the thin fabric.

"Rose is going to U.C.L.A.," she admitted, the words tumbling out like a confession. "I didn't apply. I wanted to be an actress for a while, so I agreed to go with her, but now I don't know what I want to do. Life should be an adventure, right?"

She looked down at Ben, searching his face, her expression a blend of excitement and uncertainty. The idea had thrilled her once—Hollywood lights, auditions, the rush of possibility—but saying it aloud now, with him beneath her, felt like cracking open a vulnerability she hadn't meant to expose.

"UCLA?" Ben said slowly, his brow furrowing as the name sank in. He shifted, helping her ease off him with gentle hands on her hips, his cock slipping free with a soft, wet pop. Cum dripped from her pussy onto his thigh, but neither moved to clean it; the mess was just another layer of their intimacy. She settled into the passenger seat, staring at him, her skirt hiked up, legs still parted slightly as the cool air hit her overheated skin.

"Yeah," she replied, pulling her knees together, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze.

"That's on the other side of the country, Rey." His tone was measured, but there was an edge to it, like the first rumble of thunder. He zipped up his jeans, the sound harsh in the quiet car, and ran a hand through his disheveled hair.

Rey blinked, the distance in his words hitting her like a slap.

"You could come," she said, forcing lightness into her voice, though her heart pounded. "Plenty of teaching jobs out there. We could make it work."

Ben's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he turned to face her fully.

"Rey, I just left L.A. to come here. I can't just switch jobs. That's not how it works." He leaned back, arms crossing over his chest, the muscles in his forearms flexing with tension.

"Well... I know that," Rey shot back, her voice sharpening. She tugged her skirt down fully now, the fabric sticking to her damp thighs, a reminder of how quickly tenderness could sour. "I'm not a child."

"You are expecting me to just quit my job and move back to L.A.? Like it's that easy." Ben's words came faster now, laced with frustration. "For you it is. You have no commitments. But I am an adult, Rey. I have a tenure-track position, a life here that I built after everything fell apart out west. You think I can just pack up and follow you on a whim?"

The car felt smaller, the air thicker, as the argument ignited. Rey's cheeks flushed, not from desire this time, but anger and hurt bubbling up.

"A whim? Is that what this is to you? Me wanting a future together?" She gestured between them, her hand slicing the air. "We've been sneaking around for months, Ben. Hiding in cars, in your house, like criminals. And now that graduation's close, you're telling me distance is just another barrier we can't cross? Like everything else—your job, my age, the school rules—it's all just excuses!"

"Excuses?" Ben's voice rose, echoing off the fogged windows. He uncrossed his arms, leaning forward, his broad frame dominating the space. "This isn't an excuse, Rey. It's reality. You talk about adventure like it's a movie script, but what about stability? What about us actually surviving this without blowing up our lives? I left L.A. because it chewed me up—bad job, worse memories. Coming back? For what, to chase your dreams while I start over? You don't get it. You're young; the world bends for you. For me, it's a grind."

"So I'm just young and impulsive? That's your point?" Rey's eyes stung, tears pricking at the corners as she grabbed her coat from the back seat, clutching it like a shield. "I thought we were in this together. Free after graduation, remember? But apparently, I'm the only one dreaming big enough to fight for it. You want me to stay here? In this dead-end town?"

"I didn't say that!" Ben snapped, his hand reaching out but stopping short. "But throwing out 'come to L.A.' like it's nothing? It is a barrier, Rey. A huge one. Long-distance? We'd kill each other with jealousy, the secrets, the miles. Or I uproot everything, and what if it fails? What if you change your mind about acting, about me? I'm not some rebound fantasy."

The words hung heavy, messy and cutting, slicing into the fragile hope they'd built. Rey's breath hitched, her chest tight as she fought the sob rising in her throat.

"Okay," she breathed, holding back the tears that threatened to spill. Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper. "I think I'm gonna go."

She fumbled for the door handle, swinging it open to the pouring rain, the cold drops immediately soaking her exposed legs. She stepped out.

"Rey, wait!" Ben called, alarm cracking his anger. "I didn't mean it. I'm sorry." He scrambled after her, but she slammed the door shut with a resounding thud, shrugging into her coat as she started walking toward the campus path, the rain turning her hair to sodden ropes.

Ben cursed under his breath, yanking open his door and chasing her into the storm. The rain hammered down, soaking his shirt to transparency, clinging to his broad shoulders as he caught up.

"Rey!" he shouted over the roar, grabbing her arm gently but firmly, spinning her to face him. Water streamed down their faces, blurring the lines between tears and rain. His eyes were wild, desperate, the professor's composure shattered.

She yanked against his hold, but he didn't let go, pulling her closer until their wet clothes pressed together.

"I'm sorry," he said again, voice rough with regret. "But I can't just go to L.A. It's not that simple."

"It's fine, Ben," Rey snapped, her voice breaking as she pulled away, the hurt flashing in her eyes like lightning. "You've made your point. What else can I do? I'm just a child after all, right? Too naive to understand your adult world." The sarcasm dripped like the rain from her lashes, but underneath was pure pain, the make-or-break weight of it all crashing down.

She wrenched free, turning back toward campus, her footsteps splashing through puddles as she stormed off. Ben stood there, drenched and rooted, watching her silhouette fade into the stormy night. The rain washed away the remnants of their passion, leaving only the ache of what might be fracturing between them. His fists clenched at his sides, the apology dying on his lips as regret twisted in his gut. She didn't look back, and he didn't follow—yet the distance between them felt wider than any coast-to-coast miles.

 

The rain-slicked path back to the dorm felt endless, each step a squelch of mud and regret that mirrored the turmoil churning inside Rey. Her coat clung to her like a second skin, heavy with water, but it did nothing to shield her from the chill seeping into her bones—or the deeper cold of Ben's words echoing in her mind. I'm just a child after all. The sarcasm she'd hurled at him tasted bitter now, a self-inflicted wound that stung worse than the downpour lashing her face. She wiped at her eyes roughly, telling herself it was just rain, but the tears had started long before she reached the edge of campus. The argument replayed in fragments: his frustration sharpening into barbs about her youth, her dreams dismissed as whims, the chasm of their realities laid bare like an open wound. They'd built something fierce and forbidden, bodies entwined in stolen moments, but now it cracked under the weight of what came next—or what couldn't.

The dorm building loomed ahead, its windows glowing faintly against the stormy night, a beacon of normalcy she didn't feel. Rey fumbled with her keycard at the entrance, the plastic slick in her numb fingers, and slipped inside. The lobby was empty, the hum of fluorescent lights and the distant murmur of a TV from a common room the only sounds breaking the silence. She took the stairs two at a time, avoiding the elevator's mirrored walls that would force her to confront her reflection—hair plastered flat, mascara streaking like war paint from a battle lost. Her skirt chafed against her thighs, still damp and sticky from their earlier passion, a cruel reminder of how quickly ecstasy could twist into agony.

She paused outside her door, hand hovering over the knob, breath coming in shallow hitches she fought to control. Rose would be asleep by now—curled up under her quilt, oblivious to the storm raging both outside and within Rey. The thought of facing her best friend, of pasting on a smile or a lie about where she'd been, twisted the knife deeper. Rose, with her sharp intuition and unyielding loyalty, would see right through it. But tonight, Rey couldn't summon the energy for explanations, for the web of deceit that had become her life. She turned the knob slowly, easing the door open with a soft creak that seemed deafening in the quiet.

The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of Rose's phone charger on the nightstand. Rose lay tangled in her sheets, her breathing deep and even, one arm flung out as if reaching for something in her dreams. The air smelled of her vanilla body spray and the faint trace of pizza from earlier, a stark contrast to the metallic tang of rain and heartbreak clinging to Rey. She closed the door behind her with deliberate care, the click of the latch like a final punctuation on the night's chaos. Her coat slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her feet in a sodden heap, but she didn't pick it up. Instead, she stood there for a moment, frozen, listening to the patter of rain against the windowpane, willing the sobs to stay locked in her throat.

They wouldn't. A tremor started in her chest, building like the storm outside, and she clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle the first choked gasp. Her eyes burned, vision blurring as she backed toward the bathroom door, movements silent and desperate. The knob turned under her fingers, and she slipped inside, locking it with a decisive twist that echoed her resolve to unravel alone. The bathroom was small, tiled in cold white that reflected the harsh overhead light she flicked on, illuminating the stark reality of her solitude. She leaned against the door, the wood cool against her back, and then her legs gave way.

Rey slid down slowly, knees buckling as the weight of it all crashed over her. She folded in on herself, arms wrapping around her legs, head dropping to rest against her knees as the tears finally broke free. Sobs wracked her body, raw and unrestrained now that the door stood between her and the world. The tile floor was unforgiving, seeping chill through her damp clothes, but she barely felt it—only the vise around her heart, squeezing tighter with every heaving breath.

Chapter 14

The fluorescent lights of the hallway buzzed overhead like a swarm of indifferent insects, casting long shadows that danced across the scuffed linoleum floor. It was Wednesday morning, the air thick with the scent of chalk dust and lingering cafeteria breakfast—burnt toast and overbrewed coffee that clung to everyone's clothes. Rey stood by her locker, one hand gripping the cool metal edge as if it could anchor her against the tide of anxiety swirling in her gut. Two days almost. That's how long she'd managed to dodge Ben Solo like he was the plague itself, weaving through crowded corridors, ducking into bathrooms during lunch, and burying herself in the library's farthest stacks until the final bell. Monday night's fight replayed in her mind. The words had hung between them, heavy as the storm, until she'd stormed out, slamming the door on their fragile world.

Now, here she was, staring at the locked door of the English classroom, its frosted glass pane mocking her with its opacity. The bell for first period hadn't rung yet, but students milled about, chattering in low tones about weekend plans and upcoming tests. Rose leaned against the adjacent locker, scrolling through her phone with feigned nonchalance, but Rey could feel her friend's sidelong glances, heavy with unspoken questions. Rose had pried gently on Tuesday—You okay? You look like you haven't slept—but Rey had brushed it off with a weak smile and a lie about cramps. The truth was a knot in her throat, too tangled to unravel without spilling everything. Ben was her professor, her lover, her everything—and now, an unavoidable shadow.

Skipping class tempted her like a siren's call. She could feign illness, head to the nurse's office, curl up in a dim room and let the tears come without witnesses. But failure wasn't an option; English was her strongest subject, and with graduation looming in five months, one missed assignment could tarnish her perfect record. The headmaster's praise still echoed from their recent meeting—Top of your class, Rey. Bright future ahead—and she wouldn't let a broken heart derail that. No, she had to face it. Face him. Her pulse quickened at the thought, a mix of dread and that traitorous pull of longing, the memory of his hands on her skin, his breath hot against her neck. She shoved it down, focusing on the chipped blue paint of her locker instead.

Rose nudged her elbow then, a subtle jolt that snapped Rey from her spiral.

"Heads up," Rose murmured, her voice low and laced with sympathy she didn't fully understand. "He's coming."

Rey's heart lurched, a wild thing battering against her ribs. Without thinking, she pivoted sharply, burying her face in the open locker as if suddenly desperate to rummage through its depths. Textbooks tumbled slightly, pens clattered against the metal shelf, but she barely noticed—her fingers trembled as they brushed a forgotten notebook, pretending to search for her copy of Wuthering Heights. The hallway noise faded to a distant hum, her world narrowing to the thud of footsteps approaching, steady and unhurried.

A small mirror hung inside the door—a cheap vanity addition from last semester, cracked at one edge but functional enough to betray her. Rey's eyes flicked to it involuntarily, catching a glimpse of him in the reflection. Ben Solo strode down the corridor, his tall frame cutting through the crowd like a ship through fog. He wore his usual attire: a crisp button-down shirt in deep navy, sleeves rolled to his elbows revealing forearms corded with muscle, dark slacks that hugged his legs just enough to stir unwelcome heat in her core. His hair was tousled, as if he'd run a hand through it too many times that morning, and his jaw was set in that brooding line she knew so well—the one that hid turmoil behind stoic calm. Their eyes didn't meet in the mirror; he was focused ahead, keys jingling in his hand, but Rey's breath hitched anyway. He looked tired, shadows under his eyes that mirrored her own, and for a split second, she wondered if he'd tossed and turned too, replaying their fight, aching for her touch.

Her heart sank like a stone in deep water, a heavy plummet that dragged everything down with it. The sight of him—so close, yet worlds away—cracked the fragile dam she'd built. Tears pricked at her eyes, hot and insistent, blurring the reflection until his figure wavered.

Don't cry.

Do not cry,

She commanded herself silently, the words a mantra looping in her mind, fierce and desperate. She bit the inside of her cheek, tasting copper, willing the sting to ground her. Not here, not now, not in front of Rose or the other students trickling toward the door. She couldn't shatter in the hallway, couldn't let him see the power he still held over her. With a deep, shuddering breath, she slammed the locker shut, the bang louder than intended, echoing her resolve.

Rose shot her a quick, concerned look but said nothing, linking arms with her as they moved toward the classroom. Ben was at the door now, unlocking it with a click that seemed to reverberate through Rey's bones. He stepped aside to let students enter, his gaze sweeping the group—polite, professional, the picture of detached authority. But Rey felt it when his eyes landed on her, a subtle hitch in the air, like static before a storm. She kept her head down, chin tucked, focusing on the scuff marks on her sneakers as she brushed past him. No glance, no nod, no flicker of acknowledgment. Ignoring him completely took every ounce of her willpower; her skin prickled under the weight of his proximity, the faint scent of his cologne—sandalwood and something darker—wafting toward her like a ghost.

Inside, the classroom was the same as always: rows of desks scarred from years of use, posters of Shakespeare and Austen peeling at the edges, the chalkboard wiped clean but dusted with faint residue. Rey slid into her usual seat near the back, Rose claiming the one beside her with a reassuring squeeze of her hand under the desk. The room filled quickly—Poe cracking jokes with Finn two rows ahead, other students shuffling papers and whispering about the poetry assignment due Friday. Ben entered last, closing the door with a soft thud that sealed them all in together. He moved to the front, setting his briefcase on the desk, his movements deliberate, controlled.

"Good morning, everyone," he said, voice steady and warm, the timbre that had once made her melt now twisting like a knife. "Let's dive into our discussion on forbidden desires in literature. Open to page 147."

Rey pulled out her book, fingers numb, staring at the words without seeing them. Her heart pounded a erratic rhythm, the ignored tears still threatening at the corners of her eyes. She stole a glance at him—brief, forbidden—as he wrote on the board, his back to the class. Broad shoulders, the way his shirt stretched across them. God, she missed him already, even as the anger simmered. The fight wasn't over; it hung between them like an unspoken storm cloud, waiting to break. But for now, she sat rigid, ignoring the pull, ignoring him, as the lesson began and the world pretended nothing had shattered.

 

Rey gripped the edges of her desk, knuckles whitening against the worn wood, as if the act could fuse her resolve into something unbreakable. Be strong, she repeated the mantra in her head, a desperate chant against the vulnerability threatening to swallow her whole. She couldn't keep caving—not to the ache in her chest, not to the magnetic pull that drew her eyes toward him every time he spoke. Two days of avoidance had been her armor, thin and cracking, but it was all she had. Graduation was five months away, a ticking clock that promised escape or ruin, and she wouldn't let this—him—derail her. Her gaze stayed locked on the open pages of Wuthering Heights, the inked words blurring into meaningless shapes under the strain of her focus. The classroom hummed with the low murmur of anticipation, the air thick with the faint scent of old books and adolescent restlessness.

Ben paced slowly at the front, his presence commanding without effort, the sleeves of his navy shirt still rolled up, exposing the veins that traced paths along his forearms like secrets she once mapped with her fingertips. He paused by the chalkboard, chalk dust lingering on his fingers as he turned to face the class.

"Forbidden desires," he began, his voice rolling out like thunder on the horizon—deep, resonant, wrapping around her despite her best efforts to tune it out. "They're the lifeblood of so much literature. The things we crave but can't have, the passions that burn beneath the surface until they consume everything. Let's explore this. Who can give me an example from the text? What drives Heathcliff's obsession with Catherine?"

The question hung in the air, and Rey's stomach twisted. Of all topics, this—forbidden desires. It was like the universe conspired to peel back her skin, exposing the raw nerves of her own secret. She hunched lower, her hair falling forward like a curtain, shielding her face from the room. Her heart hammered, each beat a reminder of Monday's storm: the rain lashing the car windows, his hands fisting in her shirt as they argued about futures that didn't align, the way desire had flared even in anger, pulling them into a frantic collision before it all shattered. She couldn't look up. Wouldn't. If she did, she'd see the intensity in his eyes, the one that mirrored her own turmoil, and the dam would break.

Poe Dameron, ever the eager participant, shot his hand up first, leaning back in his chair with that cocky grin that made half the class roll their eyes.

"Heathcliff's all about revenge mixed with love, right? It's forbidden because he's lowborn, and she's this high-society girl. But it's more than class—it's like he's possessed. He can't let go, even after she's gone. That desire twists him into something dark." Ben nodded, his expression approving, a faint smile tugging at his lips that Rey caught in her peripheral vision. It sent a unwelcome spark through her, a reminder of how that smile had once been hers alone, whispered in the dim light of his office after hours.

"Good insight, Poe. And how does that forbidden element heighten the tension?" Ben pressed, his gaze sweeping the room, pausing just a beat too long on the back row—or so it felt to Rey, her skin prickling as if branded.

Rose, beside her, straightened a little, her loyalty a quiet anchor in the storm. She raised her hand tentatively, her voice steady when called upon.

"It's the impossibility that makes it so intense. Catherine knows she shouldn't want Heathcliff—society, her husband, everything says no—but she does anyway. It's like this pull she can't resist, even if it destroys her. The forbidden part makes the love feel more real, more desperate."

Rose's words landed like pebbles in still water, rippling through Rey's defenses. Desperate. Yes, that was it—their stolen nights in the library stacks, his mouth on hers silencing her doubts, the risk of discovery only fueling the fire. Rey pressed her lips together, tasting the phantom salt of unshed tears.

Ben leaned against his desk, arms crossing over his chest, the fabric of his shirt pulling taut.

"Exactly. Forbidden desires aren't just about the act; they're about the cost. What happens when you give in? Finn, your thoughts?"

Finn rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at Poe for backup before answering.

"Uh, it leads to tragedy, mostly. Like in the book, Heathcliff's desire turns him bitter. He haunts the moors, basically becomes a ghost of his own obsession. But maybe that's the point—without the forbidden, it wouldn't hit so hard."

A few students murmured agreement, the class warming to the discussion, voices overlapping in a tentative chorus.

Rey kept her head down, her pencil scratching idle patterns in the margin of her notebook—swirls that looked suspiciously like tangled vines, binding and unbreakable. The torture was exquisite, each answer a mirror held too close to her soul. Ben moved on, his questions probing deeper.

"Think beyond Wuthering Heights. What about in Romeo and Juliet? Family feuds make their love forbidden—how does that amplify the passion?"

A girl in the front row, Kaydel, piped up eagerly.

"It's all or nothing. They know it's doomed, but that makes every kiss, every touch, feel stolen from fate. Like they're racing against time." Ben's response was measured, encouraging, but Rey heard the undercurrent in his tone—the one he used when dissecting texts with a personal edge, as if the words echoed his own hidden fractures.

The class chimed in more freely now, the discussion flowing like a river she was drowning in. Poe jumped in again on The Great Gatsby:

"Gatsby's desire for Daisy is forbidden because she's married, and he's this outsider trying to buy his way into her world. It's not just love; it's obsession with what he can't have, and it ends in disaster."

Rose added her take on Jane Eyre, her voice gaining confidence: "Rochester's secret—the mad wife in the attic—makes his feelings for Jane taboo. She has to choose between her morals and her heart, and the forbidden aspect tests her strength."

One by one, students offered examples: the illicit affair in Anna Karenina, the power imbalance in Lolita, the societal chains in The Color Purple. Ben guided them masterfully, drawing connections, his voice weaving through the responses like a thread pulling tighter around Rey's chest.

"See how these desires challenge norms? They force characters to confront what they're willing to risk—reputation, safety, even their identity."

His eyes flicked toward the back again, or maybe she imagined it, but the weight settled on her like a physical touch.

It was torture, pure and unrelenting. Every word dissected her reality: the late-night texts that set her skin aflame, the press of his body against hers in his car, the fear of exposure gnawing at her edges. She wanted to scream, to bolt from the room, but she stayed rooted, head bowed, breaths shallow. Rose nudged her foot under the desk—a silent check-in—but Rey didn't respond, couldn't. The bell would ring soon, freeing her from this crucible, but until then, she endured, strong in her silence, even as the forbidden desire clawed at her from within.

 

The minutes dragged on like shadows lengthening in the late afternoon sun filtering through the classroom windows, casting elongated patterns across the desks and turning the air hazy with dust motes. The discussion on forbidden desires had evolved, twisting from literary examples into the rawer territory of forbidden love itself—the kind that defied not just society but the very fabric of one's world. Ben stood at the center of it all, his broad frame a gravitational force pulling responses from the students, his questions sharpening like blades honed on the whetstone of intellectual pursuit. Rey felt every second etch itself into her skin, a slow burn that matched the flush creeping up her neck. She traced the edge of her notebook with a fingernail, the paper giving slightly under the pressure, as if it could absorb the turmoil roiling inside her.

"Forbidden love takes it further," Ben said, his voice dropping to that gravelly timbre that always sent a shiver down spines—hers included, though she'd die before admitting it now. He gestured with one hand, the chalkboard behind him scrawled with fragmented quotes:

"Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same"

From Wuthering Heights, scribbled in his precise, slanted script.

"It's not just desire; it's love that society deems unacceptable. Class differences, family loyalties, moral codes—they all conspire to make it illicit. Poe, you mentioned Gatsby earlier. How does that forbidden love drive the tragedy?"

Poe leaned forward, his enthusiasm undimmed, fingers drumming on his desk.

"It's the illusion of reclaiming the past. Gatsby loves Daisy, but she's locked in this world he can't fully enter—married, upper class, all that. His love becomes this desperate chase, throwing parties, building mansions, but it's forbidden because it's built on lies and what-ifs. When it crumbles, it takes everyone down with it."

A ripple of nods spread through the room, Finn adding a quick aside about how Daisy's indecision mirrors the torment of yielding to something you know will destroy you.

Ben's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, pacing a step closer to the center aisle.

"Precisely. And in Romeo and Juliet, it's the feud that poisons the well. Their love blooms in secret gardens, but the forbidden nature turns every whisper into a risk. Rose, what do you see in that dynamic—the way secrecy amplifies the emotion?"

Rose shifted in her seat, her shoulder brushing Rey's in a subtle show of solidarity. She spoke with measured care, her words laced with an undercurrent of personal insight that made Rey's chest tighten.

"Secrecy makes it intoxicating. They steal moments in the dark, away from prying eyes, and that hiding builds this pressure—like a dam ready to burst. But it also isolates them. No one can help because no one can know. It's love, but warped by the need to conceal."

Her gaze flicked to Rey for a split second, a silent acknowledgment of the shadows they both carried, though Rose's suspicions about Rey's secrets ran deeper than this classroom facade.

The class murmured, a few students jotting notes as Ben built on it.

"Isolation, yes. Think of The Age of Innocence—Newland Archer loves Ellen Olenska, but she's divorced, scandalous in their high society. Their forbidden love simmers in stolen glances and unspoken promises, but duty wins out. What does that say about the cost of restraint?" Kaydel from the front raised her hand again, her voice bright but probing.

"It shows how forbidden love eats at you from the inside. Archer spends his life regretting what he didn't pursue, haunted by the what-could-have-been. The restraint isn't peace; it's a slow poison."

Laughter bubbled up from the back when Poe quipped,

"Sounds like half the crushes in this school—staring across the cafeteria, knowing it'll never happen." Finn chuckled, elbowing him, and even Ben's lips quirked in a rare, dry amusement, the sound low and rumbling. But Rey heard none of it as levity; to her, it was all razor wire, each example slicing closer to the bone. Her mind flashed unbidden to the hidden alcoves of the campus, the way Ben's fingers had dug into her hips against the cool brick of the library wall two weeks ago, their breaths mingling in frantic urgency while footsteps echoed nearby. Forbidden love—yes, that was the poison, the one that made her pulse thunder now, even as she willed herself to vanish into the desk.

The clock on the wall ticked louder in her ears, the second hand sweeping inexorably toward the hour. Five minutes left. Ben wrapped up a response to another student's take on Othello—how Iago's manipulations turned Desdemona's innocent love into something suspect and doomed—his voice steady, authoritative.

"These stories warn us, but they also seduce us. Forbidden love promises intensity, but demands sacrifice." He scanned the room, his dark eyes lingering on clusters of engaged faces, drawing out the last threads of the conversation.

Then, as if sensing the frayed edges of her silence, his gaze settled on her. The weight of it pinned her in place, heavy and unyielding. The room seemed to hush, the hum of voices fading to a distant buzz.

"You've been quiet, Rey," he said, his tone firm, laced with that professorial edge that brooked no evasion—yet beneath it, for her ears alone, a flicker of something sharper, more personal. It wasn't a question; it was a command, pulling her from her burrow like a hand extended into the dark.

Her head snapped up despite herself, meeting his eyes for the first time that period. They were intense, stormy, holding hers with an intensity that made her throat close. The class turned subtly, expectant, as he continued, his question landing like a gauntlet.

"In Wuthering Heights, Heathcliff and Catherine's love is forbidden by class and convention, but it's also eternal, transcending death. If you were Catherine, facing that pull toward something—or someone—you know you shouldn't have, what would you risk to seize it? What makes the forbidden worth the fall?"

The words hung there, a direct probe into the heart of her chaos. Rey's mouth went dry, her mind scrambling for an answer that wouldn't betray the storm inside. Everything, she thought wildly—her future, her reputation, the fragile threads of normalcy she'd clung to. But aloud, she forced her voice steady, though it emerged softer than intended, threaded with unintended rawness.

"I'd risk... the isolation. The regret of not knowing. Because holding back just prolongs the ache—better to burn bright and crash than fade in the shadows." It was too honest, echoing her own midnight confessions to him, the ones whispered against his skin in the dim glow of his apartment.

Ben held her gaze a beat longer, his expression unreadable to the others—a nod of approval that masked the flicker of heat she knew too well.

"Well said. The burn over the fade. That's the allure." Murmurs of agreement rippled, but before anyone could expand, the bell shrilled through the room, sharp and liberating, shattering the tension like glass.

Rey was on her feet in an instant, her notebook slammed shut, bag slung over her shoulder with mechanical efficiency. She didn't look back—couldn't—as the class erupted into motion, chairs scraping, voices overlapping in the rush to escape. Rose called her name softly, falling into step beside her, but Rey's focus narrowed to the door, the hallway beyond a promise of air, of distance. She wove through the throng, heart pounding, the echo of his question chasing her like a shadow she couldn't outrun. Out in the corridor, the cool rush of passing students buffered her, but the weight lingered, a forbidden spark reignited despite her vows to smother it.

The hallway buzzed with the chaotic symphony of post-class exodus—lockers clanging like erratic percussion, sneakers squeaking against the linoleum floors, and voices overlapping in a cacophony of weekend plans and weekend gripes. Rey wove through the throng, her steps clipped and purposeful, shoulders hunched as if to make herself smaller, less visible in the swarm of bodies. The echo of Ben's question still reverberated in her skull, a taunt wrapped in academic veneer: What makes the forbidden worth the fall? Her own answer had been too raw, too revealing, and now it festered, a splinter under her skin that she couldn't dig out.

"Oh, I really can't stand him," she muttered under her breath, the words slipping out like a hissed confession to the empty air. Her locker loomed ahead, a dented metal sentinel in the row of identical blue doors, and she reached it with a surge of pent-up fury. The combination tumblers clicked under her trembling fingers—left two, right three, left one—and the latch sprang open with a metallic groan that matched the twist in her gut.

She slammed the English textbook inside with more force than necessary, the thud echoing her frustration as pages fluttered against the confines of the narrow shelf. Wuthering Heights, with its dog-eared corners and underlined passages of Heathcliff's brooding rage, felt like an accusation now, a mirror to the mess she'd made of her own heart. The book landed beside crumpled notes from last week's lecture, a half-eaten granola bar wrapper, and a forgotten hair tie—relics of a life that had spiraled out of control months ago, in the shadowed corners of that church party where Ben's hand had first brushed hers, igniting everything.

Her hand dove deeper into the locker, fingers closing around the worn sleeve of her jacket, a faded denim thing that smelled faintly of rain and the vanilla body spray she favored. She yanked it free, the zipper catching briefly on a stray pencil before giving way. The hallway noise faded to a dull roar in her ears as she buried her face into the soft lining, the fabric muffling the scream that tore from her throat—a raw, guttural release that vibrated through her chest. It wasn't a full-throated wail, just a frustrated keen, the kind that built from days of swallowed words and stolen glances.

"Why does he have to do that?" she thought, the words unspoken but searing. "Pull me in, make me say it, then act like it's just another lesson."

The jacket muffled the sound, but not the emotion surging behind it. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, hot and unwelcome, and she pressed harder, willing them back. Graduation was five months away—five months of navigating this minefield of rules and wants, of pretending Ben was just Professor Solo in the light of day. Their fight on Monday night replayed in fragments.

She straightened slowly, wiping her nose on the jacket sleeve before shrugging it on, the weight of it settling over her shoulders like armor. The scream had vented some of the pressure, leaving her hollowed out but steadier.

Zipping up her jacket with deliberate slowness, Rey slammed the locker shut, the clang punctuating her resolve. Be strong, the mantra echoed again, weaker now but insistent. She couldn't stand him—not the way he dismantled her defenses with a single look, not the way his voice lingered in her dreams, commanding her body even in sleep. But hating him was easier than admitting how much she craved the fall he'd warned her about.

Rey pushed through the thinning crowd, her jacket zipped tight against the chill seeping in from the rain-slicked windows at the hall's end. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting long shadows that danced with the shuffle of departing students, their voices a fading murmur of plans for the evening—study groups, hookups, escapes from the grind. Her eyes scanned the sea of faces, heart still thudding from the locker outburst, the raw edge of her scream lingering like a bruise on her throat. Get it together, she chided herself, forcing her steps to even out, the denim of her jacket rubbing against her arms with each swing.

There—by the water fountain, Rose leaned against the wall, ponytail swinging as she typed furiously on her phone, thumbs flying across the screen. Her backpack slumped at her feet, one strap tangled around her ankle, and she looked up just as Rey approached, her face lighting with that easy grin that could disarm anyone.

"There you are! Thought you ditched me for a solo brooding session." Rose pocketed her phone, slinging her bag over her shoulder with a fluid motion that belied the slight limp from twisting her ankle last week during gym.

Rey managed a half-smile, the tension in her chest easing a fraction at the sight of her friend.

"Nah, just... needed a sec. Lockers are a war zone today."

She fell into step beside Rose as they turned toward the cafe, the corridor narrowing as more students funneled in the same direction, drawn by the promise of cheap eats and a break from the academic pressure cooker. The air grew thicker with the aroma of frying onions and simmering sauces wafting from the open doors ahead, mingling with the damp earthiness of the storm outside.

As they rounded the corner, Poe and Finn emerged from a side hallway, Poe waving a crumpled flyer like a flag of surrender.

"Ladies! You made it. Thought we'd have to raid the vending machines without backup."

Poe's voice carried that perpetual lilt of mischief, his dark curls tousled from running a hand through them one too many times, his button-up shirt untucked at one side like he'd just rolled out of bed. Finn, ever the steady counterpoint, chuckled low, adjusting his glasses with a nudge from his elbow as he balanced a stack of notebooks under one arm.

"More like you need someone to spot you the cash, Poe. That flyer's for the poetry slam next week—don't tell me you're actually signing up."

Rose snorted, linking her arm through Rey's again, pulling the group into a loose formation as they entered the cafe. The space was a riot of warmth and noise: long counters lined with steaming trays of pasta, burgers sizzling on the grill, and salads wilting under plastic domes. Overhead, pendant lights swung gently from the ceiling fans, illuminating clusters of tables where students hunched over trays, laughter punctuating the clink of forks and the hiss of soda machines. Rain pattered against the tall windows, blurring the view of the quad outside, turning the world into a watercolor smear.

They claimed a booth near the back, the vinyl seats creaking under their weight as they slid in—Rose and Rey on one side, Poe and Finn opposite, knees bumping under the table in the cramped space.

 

Rey's gaze drifted occasionally to the faculty corner, where Ben sat with a couple of other professors, his broad frame angled away from the group, fork pushing salad around without much enthusiasm. He didn't look her way—not once—but she felt the pull anyway, that invisible thread tightening with every bite she took, every laugh she forced. The cafe's warmth wrapped around them like a blanket, but inside, the storm raged on, her secrets a live wire humming just under her skin.

Dinner stretched on, the rain easing to a drizzle outside, the group's chatter shifting to weekend plans—Poe's invite to a movie night, Finn's quiet admission of cramming for finals. Rose squeezed Rey's hand under the table once, her eyes soft with unspoken questions, but she didn't push. Not here, not now. For a moment, amid the clatter and camaraderie, Rey almost believed she could keep it all balanced—the friendship, the facade, the fire that Ben ignited without even trying.

The conversation lulled for a beat as Poe wiped ketchup from his chin with the back of his hand, launching into another tangent about the upcoming talent show and how Finn should finally dust off his guitar skills. Rose nodded along, her fork twirling a stray noodle on her plate, while Finn shot Poe a good-natured glare over the rim of his glasses. Rey sat there, the warmth of the booth and the easy camaraderie wrapping around her like a temporary shield, but the weight of the day—of Ben's lingering presence across the room, of the secrets churning in her gut—pressed down harder with each passing minute. Her tray was mostly cleared, just a few crumbs and a half-empty soda glass left behind, and the rain outside had picked up again, drumming a steady rhythm against the windows that mirrored the pulse in her temples.

She glanced at her friends, their faces animated under the cafe's golden lights, and felt a pang of something bittersweet—gratitude laced with isolation.

"Guys," she said, her voice cutting through the chatter with a quiet firmness that made them all turn. Rose's eyes met hers first, sharp and knowing, as if she could sense the undercurrent.

"I'm gonna head to the library. Got some studying to knock out before tomorrow's quiz." It wasn't entirely a lie; her backpack sagged heavy with textbooks and notes, the poetry anthology peeking out from the top zipper like an accusation.

Poe raised an eyebrow, popping the last bite of his burger into his mouth.

"On a night like this? You're braver than me, Rey. Rain's turning the paths into rivers." Finn chuckled, stacking his empty plates to the side.

"She's got that top-of-the-class drive. Don't burn the midnight oil too hard."

Rose just squeezed her knee under the table one more time, her touch lingering a second longer than casual, a silent You okay? hanging in the air. Rey nodded, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"I'll be fine. Text me if you guys do movie night later?"

She slid out of the booth with a scrape of vinyl against her jeans, slinging her bag over one shoulder. The strap dug into her collarbone as she wove through the crowded cafe, dodging a server balancing a tray of desserts and a cluster of freshmen huddled over shared fries.

As she neared the exit, her path veered close to the faculty table. Ben was there, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he conversed with Professor Fitz from history, his voice a low rumble that sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. He didn't look up—not immediately—but she felt it, that magnetic pull, like static crackling in the space between them. She walked past, close enough to catch the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the sharp tang of his untouched coffee, her heart slamming against her ribs. For a split second, their eyes locked; his dark gaze flicked to hers, intense and unreadable, a flicker of something raw—frustration? Hunger?—before he turned back to his colleague, jaw tightening almost imperceptibly.

Rey didn't linger. She pushed through the double doors into the corridor, the cooler air hitting her like a slap, carrying the musty echo of rain-soaked earth from the open windows at the far end. The hallway stretched out, dimly lit by overhead bulbs that buzzed faintly, casting elongated shadows from the few stragglers hurrying to dorms or late practices. Her footsteps echoed off the tiled floors, quick and purposeful, as she made her way toward the library wing, the building's familiar brick facade looming through the glass panels ahead.

The library doors swung open with a soft whoosh, and she stepped inside, the hush enveloping her like a balm. Rows of shelves towered under the vaulted ceiling, lined with spines in every color, the air thick with the scent of aged paper and polished wood. A few dedicated souls dotted the space: a girl in the corner nursing a laptop, an upperclassman sprawled across a table with highlighters in hand. Rey chose a spot near the back, away from the entrance, where the poetry section branched off into quieter alcoves. She dropped her bag onto a chair with a thud, sinking into the seat and pulling out her notebook, but her mind raced far from sonnets or metaphors.

The encounter in the cafe replayed in her head—Ben's glance, the unspoken tension that hung between them like smoke. She flipped open the book, pencil hovering over the page, but her thoughts tangled with memories: his hands on her waist in the car last night, the way he'd growled her name against her neck, the reckless heat that drowned out everything else. Studying felt like a flimsy excuse now, a barrier against the pull she couldn't ignore. Outside, thunder rumbled low, vibrating through the windows, and Rey wondered if he'd follow her here, or if the distance she'd put between them would finally snap the thread holding them together.

 

The library's quiet was a fragile thing, broken only by the occasional rustle of pages or the soft tap of keys from the distant study carrels. Rey stared at the open notebook in front of her, the lines of her half-formed poem blurring into nonsense under the warm glow of the desk lamp. Her pencil scratched idly against the paper, tracing loops that mimicked the knots twisting in her stomach. The rain pattered against the tall windows like impatient fingers, and every shadow in the alcove seemed to shift with potential, waiting for him to appear. She told herself she was focused—on the quiz, on the words, on anything but the ache left by their last fight—but the lie tasted bitter on her tongue.

Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, the clock on the wall ticking with deliberate slowness. Then, the heavy doors at the entrance creaked open, admitting a gust of cool, damp air that carried the faint echo of footsteps. Rey's breath hitched, her grip tightening on the pencil until the wood creaked. She didn't look up, not at first, forcing her eyes to stay glued to the page even as awareness prickled along her skin. The footsteps were measured, unhurried, the kind that belonged to someone who owned every space he entered. Ben.

He moved through the stacks like a shadow detaching from the wall, his presence announcing itself before he even rounded the corner. She caught the outline of him in her peripheral vision—tall, broad-shouldered, his dark coat still dusted with raindrops that glistened under the low lights. The scent of him hit next: that familiar mix of cedar and storm-soaked wool, wrapping around her like an unwanted embrace. He paused at the edge of her alcove, his silhouette blocking the faint light from the main reading room, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. The air thickened, charged with the unspoken words from their argument, the ones that had sliced through the heat of their bodies just nights ago.

"Rey," he said finally, his voice low and rough, pitched just for her ears. It wasn't a command, not quite, but there was an undercurrent of insistence that made her thighs clench involuntarily under the table. He pulled out the chair across from her without waiting for invitation, the scrape of wood on carpet jarring in the silence. Up close, she could see the tension in his jaw, the way his dark hair fell slightly disheveled from the wind outside, and the faint stubble shadowing his chin that she knew from memory would rasp deliciously against her skin.

She kept her gaze down, scribbling a meaningless line across the page.

"I'm studying, Ben. Quiz tomorrow." Her tone was clipped, a barrier thrown up hastily, but her heart hammered so loud she wondered if he could hear it over the rain.

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, his hands clasping loosely in front of him. Those hands—strong, callused from years of gripping books and steering through life's storms—had mapped every curve of her body, and the memory flooded her unbidden: fingers digging into her hips as he thrust deep, breath hot against her ear. She shifted in her seat, crossing her legs to quell the sudden warmth pooling low in her belly.

"We need to talk," he murmured, his eyes locking onto the side of her face, willing her to meet them. "About the other night. About us."

Rey finally lifted her head, her brown eyes flashing with a mix of defiance and something softer, more vulnerable. She wanted to scream at him, to demand why he couldn't just let her go, why every glance, every word from him pulled her back into the fire they'd ignited. But the library's hush held her tongue, forcing the words out in a harsh whisper.

"There's nothing to talk about. You made that clear when you said I should focus on graduation, on my future—without me dragging you down." The hurt laced her voice, sharp as a blade, but she saw the flinch in his expression, the way his lips pressed into a thin line.

Ben's hand twitched, as if he wanted to reach across the table and capture hers, to pull her into the shadowed stacks where no one could see. Instead, he raked a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it. You're twisting my words because you're scared. We both are." His gaze dropped to her mouth for a fraction of a second, lingering on the way her lips parted slightly with each breath, and she felt the pull—the magnetic draw that always led them to tangled sheets and gasped promises. "Come on, Rey. Just hear me out. Five minutes."

She shook her head, snapping her notebook shut with more force than necessary. The sound echoed softly, drawing a curious glance from the girl at the nearby table, who quickly buried her nose back in her laptop. Rey's cheeks burned, not just from the attention, but from the proximity of him, the way his knee brushed hers under the table—accidental, or maybe not.

"No. I can't do this here. Not now." But even as she said it, her resolve wavered. Her body betrayed her, leaning in just a touch, drawn to the heat radiating from him like a moth to flame. She could almost feel the ghost of his mouth on her neck, teeth grazing skin as he pinned her against the shelves in his office, the risk heightening every touch.

He didn't back down, his voice dropping even lower, a velvet rumble that sent shivers racing down her spine.

"Then where? Your dorm? The car? Tell me, and I'll make it happen. But we can't keep pretending like this fight didn't gut us." There was raw honesty in his eyes now, the walls he'd built cracking just enough to show the man beneath the professor—the one who craved her as fiercely as she craved him. His fingers drummed lightly on the table, inches from hers, and she imagined them sliding up her thigh, pushing her skirt aside to find her already wet for him.

Rey swallowed hard, her throat tight. She was trying—god, she was trying—to hold the line, to protect the fragile pieces of her heart he'd shattered with talk of distance and endings. Graduation loomed like a guillotine, five months away, and the thought of leaving him, of their nights reduced to texts and faded memories, twisted something deep inside her.

"You're my professor," she hissed, glancing around to ensure no one was listening. "This—us—it's a mistake. We agreed on that much." But her words lacked conviction, her eyes betraying the lie as they traced the line of his collar, remembering how she'd unbuttoned it with trembling fingers, exposing the hard planes of his chest.

Ben's chuckle was soft, almost bitter, but laced with that dark allure that always undid her. He shifted closer, his knee pressing deliberately against hers now, the contact electric through the fabric of her jeans.

"A mistake? Is that what you call the way you moaned my name last week, when I had you bent over the desk in my office?" His words were a whisper, intimate and filthy, painting the scene.

Heat flooded her face, her core throbbing at the memory. She yanked her leg away, but the motion only drew his gaze downward, to the way her chest rose and fell too quickly, nipples hardening against the thin fabric of her shirt.

"Stop," she breathed, but it came out more plea than command. Her bag was clutched in her lap now, a shield, but she made no move to stand. Part of her—the reckless, hungry part—wanted him to drag her into the stacks, to fuck the resistance out of her right there, books tumbling around them as he claimed her mouth, her body, everything.

He leaned back slightly, giving her space but not retreating, his eyes never leaving hers.

"I'm not here to fight, Rey. I just want to talk. To fix this." There was a vulnerability in his tone now, the professor facade slipping to reveal the man who lay awake thinking of her, who touched himself to the scent of her on his sheets. "Please."

She bit her lip, tasting the faint salt of impending tears. Trying—always trying—to be strong, to walk away before they destroyed each other. But the library felt smaller, the air heavier, and as thunder rolled outside, she wondered how long she could keep pretending she didn't need him inside her, filling the emptiness only he could touch.

"Five minutes," she conceded finally, her voice barely audible, even as her mind screamed to run. "But that's all you get."

Ben's relief was palpable, a slow smile curving his lips that promised more than words ever could. He nodded, settling in, and as he began to speak—softly, earnestly—Rey felt the walls crumbling, one whispered confession at a time.

Rey's fingers trembled slightly as she pulled her phone from her pocket, the screen lighting up her face in the dim alcove. She swiped through the apps with deliberate slowness, buying time, her thumb hovering over the timer before pressing down. The soft beep echoed like a starting gun, the digital numbers beginning their countdown: 5:00, ticking away relentlessly. She set the device face-up on the table between them, a stark reminder of the boundaries she was clinging to. Her eyes met Ben's then, challenging, the brown depths swirling with a storm of hurt and unresolved desire.

"Go on," she said, her voice steady despite the knot in her chest, arms crossing over her torso as if to shield herself from whatever words he might unleash.

Ben's gaze flicked to the phone, a muscle in his jaw tightening at the sight of it, but he didn't protest. Instead, he leaned in closer, his broad frame casting a deeper shadow over the table, elbows planted firmly as his hands steepled in front of him. The air between them hummed with tension, thick as the rain outside, and he took a slow breath, letting it out in a measured exhale that brushed her skin like a caress.

"Rey," he began, his voice a low rumble, intimate and edged with the gravel of sincerity. "I know I fucked up the other night. It wasn't because I want you gone. It's because I see how bright you are, how you're meant for more than sneaking around shadows with someone like me."

She shifted in her seat, the wooden chair creaking under her, but she didn't interrupt. Her lips pressed into a thin line, watching him through lowered lashes, the timer now at 4:45. Ben's eyes never left hers, dark and intense, pulling her in even as she fought to stay detached. He reached out then, not touching her, but letting his fingers hover near the edge of the table, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his palm.

"You've got this fire in you, Rey. The way you write, the way you challenge everything in class—it's electric. And yeah, it terrifies me because I know I'm holding you back. But walking away? Pretending what we have isn't real? That's not an option. Not for me."

His words hung there, wrapping around her like smoke, and she felt the first crack in her armor—a softening at the corners of her mouth, though she quickly schooled it. The library's hush amplified every nuance: the patter of rain, the subtle hitch in his breath as he searched her face for any sign of yielding. Ben pressed on, his tone dipping lower, more confessional.

"I miss us, Rey. Not just the sex—though fuck, the way you ride me, grinding down until we're both sweating and spent—that's burned into me. But the talks after, your head on my chest. I want to be part of your world. Support you, even if it means long nights on the phone or me flying out to see you." He paused, his hand finally bridging the gap, fingertips brushing the back of hers in a light, electric touch that sent sparks racing up her arm. She didn't pull away, her skin tingling under the contact, pulse quickening as he traced a slow circle with his thumb.

"Give me a chance to make this right. Let me show you I'm all in—no more pushing you away. We can figure out the distance, the secrets. Just... don't shut me out."

Rey's breath caught, her free hand clenching into a fist on her lap to steady herself. The vulnerability in his eyes undid her a fraction more, the professor's poise giving way to the man who craved her touch, her laugh, her everything. She glanced at the timer—3:55—and felt the pull, the magnetic draw that always led them back together.

"You're making it sound so simple," she murmured, her voice softer now, edged with the ache she'd been burying. But she didn't stop him, didn't retract her hand, letting his warmth seep into her as he leaned even closer, his knee nudging hers again under the table, deliberate and teasing.

Ben's smile deepened, a spark of that dark charm igniting as he sensed her thawing.

"It doesn't have to be simple. It just has to be us."

The alcove felt smaller, more intimate, the outside world fading as his gaze held hers captive. He squeezed her hand gently, his touch grounding and igniting all at once.

"I love you, Rey. Not some fleeting crush—this is real, deep, the kind that doesn't fade with graduation or miles. Let me prove it. Starting tonight, if you'll let me." The timer hit 3:30, but time seemed irrelevant now, suspended in the space between his plea and her silence, waiting for her to tip the scales.

Rey's head dropped forward, her shoulders shaking as the first tears escaped, tracing hot paths down her cheeks and splashing onto the scarred wooden table. The timer on her phone ticked on mercilessly—3:15 now—but the world had narrowed to the raw ache spilling from her chest.

"I don't know," she whispered, voice cracking like fragile glass, her hands flying up to cover her eyes as if she could block out the storm raging inside her. Sobs wracked her body, soft and broken, each one pulling at Ben's heart like a vise.

"It feels too intense. It feels too much, I'm so angry..." The words tumbled out between gasps, her fingers trembling against her face, smearing the dampness across her skin. She rocked slightly in her chair, the alcove's shadows deepening the flush of her distress, her breaths coming in uneven hitches that echoed in the quiet library.

Ben's hand tightened around hers, the warmth of his palm a steady anchor amid her unraveling. He slid his chair closer, the scrape of wood on floor barely audible over her quiet cries, his free hand reaching out to gently pry one of hers away from her eyes.

"Rey," he murmured, voice low and thick with emotion, thumb stroking the back of her hand in slow, soothing circles. His dark eyes searched her face, drinking in the vulnerability she so rarely let show, the way her lips quivered and her chest heaved with each sob. He didn't rush her, didn't fill the silence with empty reassurances; instead, he let her words hang, heavy and true, his own throat tightening at the depth of her pain.

She lowered her hand fully now, revealing eyes red-rimmed and glistening, lashes clumped with tears.

"But my heart is breaking," she continued, voice a fractured whisper, "and not from upset or anger... but because it calls to you." Her gaze locked onto his, raw and unfiltered, the intensity of it hitting him like a punch to the gut. She leaned forward slightly, her free hand clutching the edge of the table as if to ground herself, sobs punctuating her confession. "Every part of me pulls toward you, Ben. It's like fire in my veins, this need, this... love. It scares me how much I feel it, how it drowns out everything else." Her words poured out, laced with the desperation of someone teetering on the edge, her body curling inward as another wave of tears crested.

Ben's chest ached, a fierce protectiveness surging through him. He stood slowly, the timer forgotten at 2:50, and rounded the table in one fluid motion, pulling her up into his arms without hesitation. She resisted for a split second—instinct, pride—but then melted against him, her face burying into the solid wall of his chest, sobs muffled against his shirt. His arms wrapped around her tightly, one hand cradling the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair to hold her close.

"Shh, I've got you," he breathed into her hair, his lips brushing her temple as he rocked her gently. The library's hush enveloped them, a fragile bubble amid the distant murmur of pages turning, and he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, tasting the salt of her tears. "Your feelings... they're not too much. They're everything. And mine match them, Rey—beat for beat, ache for ache."

She clung to him, fists bunching in the fabric of his shirt, her body trembling as the sobs slowed to shaky breaths. The anger in her voice had ebbed, replaced by a vulnerable honesty that stripped her bare.

"I don't even think I want to act anymore," she admitted, pulling back just enough to look up at him, her eyes searching his with a desperation that twisted his insides. "I don't know what I want. All I know is... I want you. And nothing else matters." The words ended on a sob, fresh tears spilling over, but there was a fierce clarity in them, a surrender that ignited something deep in Ben's core.

He cupped her face in both hands, thumbs wiping away the tears with tender strokes, his gaze fierce and unwavering.

"Then have me," he said, voice rough with restrained hunger, leaning down until their foreheads touched. "All of me, Rey. No more doubts, no more pushing away. We'll face the intensity together—your dreams, my fears, this pull between us that won't let go." His breath mingled with hers, warm and inviting, and he tilted her chin up, capturing her lips in a kiss that started soft, exploratory, tasting the salt of her sorrow. But as she responded, her hands sliding up his chest to grip his shoulders, it deepened—hungry, claiming, his tongue slipping past her lips to tangle with hers in a slow, deliberate dance.

Rey's fingers dug into his shirt, pulling him closer as she kissed him back with equal fervor, the sobs fading into soft whimpers against his mouth. Ben's hands roamed her back, tracing the curve of her spine before settling at her waist, thumbs brushing the exposed skin where her shirt had ridden up. He broke the kiss only to trail his lips along her jaw, nipping gently at the sensitive spot below her ear, eliciting a gasp from her.

"That's it," he whispered, voice husky as he nuzzled her neck, one hand sliding lower to cup her ass, squeezing firmly. "Let it out—all the anger, the fear. Replace it with this."

He grinds against her subtly, letting her feel the evidence of his arousal pressing into her thigh, his free hand slipping under her shirt to caress the soft skin of her stomach, fingers splaying possessively. Rey arched into his touch, her own hands exploring now—tugging at his shirt buttons, nails scraping lightly over his chest hair as she exposed more of him. The alcove's dim light played over their entwined forms, her breaths coming faster, laced with a mix of lingering tears and rising desire.

He backed her against the alcove wall, the cool stone a stark contrast to the heat building between them, his mouth claiming hers again in a fiercer kiss. His cock throbbed as she hooked a leg around his hip, pulling him flush against her pussy, the friction drawing a low groan from deep in his throat.

"Fuck, Rey," he murmured against her lips.

Their mouths crashed together in a frenzy of need and desperation, tongues battling as Ben's hands gripped her hips, pulling her flush against him. Rey's fingers tangled in his hair, tugging hard enough to elicit a growl from deep in his throat, her body arching into his as his cock pressed insistently against her core through their clothes. The alcove's shadows cloaked them, the rain's steady drum outside masking the wet sounds of their kisses, but beneath the heat, the unresolved storm simmered.

Suddenly, Rey's hands flattened against his chest, shoving him back with a force that broke the kiss. She gasped for air, her lips swollen and glistening, chest heaving as fresh tears welled in her eyes, spilling over to mix with the remnants of earlier ones.

"No..." she said, her voice a raw plea laced with pain, palms pressing firmly into the solid muscle of his torso, holding him at bay even as her body trembled from the abrupt halt.

Ben's eyes widened, dark and stormy, his breath ragged as he searched her face, hands hovering uncertainly at her sides.

"Rey," he started, voice husky and edged with confusion, but she cut him off, her gaze fierce despite the tears tracking down her cheeks.

"You said you can't uproot your life for me," she said firmly, the words slicing through the charged air like a blade, her hands curling into fists against his shirt. "You said that." The accusation hung heavy, pulling up the ghost of their fight—the harsh words in his office, the fear he'd voiced about leaving his job, his roots, for her dreams in LA. Her throat bobbed with a swallow, the vulnerability cracking through her resolve, but she held her ground, chin lifting defiantly.

Ben's jaw clenched, regret flashing across his features as he reached out, his fingers gentle under her chin, tilting her face up to meet his intense stare.

"I didn't mean it, Rey," he murmured, thumb brushing away a tear with a tenderness that belied the roughness of moments before.

"You did" she replies

His voice dropped lower, fervent and unyielding.

"Rey, I'd drop and move the world for you." The confession poured out, raw and sincere, his free hand capturing hers to press against his racing heart, letting her feel the truth in its frantic beat.

She shook her head, blonde strands falling loose around her face, a sob catching in her throat as she wrenched her hand free.

"You shouldn't have to," she whispered, the words breaking on a hitch, her eyes squeezing shut against the ache blooming in her chest. It wasn't just anger or fear—it was the weight of it all, the imbalance she felt in their worlds colliding. With a shaky breath, she pushed him away fully, her palms shoving harder this time, creating space that felt like a chasm. She turned, snatching her bag from the table in a swift motion, the strap biting into her shoulder as she slung it on.

"Rey!" Ben's call echoed after her, urgent and laced with desperation, his hand outstretched as if he could pull her back by will alone. He took a step forward, but she didn't look back, her footsteps quickening through the library's hushed aisles, the alcove now empty save for the echo of her departure and the rain's relentless patter.

Rey's vision blurred with tears as she wove between the stacks, the cool air of the library doing nothing to quell the fire in her veins or the hollow pit in her stomach. Her heart hammered, torn between the pull toward him and the terror of what loving him fully might cost. She burst through the heavy doors into the downpour outside, rain soaking her instantly, mingling with her tears as she hurried down the path, bag clutched tight. Ben's voice faded behind her, but the ache he left in her chest lingered, sharp and unrelenting, a promise of more storms to come.

Rey pressed her back against the heavy library door, the cold metal biting through her damp shirt as rain cascaded down in relentless sheets. Water plastered her hair to her face, mixing with the hot tears streaming from her eyes, her sobs lost in the downpour's roar. She loved him—God, she loved Ben more than anything, a fierce, all-consuming fire that scorched her from the inside out. Every beat of her heart screamed his name, pulling her toward the warmth of his arms, the taste of his lips still lingering like a promise she couldn't shake. But her chest ached with a breaking so profound it felt like her ribs were cracking, the weight of their impossible future crushing her.

Was she doing the right thing? The question clawed at her mind, relentless as the storm. Leaving him like this, storming out into the rain after his desperate words—I'd drop and move the world for you—felt like tearing out her own soul. He was everything: the man who saw her, her dreams, her hidden fire, and ignited it with his touch, his gaze, his possession. Nights tangled in his sheets, how he whispered her name like a prayer. How could she walk away from that? From him?

Yet doubt gnawed at her, sharp and unforgiving. He had a life here—tenure, respect, a world that didn't bend for a 19-year-old student chasing dreams. Uprooting it for her? It was a fantasy, beautiful and doomed, like one of her forbidden stories. What if she ruined him? What if the scandal swallowed them both, leaving nothing but ashes?

She slid down the door, knees buckling as she sank to the wet ground, hugging her bag to her chest like a shield. The rain soaked her through, her skirt clinging to her thighs, chill seeping into her bones, but it was nothing compared to the ice in her veins. Should she go back in there? Push through the door, find him in that shadowed alcove, let his arms wrap around her and pull her under again? Feel his mouth on hers, rough and claiming, whispering yes to whatever future he offered.

Her breath hitched, a fresh wave of tears blurring the world. Part of her screamed to run back, to hell with the risks—love like theirs didn't come twice. But the other part, the scared girl who'd fought for every scrap of stability, whispered caution. She buried her face in her knees, rocking slightly, the internal war raging as thunder cracked overhead. Minutes stretched, the rain unrelenting, her heart fracturing with each drop. Finally, with a shaky exhale, she lifted her head, eyes fixed on the door's handle, inches from her grasp. The choice hung there, heavy as the storm, waiting for her to seize it or let it drown.

Rose's voice cut through the relentless patter of rain like a lifeline, soft but urgent.

"Rey?" She hurried across the slick pavement, her sneakers splashing in shallow puddles, her jacket hood pulled low against the downpour. When she spotted Rey slumped against the library door, shoulders shaking with silent sobs, her heart twisted. Bending down without a second's hesitation, Rose wrapped her arms around her friend, pulling her close in a fierce embrace. Rey crumbled instantly, burying her face in Rose's shoulder, her body wracked with fresh bursts of tears that soaked through Rose's damp shirt.

"I fucked up, Rose," Rey choked out, her words muffled against the fabric, raw and broken. "It's all fucked up." The sobs came harder then, deep and guttural, as if every pent-up fear and regret had finally shattered free. She clung to Rose like a drowning woman to driftwood, her fingers twisting into the back of Rose's jacket, her breath hitching in uneven gasps.

"Shh, it's okay," Rose murmured, her hand gently stroking Rey's wet hair, fingers threading through the tangled strands with soothing rhythm. The rain hammered down around them, turning the world into a blurred haze, but Rose held firm, her own eyes stinging with sympathy. She could feel Rey's trembling, the way her friend's body seemed to fold in on itself, carrying the weight of something far heavier than the storm. "You're not alone in this. Come on, let's get you out of the rain before you catch your death."

With careful strength, Rose helped Rey to her feet, one arm looped securely around her waist. Rey leaned heavily into her, legs unsteady, her skirt plastered to her skin and her blouse clinging transparently to her curves. They shuffled toward the covered walkway, the library's double doors looming just ahead. Through the glass panels, Rose caught a glimpse of Ben standing there, his silhouette tense and shadowed, hands shoved deep in his pockets. His eyes met hers for a fleeting second—dark, stormy, filled with a mix of concern and helplessness.

Rose managed a small, reassuring smile and a subtle wave, her expression saying what words couldn't: I've got her. Don't worry. Then, without lingering, she turned away, guiding Rey down the path toward the dorms.

The walk back felt endless, the wind whipping cold gusts that made Rey shiver violently. Rose kept her arm tight around Rey's shoulders, shielding her as best she could, their footsteps echoing on the wet concrete.

"Talk to me when you're ready," Rose said quietly once they were under the awning of their building, punching in the access code with her free hand. "But right now, we need dry clothes and something hot to drink. You've been through hell today."

Inside the dorm, the warmth hit them like a balm, chasing away the chill but doing little for the ache in Rey's chest. Rose flicked on the lights, revealing their familiar space—posters on the walls, scattered books and makeup on the desk, the faint scent of Rey's vanilla candle lingering from mornings past. She steered Rey straight to the bathroom, grabbing a fluffy towel from the rack and pressing it into her hands.

"Strip out of those wet things. I'll make tea."

Rey nodded numbly, peeling off her sodden clothes with mechanical movements, the fabric slapping wetly against the tile floor. Her skin prickled with goosebumps, but it was the emptiness inside that chilled her most. As the hot water from the shower beckoned, she caught her reflection in the fogging mirror—red-rimmed eyes, mascara streaked like war paint, lips swollen from biting back screams. Ben's face haunted her, the way he'd looked when she'd stormed out, his voice cracking on pleas she couldn't bear to hear. Love like theirs was a wildfire, beautiful until it consumed everything. And now? It felt like she'd doused it herself, leaving only smoke and regret.

Rose busied herself in the main room, boiling water and rummaging for chamomile packets, her mind racing. She'd pieced together enough over the weeks—the stolen glances in class, Rey's secretive smiles at her phone, the way Ben's lessons seemed to light up whenever Rey spoke. It wasn't just a crush; it was something deeper, messier, the kind of forbidden pull that could upend lives. But seeing Rey like this, so utterly wrecked, ignited a protective fire in Rose. Whatever had gone down in that library, they'd face it together. Sisters in secrets, after all.

When Rey emerged, wrapped in her oversized hoodie and sweatpants, hair damp and towel-dried, Rose was waiting on the bed with two steaming mugs. She patted the spot beside her, and Rey sank down, accepting the tea with trembling hands. The first sip burned her tongue, grounding her in the moment.

"We argued Monday. I said we were going to L.A. He didn't want to. He said he has his life here. Now he wants to follow me to LA," Rey whispered finally, staring into the swirling liquid. "Give up everything—his job, his life here. For me. And I... I told him no. But walking away? It feels like ripping out my heart."

Rose set her mug aside and pulled Rey into another hug, this one softer, in the quiet safety of their room.

"You didn't fuck up by caring about him—or yourself. That's the hardest part of love, isn't it? Figuring out if it's worth the burn." She rubbed slow circles on Rey's back, letting the silence stretch, giving her friend space to breathe.

Rose held Rey close for what felt like an eternity, the steam from their mugs curling lazily in the air, carrying the faint herbal scent of chamomile. Rey's tears had slowed to a trickle, but her body still trembled, each sob a quiet echo of the chaos inside her. Rose pulled back just enough to look at her friend, cupping Rey's face in her hands, thumbs brushing away the lingering dampness on her cheeks. The room was dim now, the overhead light casting soft shadows across the rumpled bedsheets and the scattered remnants of their evening—empty mugs on the nightstand, Rey's discarded towel draped over a chair.

"You know what you need to do," Rose said gently, her voice steady despite the worry etching lines around her eyes. She searched Rey's gaze, willing her to see the truth in it.

"Go find him. Talk to Ben. Really talk. Not this running away in the rain bullshit. Whatever he said about LA, about following you... that's huge, Rey. But you can't decide your future based on fear alone. He's out there, probably pacing like a caged animal, waiting for you to show up."

Rey shook her head, a fresh wave of anguish twisting her features. Her fingers clutched at the hem of her hoodie, knuckles whitening.

"I can't, Rose. God, it's all so messed up. I told him no, and now... now it hurts like I've lost him already." Her voice cracked, the words spilling out in a rush, laced with the raw edge of desperation. The thought of facing Ben again—his dark eyes boring into hers, his hands reaching out to pull her close—sent a shiver down her spine, equal parts longing and terror.

Rose didn't let go, her grip firm but kind.

"That's why you have to go. Because this half-in, half-out thing is killing you. Sneak out if you have to. Text him. Hell, I'll cover for you. But hiding here won't fix it. You've been fighting this pull between you two since the beginning—the stolen nights, the secret touches. Don't let one fight erase all that." She paused, her expression softening into something almost pleading. "You're stronger than this, Rey. And he loves you enough to upend his whole world. That's not something you walk away from without a real conversation."

The words hung in the air, heavy with truth. Rey felt them sink in, stirring the embers of resolve she'd thought extinguished. Maybe Rose was right. Maybe one more talk could untangle the knot in her chest, make sense of the impossible choice between her dreams in LA and the man who made her feel alive in ways she never imagined. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, nodding slowly.

"Okay. Yeah. I'll... I'll go find him."

Rose squeezed her shoulder, a small smile breaking through.

"That's my girl. Take the back path—avoid the patrols. And text me when you're back, no matter how late." She watched as Rey stood, shrugging off the hoodie and pulling on a dry jacket, her movements hesitant but determined. The clock on the wall ticked past midnight, the dorm quiet except for the distant hum of the rain against the window.

Rey slipped out into the night, the cool air biting at her skin as she hugged the shadows of the campus paths. Her heart pounded with every step, a frantic rhythm that matched the storm still brewing inside her. The library loomed in the distance, its windows dark, but she headed toward the faculty parking lot first—Ben's car was often there late, a silent sentinel. No sign of him. She circled the building, peering through the gloom, her breath fogging in the chill. Nothing. A flicker of doubt crept in, but she pushed on, toward his office in the English wing. The door was locked, the hallway empty save for the faint echo of her footsteps.

"Ben?" she whispered, knocking softly, then louder. Silence answered. Panic edged her voice as she tried his phone—straight to voicemail. Where was he? Had he gone home already, or worse, decided she wasn't worth the wait? The rejection stung sharper than the wind, twisting her gut. She wandered the grounds, checking the usual spots: the oak tree by the quad where they'd shared their first real kiss, the bench behind the auditorium where he'd confessed his feelings in hushed tones. Each empty space felt like another crack in her resolve.

By the time she looped back toward the dorms, exhaustion had set in, her shoes sodden and her hope frayed to threads. The rain had picked up again, a steady drizzle that soaked through her jacket, mirroring the tears welling anew. She couldn't do this—not tonight. Not when every corner reminded her of him, of the way his lips claimed hers, his body pressing her against walls in fevered need. The weight of it all crashed down, and she quickened her pace, slipping inside the building before the night watchman could spot her.

Rose was still awake, curled up with a book under the lamp, but she looked up as Rey entered, dripping and defeated.

"Hey, what happened? Did you find him?"

Rey shook her head, unable to meet her eyes.

"He's gone. Or hiding. I don't know. I looked everywhere, Rose. It's pointless." Her voice broke on the last word, and she kicked off her shoes, peeling away the wet layers with numb fingers. Without another word, she crossed to her bed, the mattress dipping under her weight as she collapsed onto it. She yanked the covers over her head, cocooning herself in the darkness, the sheets muffling her sobs as they came hard and unrelenting.

The fabric grew damp against her face, absorbing the salt of her tears as she curled into a ball. Images assaulted her—Ben's hands on her hips, guiding her rhythm as they moved together in the dim light of his car; his whispers of forever against her ear; the way he'd looked at her today, broken and pleading. Why couldn't she just say yes? Why did love have to demand everything? The questions swirled, unanswered, as her cries softened to whimpers, the night stretching on in aching solitude.

Chapter 15

Notes:

I know... I know.

We're all sad right?

Well...its Rey's birthday.

Happy birthday Rey!

The fluorescent lights in the classroom buzzed faintly overhead, casting a sterile glow over the rows of half-empty desks. Friday afternoon dragged on like molasses, the substitute teacher's monotone voice droning through a lesson on Shakespeare that no one cared about. Rey slouched in her seat near the back, her notebook open but untouched, the pen dangling loosely from her fingers. The absence of Ben's commanding presence hit her harder than she'd expected—English class without him felt hollow, like a stage missing its lead actor. He hadn't shown up yesterday or today, his desk at the front barren, the chalkboard wiped clean of his elegant scrawl. Whispers had rippled through the halls: Professor Solo was out sick, or maybe on some sudden leave.

But Rey knew better. He was avoiding her. Who could blame him? After their blowout in the rain, her tear-streaked rejection of his dreams to follow her to LA, the silence between them had stretched into an aching void. Her phone had stayed stubbornly quiet, no late-night texts, no stolen glances in the corridors. It stung, a dull ache in her chest that classes couldn't dull.

The bell finally rang, a shrill mercy that scattered students like leaves in the wind. Rey gathered her things slowly, her backpack heavy on her shoulder as she shuffled out into the bustling hallway. The weekend loomed ahead, but it felt empty without the secret thrill of sneaking off to his place. Her birthday—nineteen today—should have been a milestone, a spark of joy amid the boarding school's rigid routine. Instead, it twisted like a knot in her gut, reminding her of the life she was chasing and the one she might be leaving behind. She pushed through the crowd, dodging clusters of chattering classmates hyped for freedom.

Back in the dorm, the door swung open with a familiar creak, and Rose burst in like a whirlwind, her energy a stark contrast to Rey's quiet fog.

"It's Friday! Rey's birthday!' Rose's words tumbled out "Right, pack that weekend bag—we're off to my cabin by the lake till Sunday night. Drinking, a little courage, let's celebrate your birthday!"

She hurled a duffel bag across the room, and it landed with a soft thud at Rey's feet, nearly toppling her water bottle from the desk. Rey blinked, caught off guard, but a faint smile tugged at her lips despite the weight in her chest. Rose's enthusiasm was infectious, a lifeline pulling her from the edge of her thoughts.

"The boys are meeting us there," Rose added, zipping up her own suitcase with a flourish. Poe and Finn had texted earlier, promising to bring the good stuff—beers, maybe some weed from Finn's sketchy hookup—and the drive up would be a group escape from the school's stifling walls.

Rey knelt to unzip the bag, her hands moving on autopilot as she folded in jeans, a couple of sweaters, and her favorite bikini for whatever lake antics awaited. The cabin was Rose's family spot, tucked away in the woods an hour north, all creaky floors and a wraparound porch overlooking the water. It had been their go-to for past birthdays, nights filled with bonfires, laughter echoing off the trees, and the kind of reckless fun that made forgetting easier.

Rose watched her for a beat, then clapped her hands.

"Oh, wear a nice dress—we might not be proper partying, but it's your birthday. Dress yourself up, girl!" With that, she dove back into her closet and emerged triumphant, flinging a shimmering silver sequin dress at Rey. It caught the light as it sailed through the air, landing in a glittery puddle on the bed. The fabric was sleek, hugging just above the knees, with thin straps and a neckline that dipped teasingly low—bold, unapologetic, perfect for turning heads under the cabin's string lights. Not to be outdone, Rose followed it up with a pair of silver heels, strappy and elegant, clattering onto the mattress.

"Pair it with those, and you'll own the night. No moping in sweats, birthday girl. We're making this epic."

Rey picked up the dress, running her fingers over the cool sequins, the texture sending a shiver up her arm. It was stunning, far from her usual jeans-and-hoodie armor, and part of her thrilled at the idea of slipping into something that made her feel alive, desired.

"You sure about this? Heels in the woods?" she teased weakly, holding the shoes up, but her voice carried a hint of gratitude.

"Absolutely," Rose shot back, slinging her bag over her shoulder and checking her watch. "We'll hit the road in an hour—my car's gassed up. Imagine it: lake views at sunset, Poe telling his dumb pilot stories, Finn challenging everyone to stupid games. And who knows, maybe some cute locals show up." She winked, but her eyes softened, reading the flicker of pain in Rey's expression. "Hey, whatever's going on with... you know, Professor Broody... this weekend's your reset."

Rey nodded, tucking the dress carefully into her bag, the silver catching the late afternoon sun filtering through the window. The dorm room smelled of fresh laundry and Rose's vanilla perfume, a comforting normalcy amid the storm in her heart. Packing grounded her, each item a small anchor: toiletries, a book she wouldn't read, the heels that promised a night of pretending. As she zipped up, the weight of the bag matched the subtle lift in her spirits—nineteen felt like a threshold, a chance to step into the unknown without looking back. Or at least, that's what she told herself as Rose blasted music from her phone, the upbeat rhythm filling the space and chasing shadows away.

By the time they hauled their luggage down to the parking lot, the sky had deepened to a bruised purple, the air crisp with the promise of autumn chill. Rose's beat-up sedan waited, trunk popped open like an invitation. They tossed everything in, the trunk slamming shut with finality.

"Ready to conquer?" Rose asked, sliding into the driver's seat and revving the engine.

Rey climbed in beside her, buckling up as the car peeled out of the lot, the boarding school shrinking in the rearview.

"As I'll ever be," she murmured, her hand absently touching the bag at her feet. The road ahead wound through rolling hills, the lake calling like a siren. For the first time in days, a spark of anticipation flickered—birthdays were for new beginnings, after all. Even if Ben's shadow lingered, the weekend stretched out like an open page, waiting for her to write something wild.

 

The road to the cabin twisted like a ribbon through the deepening twilight, the sedan humming along with the windows cracked just enough to let in the cool rush of pine-scented air. Rose had cranked up the Spotify playlist the moment they hit the highway, and now "Mary on a Cross" by Ghost blasted from the speakers, its haunting melody wrapping around them like smoke. Rey gripped the half-empty bottle of vodka and orange between her thighs, the plastic cool against her skin, the fizzy tang already buzzing through her veins after a few generous sips. She tilted her head back against the seat, her voice joining Rose's in a raucous, off-key harmony—singing at the top of their lungs, belting out the lyrics with wild abandon.

"You go down just like Holy Mary....Mary on a cross..." The words dissolved into laughter, Rey's giggles bubbling up as she nearly spilled the drink on a sharp curve, the alcohol loosening the knot in her chest that Ben's absence had tied all week.

They rounded the final bend, gravel crunching under the tires as Rose eased into the driveway of the cabin. The place loomed ahead, a sturdy A-frame nestled among towering evergreens, its weathered wood siding blending into the shadows. The lake shimmered off to the side, a glassy expanse catching the last light, ripples lapping gently at the rocky shore. It was gorgeous, the kind of serene beauty that made the world feel smaller, more manageable. Rey scanned the driveway, her eyes narrowing at the empty space where she'd half-expected to see Poe's beat-up Jeep or Finn's truck. Just Rose's sedan, alone under the canopy of branches.

"Thought you said the boys were meeting us here?" Rey asked, twisting the cap back on her bottle and setting it in the cupholder. Her voice carried a playful lilt, but there was an undercurrent of curiosity, the vodka making her bold enough to poke at the inconsistency.

Rose killed the engine with a grin, her cheeks flushed from singing and the thrill of the drive.

"They must have popped out or something. Maybe getting drinks or ice or whatever. You know Poe—always fashionably late." She fished the keys for the house and dangled them toward Rey, her eyes twinkling with that mischievous spark Rey knew all too well. "Here, mind going in and checking? While I grab the stuff from the boot? Coolers, snacks—the works."

Rey nodded, unbuckling her seatbelt and shouldering her weekend bag. The silver sequin dress peeked out from the top, a glittering reminder of Rose's insistence on glamour amid the wilderness.

"Yeah, sure. If they're not here, I'm raiding the fridge first." She hopped out, the gravel biting through her sneakers, and slung the bag over her shoulder. The air was crisp, laced with the earthy tang of damp leaves and water, a far cry from the stuffy dorm. She trudged up the short path to the front door, the lake's view pulling her gaze sideways—serene, endless, the kind of sight that whispered promises of peace. Her fingers closed around the key, the metal cool and familiar from past trips, and she slotted it into the lock with a satisfying click.

The door creaked open, and Rey stepped inside, her eyes adjusting to the gloom. The cabin was dark, the kind of heavy, unoccupied quiet that suggested no one had flipped a light or stoked the fireplace in days. Shadows pooled in the corners of the living room, the worn plaid couch and stone hearth silhouetted against the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lake. A faint musty scent hung in the air, mixed with the faint pine from outside.

"Hello?" she called softly, her voice echoing off the wooden walls. No answer, just the distant lap of waves. She flicked the nearest switch, a lamp buzzing to life and casting a warm glow over the space—cozy, but empty. No signs of the boys: no scattered jackets, no six-pack on the counter, no laughter spilling from the kitchen.

From behind her, the low rumble of the engine caught her off guard. Rey spun toward the open door, her heart skipping as headlights flared in the driveway. The sedan reversed, tires spinning gravel in a spray, Rose's silhouette visible in the driver's seat.

"Rose? Where are you going?" Rey's voice pitched up, confusion sharpening into alarm. She dropped her bag and bolted back down the path, her sneakers skidding on the loose stones, arms pumping as she chased the taillights. The car peeled out faster, Rose laying on the horn in a series of cheerful blasts—two short, one long, like a victory whoop. Laughter peeled from the open window, Rose's voice carrying on the wind:

"Happy birthday, Rey! Figure it out!"

The sedan fishtailed onto the main road, its red glow shrinking amid the trees, the echo of her friend's cackles fading into the rustle of leaves. Rey skidded to a halt at the driveway's edge, chest heaving, the cool night air biting at her flushed skin.

"What the fuck!" she snapped, her words slicing through the sudden silence like a whip. Anger surged hot in her veins, mixing with the vodka's warmth into a dizzying cocktail. She stood there, hands on her hips, staring at the empty road where Rose had vanished. The lake murmured indifferently beside her, the first stars pricking the indigo sky overhead.

Betrayal stung sharper than she'd anticipated—Rose, her rock, the one who'd dragged her out of the dorm with promises of escape, just... ditched her? On her birthday, no less. Rey's mind raced: Was this some elaborate prank? The boys waiting inside after all, ready to jump out with cake and confetti? But the cabin's darkness mocked that hope. She turned back, retrieving her bag from where it had tumbled, the strap digging into her shoulder as she stormed inside. The door slammed behind her, rattling the windows.

She paced the living room, flicking on more lights—overhead fixtures, the kitchen pendants—chasing shadows into retreat. The space came alive in flickers: the galley kitchen with its chipped mugs on open shelves, the loft bedroom stairs creaking faintly underfoot, the deck doors leading to the lake.

Rey sank onto the couch, the cushions sighing under her weight, and twisted open the vodka bottle again. The orange fizzed as she took a long pull, the burn sliding down her throat like liquid fire.

"Asshole," she muttered to the empty room, but a reluctant laugh escaped—half frustration, half the absurdity of it all. Rose had always been impulsive, the spark to Rey's steady flame, but this? Leaving her stranded in the woods with nothing but a bag, a bottle, and her swirling thoughts? It reeked of setup, maybe even intervention—Rose's way of forcing her to confront the Ben-shaped hole in her life without distractions.

The lake view drew her eye through the windows, the water now a dark mirror reflecting the moon's sliver. It was beautiful, isolating in its tranquility, the kind of solitude that amplified every unspoken ache. Rey's fingers itched for her phone, thumb hovering over Ben's contact—the one she hadn't dared text since their fight. Happy birthday to me, she thought bitterly, the alcohol blurring the edges of her resolve. What now? Hike back to the road and hitchhike? Call an Uber to this middle-of-nowhere spot? Or ride out the night alone, letting the quiet force her to unpack the mess of her heart?

She stood abruptly, bag in hand, and climbed the loft stairs to the bedroom. The space was simple: a queen bed piled with quilts, a dresser scarred from years of family vacations. Rey dumped her things and pulled out the silver dress, holding it up to the dim lamp light. Screw it— if this was her solo birthday, she'd make it count. She stripped down, the cool air raising goosebumps on her skin, and slipped into the sequins. The fabric clung like a second skin, shimmering with every movement, the hem brushing just above her knees. The silver heels followed, wobbling slightly on the uneven floorboards as she descended.

 

Rey's footsteps echoed hollowly on the wooden deck as she pushed back inside the cabin, the door banging shut behind her with a thud that rattled the framed photos on the walls. The anger simmered in her chest, hot and insistent, but the vodka bottle dangled from her fingers like an anchor, its weight a promise of temporary oblivion. She kicked off the silver heels by the entrance, the sequins of her dress catching the lamplight in fleeting sparks as she padded barefoot across the cool floorboards. The living room felt larger in the solitude, the shadows deeper, but she ignored the creeping unease, her mind fixed on drowning out Rose's echoing laughter and the sting of abandonment.

She yanked open the cabinet under the kitchen sink first, the one they'd raided last summer for mixers and forgotten liqueurs. Dust motes danced in the air as she shoved aside a stack of paper towels and a rusted toolkit, her nails scraping against glass. Jackpot—a half-full bottle of rum, amber liquid sloshing invitingly, its label peeling from years of neglect. She twisted the cap free with a satisfying pop, the sharp, molasses scent hitting her like a wave. No chaser this time; she tipped it back, the burn searing her throat and blooming warm in her belly, chasing away the chill of the night. One swig became two, the alcohol hitting her system fast on top of the drive's buzz, loosening the knots in her shoulders.

Not enough. Rey slammed the cabinet shut and moved to the pantry, flinging the door wide enough to bang against the wall. Cans of soup tumbled out, clattering across the linoleum, but her eyes locked on the shelf above: a dusty six-pack of beer wedged behind a bag of stale chips, and beside it, a forgotten flask of whiskey tucked into the corner like a secret. She snatched the flask first, unscrewing the lid and taking a deep pull—the peaty bite making her cough, tears pricking her eyes, but she swallowed it down anyway. The beer followed, cracking one open with a hiss that fizzed into the quiet. Foam spilled over her hand, sticky and cold, as she chugged half in one go, the carbonation bubbling up her nose.

The alcohol coursed through her now, a steady hum that blurred the edges of her fury into something lighter, more reckless.

Fuck Rose, she thought, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, a defiant grin tugging at her lips. Fuck the boys for not showing. This is my birthday—I'll party how I want.

She set the drinks on the coffee table in a haphazard lineup—rum, whiskey, beer—and fumbled for her phone, propping it against a coaster. Spotify loaded with a swipe, the playlist from the drive still queued up. She cranked the volume, the speakers in the corner crackling to life as the next track kicked in: a pulsing electronic beat from some indie band Rose had added, bass thumping through the floor like a heartbeat.

Rey swayed in place at first, the rhythm pulling at her hips, the sequin dress whispering against her thighs with each shift. She grabbed the rum bottle again, swigging as she moved, the liquid courage propelling her into the center of the living room. Her bare feet slapped the rug, arms lifting overhead as she spun, the music swelling around her like an embrace. Laughter bubbled up unbidden—sharp, solitary—mixing with the lyrics she half-sang, half-shouted into the empty space. The lake view through the windows blurred into a dark canvas, stars winking indifferently as she danced, her body loosening with every gulp from the flask.

The room spun in lazy circles now, the alcohol weaving through her veins like fireflies, lighting up forgotten corners of her mind. She thought of Ben as she twirled, his hands on her waist in stolen moments, the way he'd pull her close and murmur against her skin. The memory twisted the knife, but the booze dulled it, turning ache into fuel. She grabbed a beer, foam dripping down her chin as she chugged, then tossed the empty can aside with a clatter. The beat dropped harder, and she jumped into it, knees bending, hips grinding to an invisible partner. Sweat beaded on her collarbone, the dress clinging damply to her curves, sequins glittering under the lamp's glow like captured starlight.

More drinks followed in a blur—rum chased with whiskey, the flask emptying as she poured a splash into her mouth, spilling rivulets down her neck that cooled against her flushed skin. Her dances grew wilder, less coordinated: she kicked at the air, arms flailing in joyful abandon, bumping the coffee table and sending bottles wobbling. A laugh tore from her throat, raw and echoing, as she collapsed into a dramatic dip, one hand trailing the floor while the other clutched the rum for balance. The music shifted to something slower, a sultry R&B track that had her swaying closer to the windows, pressing her palm against the glass, the cold pane a shock against her heated cheek. She imagined Ben there, watching her, his eyes dark with that hunger she craved, but the fantasy flickered and faded, leaving her alone with the bassline.

The solo party raged on, a whirlwind of motion and melody in the isolated cabin. Rey belted out choruses, voice cracking on high notes, her body slick with sweat as she leaped onto the couch for a makeshift stage, heels forgotten but the dress riding up her thighs. She poured whiskey straight from the flask, the burn now a familiar friend, her steps stumbling as the room tilted. Giggles turned to hiccups, the laughter slurring into mumbles about Rose's betrayal, Ben's silence, the birthday she'd half-hoped would fix everything. The lake outside seemed to pulse with the music, waves lapping in time, but the high was cresting, tipping toward crash.

Finally, the energy ebbed, her limbs heavy as lead. Rey staggered from the couch, the rug bunching under her toes, and reached for the last beer. She drained it in sloppy gulps, the empty can slipping from numb fingers to roll across the floor. The playlist looped back to 'Mary on a Cross,' the haunting vocals wrapping around her like a shroud. She swayed once more, a final, languid twirl that ended with her knees buckling. The sofa caught her descent, cushions puffing up as she sprawled across them, one arm dangling off the edge, the sequin dress hiked scandalously high.

Her eyelids fluttered, the room swimming in and out of focus—the lamp's glow softening to a haze, the music fading to a distant throb. A sigh escaped her lips, content in its defeat, as the alcohol claimed her fully. Rey's body went slack, chest rising and falling in shallow rhythms, the cabin falling silent save for the crackle of the speakers and the whisper of wind against the windows. She passed out there, a glittering heap amid the scattered empties, the night folding over her like a blanket, dreams waiting just beyond the blackout.

 

Rey's eyelids fluttered open to a world that swam in hazy fragments, the edges of her vision blurring like watercolor on wet paper. A dull throb pulsed at her temples, a nagging reminder of the night's excesses—the vodka, rum, whiskey, and beer chasing each other down her throat until the room had spun into oblivion. She groaned softly, her mouth dry and tasting faintly of stale hops, as she pushed herself up from the sofa. The cushions clung to her skin, the sequin dress twisted around her hips in a disheveled tangle, one strap slipping off her shoulder. Her head lolled for a moment, the hangover's grip light but insistent, like fingers pressing just behind her eyes.

Blinking against the dim light, Rey's gaze settled on the fireplace across the room. Flames crackled softly, casting a warm, golden glow that danced across the wooden walls and the scattered empties on the coffee table—beer cans tipped over, the rum bottle half-empty, the flask glinting in the firelight. Wait... the fire? She frowned, rubbing a hand over her face, trying to piece together the fog of memory. Had she lit it before collapsing? The last thing she recalled was the music thumping, her body swaying wildly, then the world tilting as she sank into the cushions. No fire. No warmth licking at the cold hearth. Confusion knit her brows, but the heat felt real now, soothing the chill that had seeped into her bones during her drunken stupor.

The cabin was still wrapped in darkness beyond the windows, the lake a black void under the star-pricked sky. Rey swung her legs over the edge of the sofa, bare feet meeting the cool floorboards with a shiver. She stood slowly, steadying herself against the armrest as a wave of dizziness washed over her, the room swaying like the deck of a boat. Padding across the rug, her steps soft and tentative, she reached the front door, the wood smooth under her palm as she twisted the knob and eased it open. Cool night air rushed in, carrying the scent of pine and water, crisp against her flushed skin. She stepped onto the porch, the boards creaking faintly under her weight, and tilted her head back. Stars glittered overhead, a vast canopy of diamonds scattered across the velvet black, indifferent to her solitude. The lake lapped gently at the shore, a rhythmic whisper that did little to ease the knot of bewilderment in her chest.

A soft melody drifted from inside, pulling her attention like a siren's call. It was slow, crooning—Michael Bublé's voice, smooth and velvety, filling the air with 'Crazy Love.' The notes wrapped around her, intimate and unexpected, the piano's gentle keys mingling with the fire's crackle. Rey flinched, her hand jerking back from the doorframe as if burned. Where was that coming from? The old speakers in the corner? She hadn't touched them after passing out. Her heart stuttered, a mix of hangover haze and rising unease churning in her gut.

"What is going on?" she murmured, her voice thick and slurred, still laced with the tipsy remnants of alcohol. She turned slowly, the door easing shut behind her with a soft click, her eyes scanning the shadowed living room.

"Happy birthday, Rey."

The words hung in the air, warm and resonant, cutting through the music like a lifeline. Her gaze snapped to the figure standing by the door. Ben. He stepped forward into the light, his tall frame clad in a tailored black tuxedo that hugged his broad shoulders and tapered waist, the crisp white shirt beneath unbuttoned just enough to reveal a hint of tanned skin at his collar. In one hand, he held a massive bouquet of roses—deep red blooms, velvety petals unfurling like secrets, wrapped in elegant tissue and ribbon. In the other, a small, velvet-lined box, its contents hidden but promising. His dark hair was neatly combed, a single strand falling rebelliously over his forehead, and his eyes—those intense, stormy eyes—locked onto hers with a vulnerability that made her breath catch.

Rey's mind reeled, confusion crashing over her like a wave. Ben? Here? In the middle of nowhere, on her birthday, looking like he'd stepped out of some romantic dream? She blinked hard, willing the image to sharpen, but the hangover made everything feel surreal, the fire's warmth now a cocoon around the impossible scene.

"Did you... follow me?" she asked, her words tumbling out in a slight slur, her tongue heavy as she leaned against the door for support. The stars outside seemed to mock her disorientation, twinkling brighter as if in on the secret.

Ben shook his head, a soft smile curving his lips, though his eyes held a plea that twisted something deep in her chest.

"No. Rose helped me set this up," he admitted, his voice low and steady, carrying over the music's gentle swell.

"Rose?" Rey echoed, her brow furrowing deeper.

He nodded, taking a tentative step closer, the roses brushing against his thigh with each movement. The firelight played across his features, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the subtle tension in his shoulders.

"She came to see me Thursday morning. She told me how you felt—about us, about everything."

His gaze softened, searching hers.

"And she said she's never seen you happier than on the nights you've been with me. That glow in your eyes, the way you laugh when it's just us... she saw it all."

Rey's pulse quickened, a flush creeping up her neck that had nothing to do with the alcohol. He stepped closer still, the space between them shrinking, the scent of his cologne—woody and warm—mingling with the roses' sweet perfume.

"Rey, please don't give up on us," he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he closed the distance. The music swelled, Bublé's lyrics weaving through the moment like a thread: *'When I walk by, you stop and stare...'

He set the bouquet gently on the coffee table, the roses fanning out amid the remnants of her solo party, their petals vibrant against the dull cans. The box followed, placed beside them with deliberate care—a promise tucked away for later. Now unburdened, Ben stood right in front of her, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body, a contrast to the cool night air clinging to her skin. His hand rose slowly, fingers trembling just slightly as they brushed her cheek, the touch feather-light, tracing the curve of her jaw with a tenderness that sent shivers racing down her spine.

"Please," he breathed, his thumb grazing her lower lip, eyes dark with emotion, "give me another chance."

The words hung between them, laced with the weight of their shared history—the stolen kisses in his office, the heated nights in his car, the arguments that tore at their fragile bond. The fire popped softly, embers glowing like the spark reigniting in her chest, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just them: the music, the stars peeking through the windows, and the quiet plea in his touch. Rey's breath hitched, her confusion melting into something warmer, more tentative—a flicker of hope amid the hangover's haze.

Ben's fingers trembled as they swept the tangled strands of Rey's hair aside, exposing the delicate curve of her neck to the fire's flickering light. The warmth of his breath ghosted over her skin first, hot and ragged, carrying the faint scent of mint and the underlying tension that had simmered between them for so long. She felt it like a spark, igniting the fine hairs along her nape, her body responding instinctively even as her mind reeled from the surprise of his presence. The hangover's fog lingered, but his nearness sharpened everything—the crackle of the flames, the slow croon of the music weaving through the air, the steady thrum of her pulse echoing in her ears.

"Please, Rey..." His whisper was a plea wrapped in velvet, lips brushing the sensitive spot just below her ear, soft at first, then pressing firmer, a gentle suck that drew a quiet gasp from her throat. The sensation rippled down her spine, chasing away the chill of the night, replacing it with a heat that pooled low in her belly. He lingered there, his mouth tracing the line of her collarbone, each kiss deliberate, reverent, as if mapping the territory he'd once claimed so fiercely.

"All I'm asking is for you to let me love you."

The words hung between them, heavy with the weight of their fractured history—the stolen moments in shadowed corners, the arguments that had left them both raw, the unspoken fears of what came next. Rey's hands clenched at her sides, fingers curling into the fabric of her dress, the sequins biting into her palms. She wanted to pull away, to shield herself from the vulnerability he stirred, but his touch anchored her, his free hand sliding to the small of her back, drawing her closer until their bodies aligned, chest to chest. The tuxedo's crisp lines pressed against her, a stark contrast to the softness of her curves, and she could feel the rapid beat of his heart mirroring her own.

The fire popped, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney, and Ben pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, his gaze dark and intense, pupils dilated in the low light. One hand cupped her face, thumb stroking her cheekbone with a tenderness that belied the passion simmering beneath.

"I've been lost without you these past days," he confessed, voice roughened by emotion. "Every empty night... it all felt wrong. You're the only one who makes sense, Rey. The only one who sees me, really sees me."

His lips found her neck again, this time with more urgency, teeth grazing lightly, not enough to mark but enough to send a shiver racing through her. She arched into it unconsciously, her head tilting to grant him better access, the last threads of resistance fraying.

Outside, the stars continued their silent vigil, the lake's gentle waves a distant lullaby, but inside the cabin, the world shrank to the space between them. Ben's other hand trailed down her arm, fingers intertwining with hers, squeezing as if to say he wouldn't let go—not this time. The bouquet of roses on the table seemed to watch, their petals a vivid reminder of the romance he'd orchestrated, the box beside them a mystery waiting to unfold. Rey's breath came in shallow bursts, the tipsiness fading under the onslaught of sensation, replaced by a clarity that terrified and thrilled her. His kisses trailed higher, nipping at her earlobe before capturing her lips in a slow, searching kiss—soft at first, exploratory, then deepening as she yielded, her mouth parting under his.

He tasted of hope and regret, his tongue sweeping in to tangle with hers, a dance as intimate as any they'd shared in the heat of passion. Rey's free hand rose to his chest, fingers splaying over the starched shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

The music swelled, Bublé's voice a perfect underscore: 'I can hear her heartbeat from a thousand miles...'

Ben broke the kiss only to murmur against her lips, "Let me show you, Rey. Let me prove it." His hand at her back dipped lower, palm pressing flat against the curve of her hip, pulling her flush against him, the evidence of his desire evident in the hard line pressing into her thigh.

She hesitated, the storm of emotions churning—love, fear, the ache of what they'd almost lost. But as his lips returned to her neck, sucking gently now, marking her with warmth rather than possession, something inside her softened. The cabin felt like a sanctuary, the fire's glow wrapping them in amber light, and for the first time in days, the weight on her chest lightened.

"Ben..." she whispered, her voice breaking on his name, not a rejection but an invitation, tentative and raw. He stilled, lifting his head to search her face, hope flickering in his eyes like the flames before them.

"I'll wait as long as it takes, but please... don't shut me out." His fingers traced lazy circles on her hip, a soothing rhythm that matched the song's fade.

Rey's heart hammered in her chest, Ben's words crashing over her like a wave she couldn't outrun. His declaration—raw, unfiltered, stripping away the barriers they'd built—left her breathless, the room spinning slightly from the remnants of her hangover and the intensity of his gaze. She stared up at him, lips parted, the fire's glow casting shadows that danced across his face, highlighting the vulnerability in his eyes. For a moment, everything stilled: the crackle of the logs, the soft hum of the music, the distant lap of the lake against the shore. Then, the words escaped her, soft and urgent, a surrender she hadn't planned but couldn't hold back.

"Kiss me," she breathed, the phrase slipping out like a secret finally set free, laced with the thrill of the forbidden.

Ben's eyes widened, a flicker of surprise giving way to something fiercer, hungrier. He didn't hesitate. His hand at her neck slid up, fingers threading into her hair, tilting her head back as his mouth claimed hers. The kiss started slow, his lips pressing firm against hers, tasting the faint salt of her tears from earlier and the sweetness of the wine she'd sipped. Rey's hands fisted in his tuxedo shirt, pulling him closer, her body arching into his as the heat between them ignited. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, coaxing them open, and she yielded with a soft moan, letting him in. He explored her mouth deeply, tongue stroking against hers in a rhythm that mimicked the pulse throbbing low in her core.

The world narrowed to the slide of his lips, the scrape of his stubble against her chin, the way his free hand gripped her hip, bunching the sequined fabric of her dress. Rey kissed him back fiercely, her tongue tangling with his, sucking lightly on it before nipping at his lower lip. Ben groaned into her mouth.

He broke the kiss only to trail his mouth down her jaw, sucking at the pulse point there before returning to her neck, his teeth grazing the skin he'd exposed earlier.

"Rey," he murmured against her throat, voice rough with need, "God, I've missed this. Missed you." His hands roamed now, one sliding up her back to unzip the dress just enough to slip his fingers beneath the fabric, tracing the bare skin of her spine. The other hand cupped her ass, squeezing firmly, lifting her slightly so she could feel the full length of his erection grinding against her.

Rey gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as she rocked her hips forward, seeking friction. The sequins scratched lightly against his shirt, a reminder of the dress Rose had insisted she wear, but now it felt like armor she wanted to shed.

"Ben... please," she whispered, echoing his earlier plea, her voice trembling with the mix of love and lust swirling inside her. She reached between them, her fingers fumbling with his belt, the clink of the buckle loud in the quiet room. He helped her, his breath hot on her ear as he undid it, then the button and zipper of his pants, shoving them down just enough to free his cock.

It sprang out, thick and hard. Rey wrapped her hand around it, stroking from base to head, feeling it twitch in her grip. Ben hissed, his head dropping to her shoulder as he thrust into her fist.

"Fuck, Rey... that feels so good." She pumped him slowly, thumb circling the head, spreading the slickness down his shaft. His mouth found hers again, the kiss turning sloppy, urgent, tongues clashing as he backed her toward the couch by the fire.

They tumbled onto it together, Ben landing on his back with Rey straddling his hips. The dress hiked up around her thighs, exposing her lace panties, already damp. She ground down on him, his cock sliding against the fabric, the friction making her clit throb. Ben's hands pushed the dress higher, bunching it at her waist, then hooked his fingers into her panties, yanking them aside.

"I need to be inside you," he growled, eyes locked on hers, dark with desire.

Rey nodded, lifting her hips as she positioned him at her entrance. She sank down slowly, inch by inch, feeling her pussy stretch around his thickness. A low moan escaped her as he filled her completely, the sensation overwhelming—full, connected, right. Ben's hands gripped her hips, guiding her as she began to ride him, rolling her hips in a teasing rhythm. Up and down, slow at first, savoring the drag of him inside her, the way her walls clenched around his cock.

"Yes, just like that," Ben panted, his head falling back against the cushions, eyes half-lidded as he watched her. One hand slid up to cup her breast through the dress, thumb rubbing her nipple until it peaked hard against the fabric. Rey leaned forward, bracing her hands on his chest, picking up the pace, her ass slapping lightly against his thighs with each downward thrust. The fire warmed her back, contrasting the cool air on her exposed skin, heightening every sensation.

She felt the tension building, coiling tight in her belly, her breaths coming in short gasps. Ben sat up suddenly, wrapping his arms around her, flipping them so she was beneath him without pulling out. He hooked her legs over his shoulders, driving deeper, his hips snapping forward in powerful thrusts.

"Come for me, Rey," he urged, his mouth on her neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. She cried out, nails raking down his back, the pleasure cresting as her orgasm hit, her pussy pulsing around him, milking his cock.

Ben followed seconds later, groaning her name as he buried himself deep, spilling inside her with hot spurts. They clung together, breaths ragged, bodies slick with sweat. He didn't pull away immediately, staying seated within her, pressing soft kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, her lips.

Rey's chest rose and fell in sync with Ben's, their bodies still joined, his cock softening inside her but neither willing to break the connection just yet. The warmth of the fire licked at their skin, mingling with the flush of their release, and the faint scent of roses lingered like a promise. She lifted her head slightly, her eyes meeting his in the dim light, vulnerability raw in her gaze.

"I love you, Ben," she replied, her voice a soft murmur as she brushed a tender kiss over his lips. Her forehead pressed against his, their breaths mingling in the scant space between them. "Maybe too much," she whispered, the admission slipping out like a confession, heavy with the weight of all they'd risked—the secrecy, the distance, the life she was on the cusp of leaving behind.

Ben's lips curved into a gentle smile against hers, his hands stroking lazy circles on her back, fingers tracing the curve of her spine where the dress still clung haphazardly.

"I can handle too much," he replied, his words vibrating softly against her mouth, a quiet vow that chased away the shadows of doubt. He captured her lips again, this time slow and deep, his tongue sliding against hers in unhurried strokes, savoring the taste of her, the salt of sweat and the sweetness of surrender.

Rey melted into the kiss, her fingers threading through his hair, tugging lightly to angle him closer. The world outside the cabin—the storm's remnants pattering on the roof, the isolation of the woods—faded further, leaving only this: him, her, the heat building anew between her thighs as his cock twitched faintly inside her pussy. She shifted her hips experimentally, a soft gasp escaping when he hardened just a fraction, responding to her movement.

"Rey," he groaned, breaking the kiss to nip at her earlobe, his breath hot against her neck. One hand slid down to grip her thigh, hitching her leg higher around his waist, opening her more fully to him. "You're going to kill me if you keep moving like that." But there was no complaint in his tone, only hunger, his hips rocking subtly to grind deeper, stirring the slick remnants of his cum within her.

She smiled against his jaw, her teeth grazing the stubble there as she trailed kisses down his throat.

"Good," she teased, her voice husky, emboldened by the afterglow and the love thrumming through her veins. Her free hand wandered lower, nails scraping lightly over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart before dipping to where they were connected. She circled her fingers around the base of his cock, feeling herself stretched around him, the wetness coating her skin.

Ben's response was immediate—a low growl rumbling from his chest as he thrust up once, sharply, making her moan. He flipped them again with effortless strength, pinning her beneath him on the couch, the cushions dipping under their weight. The dress rode up completely now, pooling around her waist like discarded silk, her breasts heaving with each breath, nipples tight and begging for attention. He pulled out slowly, the drag of his cock against her sensitive walls drawing a whimper from her lips, before he knelt between her legs, eyes dark as he took in the sight of her—spread open, pussy glistening with their combined release, swollen and pink from his earlier pounding.

"So fucking beautiful," he murmured, his voice rough with awe. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh, then higher, his tongue flicking out to taste the mix of them on her skin. Rey arched, her hands fisting the throw blanket beneath her, as his mouth found her clit, sucking gently at first, then harder, lapping at the cum leaking from her. The sensation was electric, oversensitive from her orgasm but building toward another, her hips bucking against his face.

"Ben... oh God," she panted, one hand flying to his hair, holding him there as his tongue delved inside her, fucking her with it in shallow thrusts before returning to circle her clit. He hummed against her, the vibration sending sparks through her core, and she felt the tension coiling again, tighter this time, her toes curling into the fabric of the couch.

He didn't let up, his fingers joining the assault—two sliding into her easily, curling to hit that spot that made stars burst behind her eyelids. She came with a cry, her pussy clenching around his digits, fresh wetness flooding his mouth as he drank her down, groaning like a man starved. Only when she trembled through the aftershocks did he pull back, lips shiny with her arousal, a satisfied smirk on his face.

Rey reached for him, pulling him up for a messy kiss, tasting herself on his tongue, the intimacy of it making her heart swell.

"Your turn," she whispered, pushing him onto his back once more. She was on the floor on her knees, her hands working his shirt open, buttons popping in her haste to feel his skin. His chest was broad, dusted with dark hair that trailed down to where his cock stood rigid again, veined and throbbing, begging for her touch.

She wrapped her hand around him, stroking firmly from root to tip, watching his face contort in pleasure, his hips jerking into her grip. Leaning down, she took him into her mouth, tongue swirling around the head to lap up the bead of pre-cum there. Ben's hand tangled in her hair, not guiding but holding on as she sucked him deeper, hollowing her cheeks, her lips stretching around his girth. She bobbed her head, taking more with each pass, until the tip hit the back of her throat, making her gag softly but not stop.

"Fuck, Rey..." he rasped, his free hand gripping the arm of the couch, knuckles white. She hummed around him, the vibration drawing a curse from his lips, and quickened her pace, one hand pumping what she couldn't fit, the other fondling his balls, rolling them gently. He was close—she could feel it in the way he thickened further, the salty tang increasing on her tongue.

Before he could finish, she pulled off with a pop, crawling up his body to sink down onto him again, her pussy welcoming him like it was made for this. They both moaned at the fullness, and she rode him hard this time, her hands braced on his chest, nails digging in as she chased her own pleasure. Ben met her thrusts, his hips snapping up, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the room, mingling with their gasps and the fire's crackle.

He sat up, wrapping his arms around her, one hand fisting her hair to tilt her head back, exposing her throat for his teeth. He bit down lightly, sucking a mark into the skin as she ground her clit against his pubic bone, the friction pushing her over the edge once more. Her orgasm ripped through her, walls fluttering around his cock, and Ben followed with a guttural groan, pumping deep as he came, filling her again with hot spurts.

They collapsed together, spent and sated, limbs entangled in a sweaty heap. The rain had stopped, leaving a hushed quiet broken only by their slowing breaths. Ben pressed a kiss to her temple, his voice soft in the stillness.

"Whatever comes next, we'll face it. Together."

Rey nodded against his chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his skin.

 

They lay curled up on the sofa, the fire's glow casting flickering shadows across their entwined bodies, the blanket draped loosely over Rey's shoulders and Ben's lap. The warmth seeped into their skin, a comforting contrast to the cool night air seeping through the cabin's edges. Michael Buble's smooth voice crooned softly from the speakers, filling the quiet with a romantic haze.

"How long has Rose known?" Ben asked, his fingers idly combing through Rey's tousled hair, the strands slipping like silk between his digits.

"Not long... the night I came back from the weekend at yours," Rey replied, her voice soft as she traced lazy patterns on his bare chest, fingers twirling the dark curls of hair there. "She was mad. She didn't feel like we were friends because she knew I was lying to her. She was threatening to find a new roommate. I had to tell her, Ben. But she's been great... well, you know. She helped you sort this out." A light chuckle escaped her, her nails grazing his nipple lightly, sending a subtle shiver through him.

Ben's hand paused in her hair, then resumed its gentle stroking, his thumb brushing her temple.

"She said we needed to sort our shit out, and she said you're stubborn," he chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. "She knew you would never have agreed to this, so... some stories were told."

"Mhm, stories," Rey echoed with another chuckle, her body shifting closer, her thigh draping over his under the blanket. "I swear, the whole weekend here alone? I'd lose my mind." She tilted her head to look up at him, eyes sparkling in the firelight. "Thank you for coming, Ben."

"Happy birthday, Rey," he whispered, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of her head, inhaling the faint scent of her shampoo mixed with the musk of their earlier lovemaking.

Her gaze flicked to the small, elegantly wrapped box on the side table. "You got me a present," she said, pointing with a playful smile.

"Oh yeah... Rose gave me your Amazon wishlist. That helped," he chuckled, reaching for it. "Also, you have expensive tastes."

Ben leaned forward, and Rey pushed up on her elbow, pulling the blanket tighter around her nude form as she watched him. He handed her the box, their fingers brushing, a spark of electricity jumping between them despite the tenderness of the moment. She untied the ribbon with careful fingers, lifting the lid to reveal the bracelet—a stunning piece with blue, red, and white diamonds catching the fire's light like captured stars. She knew it instantly; she'd eyed it online for months, a extravagant dream she never thought she'd own. Her breath caught, body freezing as she stared, the weight of its value hitting her like a wave.

"Do you like it?" Ben asked, his voice low, searching her face.

Rey looked up at him, her eyes wide with a mix of awe and disbelief.

"Of course I do. It's just... this... this wasn't cheap. This... Ben, this is too much. I can't accept it." She shook her head, the bracelet dangling from her fingers, its facets twinkling mockingly. "It was three thousand dollars, Ben." She remained still, the firelight dancing across the gems, making them sparkle against her skin.

"You will accept it. Happy birthday," he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. He took the bracelet from her unresisting hand, his fingers warm as he clasped it around her wrist. The cool metal kissed her skin, the diamonds settling into place like they belonged there. He admired it for a moment, then met her gaze, his expression softening. "It looks perfect on you. Just like you deserve."

Rey's throat tightened, emotions swirling—gratitude, love, a flicker of guilt over the extravagance. She twisted her wrist, watching the colors shift, then reached for him, cupping his face in her hands.

"Ben... I don't know what to say. It's beautiful. You're..." Her words trailed off as she leaned in, capturing his lips in a slow, grateful kiss. Her tongue slipped past his teeth, tasting the faint salt of him, deepening the connection as her body pressed closer, the blanket slipping slightly to expose the curve of her breast.

Ben's arms wrapped around her, pulling her onto his lap, the bracelet glinting as her hand rested on his shoulder. He kissed her back with equal fervor, one hand sliding up her back to tangle in her hair, the other gripping her hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh. "Say you'll wear it," he murmured against her mouth, nipping at her lower lip. "Every time you look at it, think of me. Of us."

She nodded, breaking the kiss to trail her lips along his jaw, her breath hot on his skin. "I will. Every day."

Rey's lips brushed Ben's neck, soft and insistent, her breath warm against his skin as she murmured a string of breathy thank yous between each kiss. '

 

"Thank you... for this... for everything..." Her mouth trailed lower, nipping at his collarbone, then dragging down the planes of his chest, tongue flicking over his nipple until it pebbled under her touch. She shifted, sliding off his lap with deliberate slowness, her body grazing his as she went. Kneeling between his thighs, she pressed a teasing kiss to the base of his hard cock, her lips hovering just close enough to feel the heat radiating from him, but not quite touching. She looked up, eyes gleaming with mischief, a sly smile curving her mouth.

"Might go take a bath, you know," she said lightly, hopping to her feet in one fluid motion, the bracelet jingling softly on her wrist. She darted away before he could react, her bare feet padding across the wooden floor, leaving him sprawled on the sofa with his erection throbbing untouched in the cool air.

"The fuck you are," Ben growled, surging up after her, his cock bobbing heavily as he moved. He caught a glimpse of her ass disappearing down the hallway, the firelight fading behind them. Her laughter echoed, light and taunting, spurring him on as he gave chase, the big cabin's shadows swallowing her form.

Rey giggled, the sound bubbling out as she bolted through the dimly lit corridor, her heart racing with exhilaration. The house was massive—Rose's family's lakeside retreat with endless rooms and nooks perfect for hiding. She veered into the kitchen, ducking behind the island counter, then slipped toward the guest wing, her pulse pounding in her ears. Every creak of the floorboards under Ben's heavier steps sent a thrill through her, her skin flushing with anticipation.

"Rey, you can run and hide in this big house, but if I catch you, I'm afraid I will fuck you," Ben called out, his voice low and rough, laced with promise. He prowled the hall, checking doorways, his bare feet silent now as he hunted. The air hummed with tension, the distant crackle of the fire the only other sound.

She stifled another laugh, pressing her back against the wall in a spare bedroom, the door cracked just enough to peek out. Her nipples tightened in the cooler air away from the hearth, and between her thighs, she felt the slick remnants of their earlier fuck, her pussy aching for more. Footsteps approached—he was close. She waited, breath held, until his shadow fell across the threshold.

Ben pushed the door open slowly, scanning the room.

"Come out, little tease. You know you want this cock." His hand wrapped around his shaft, stroking once, twice, the motion deliberate to draw her in.

Rey bolted again, squealing as she dashed past him, her hand brushing his arm. He lunged, fingers grazing her hip, but she twisted away, racing toward the master suite at the end of the hall. The chase turned frantic, her giggles mixing with his curses, the house alive with their game. She dove into the en-suite bathroom, slamming the door and locking it with a click, leaning against it panting.

"Got you now," Ben rumbled from the other side, rattling the handle. "Open up, or I'll break it down."

"Promise?" she shot back, breathless, unlocking it with a flourish. He burst in, crowding her against the sink, his body pinning hers. His mouth crashed onto her lips, tongue thrusting deep as his hands gripped her ass, lifting her onto the cool marble counter. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him flush, his hard cock sliding against her wet folds.

"Caught you," he murmured, breaking the kiss to bite her shoulder. He thrust forward, burying himself inside her pussy in one swift motion, the stretch making her gasp. She clawed at his back, urging him on as he pounded into her, the mirror fogging with their heat. Her bracelet caught the light from the window, sparkling as she rocked against him, moans filling the tiled space.

He fucked her hard, hips snapping, one hand braced on the counter, the other pinching her nipple.

"This what you wanted? Teasing me like that?" His teeth grazed her earlobe, breath ragged.

"Yes—fuck, Ben, harder," she demanded, her walls clenching around him, chasing the edge. He obliged, driving deeper, until she shattered, crying out as her orgasm ripped through her. He followed seconds later, groaning as he pumped his cum into her, filling her up.

They slumped together, foreheads touching, laughter bubbling up between kisses.

"Best birthday ever," she whispered, nuzzling his neck.

Ben's chest heaved as he pulled out of her, his cock slick with their mixed release, still half-hard and glistening under the bathroom lights. He dropped to his knees before her, eyes dark with lingering hunger, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her inner thigh, tasting the salt of her skin mingled with his cum leaking from her pussy.

"Now you can have a bath," he murmured against her flesh, voice rough from exertion. "I'll pop out and try to find us some food. I swear to God, Rey..." His lips trailed lower, nipping at the sensitive spot where thigh met hip, then down her leg as far as he could reach. "I'd sin forever for you," he groaned, the words vibrating through her, his hands gripping her calves to hold her steady.

Rey shivered at the devotion in his tone, her body still buzzing from the orgasm, but a spark of her earlier playfulness reignited.

"Mhm, we'll see," she replied, her voice light and teasing as she disentangled herself from his grasp. She stepped past him on unsteady legs, the cool tile grounding her as she bent over the bathtub, her ass brushing his shoulder accidentally—or not. The faucet twisted under her fingers, hot water gushing out in a steaming rush, filling the air with the scent of rising humidity. She added a splash of the lavender bath oil from the shelf, watching bubbles form as the tub began to fill.

Straightening up, she turned to face him, finding Ben still on his knees, gaze locked on her like a man starved. His cock twitched visibly, thickening again at the sight of her naked form, pussy lips swollen and shiny from their fuck.

"Off you go, Professor," she commanded with a smirk, easing down to sit on the edge of the tub, the porcelain warm against her skin. She spread her legs wide, knees falling open to expose herself fully—her folds parted slightly, a trickle of his cum still seeping out, her clit peeking from its hood. The invitation was blatant, her fingers trailing idly along her thigh, close but not touching.

Ben whined low in his throat, a desperate sound that made her core clench. He leaned forward instinctively, hands reaching for her hips, but she pressed her foot against his chest, the arch of it firm against his sternum, pushing him back just enough to keep distance. Her toes curled slightly, nails painted a soft pink scraping lightly over his skin.

"Off you go," she purred, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper, eyes half-lidded as she held his stare. "I'm so very hungry." The double meaning hung between them, her free hand dipping to trace the edge of the tub, but her focus stayed on him—watching his Adam's apple bob, his fists clenching at his sides as he fought the urge to dive between her thighs and lick her clean.

He rocked back on his heels, breath coming in ragged bursts, his erection now fully hard again, straining upward, the head flushed dark.

"Rey... fuck, you're killing me," he rasped, eyes devouring the view of her spread pussy, the way her muscles flexed subtly under his gaze. But the pressure of her foot held him at bay, a playful barrier that only heightened the tension. The steam from the bath curled around them, misting the mirror and dampening their skin, making every inch of her glisten.

She tilted her head, letting her hair fall over one shoulder, and slid her foot down his chest slowly, the ball of it grazing his nipple before settling against his abdomen, inches from his cock.

"You promised food, Ben. Go hunt for it like a good professor." Her tone was commanding yet affectionate, lips curving into a wicked smile as she watched him squirm. "Or do I need to beg for that too?" She flexed her toes, brushing the side of his shaft ever so lightly—just enough to make him hiss, his hips jerking forward involuntarily.

Ben's whine turned into a growl, but he obeyed, pushing himself up with visible effort, his cock bobbing as he stood. He leaned down one last time, capturing her mouth in a fierce kiss, tongue sweeping in to claim her taste before pulling away.

"This isn't over," he warned, voice gravelly, palming his length once to ease the ache as he backed toward the door.

"I'll bring back something to eat... and then I'm eating you." His eyes lingered on her exposed sex, promising retribution, before he finally turned and strode out, the door clicking shut behind him.

Rey exhaled a laugh, the sound echoing softly in the steamy room, her body thrumming with anticipation. She slipped into the tub as the water reached the perfect depth, sinking down until it lapped at her chin, the heat soothing her sore muscles. Bubbles clung to her breasts, nipples hardening in the warmth, and she closed her eyes, replaying the chase, the fuck, his submission. The cabin was quiet now, save for the patter of rain against the window and the distant creak of floorboards as Ben moved through the house. Her hand drifted between her legs underwater, fingers circling her clit lazily, but she held off, saving the build-up for when he returned. Hunger—of all kinds—gnawed at her, and she couldn't wait to see what he'd bring back to the feast.

Chapter 16

Ben pushed through the cabin door, the chill of the evening air clinging to his coat as he balanced a paper bag from the nearby diner in one arm and a bottle of wine in the other. The rain had picked up again, drumming steadily on the roof, but the warmth inside beckoned him forward. His cock still throbbed from the denial in the bathroom, a persistent ache that had only grown during the short drive—every bump in the road reminding him of her spread legs, her foot pressing him away, that wicked purr in her voice. He'd ordered quickly: burgers, fries, thick milkshakes to cut through the salt, something hearty to fuel whatever came next. But food was secondary; his mind replayed her exposed pussy, the way his cum had dripped from her, and he adjusted himself discreetly as he kicked the door shut.

The scent of lavender from the bath lingered in the hallway, mixing with the greasy aroma from the bag. He shrugged off his coat, hanging it by the fire, and called out softly,

"Rey? I brought the goods—figured you'd want something to sink your teeth into." His voice carried a husky edge, laced with promise, as he headed toward the bedroom, heart pounding in anticipation. The cabin's wooden floors creaked under his steps, the fire's crackle from the living room fading behind him.

In the bedroom, Rey had just stepped out of the bathroom, the steam following her like a lover's breath. She grabbed a towel from the rack, the soft terrycloth rough against her damp skin as she patted herself dry. Water droplets traced lazy paths down her curves—over the swell of her breasts, catching on her hardened nipples before sliding toward her navel. Her hair hung in wet waves, sticking to her shoulders and back, and she shivered slightly in the cooler air of the room, the fire's heat not quite reaching here. The bath had relaxed her muscles, but the lazy circles she'd traced on her clit underwater had left her wanting more, her pussy still sensitive, folds slick not just from the water but from the building need. She dried her arms first, then her torso, the towel rasping over her ribs, before moving lower. Bending slightly, she dragged it along her thighs, parting them just enough to dab at her inner lips, feeling the faint stickiness of their earlier release.

She heard his footsteps before she saw him, a smile tugging at her lips as she straightened, towel draped loosely over one shoulder, leaving her body mostly bare. Her skin flushed pink from the heat, goosebumps rising where the air kissed her.

"Took you long enough," she teased, turning toward the door just as he entered, her voice carrying that same sultry lilt from before. She didn't cover up—instead, she let the towel slip a fraction, exposing the curve of her hip, the dark thatch above her mound. Her eyes flicked to the bag in his hand, then lower, noting the bulge straining against his pants. "Hope it's worth the wait. I'm starving."

Ben froze in the doorway for a beat, his gaze raking over her like fire—taking in the water-slicked sheen on her collarbone, the way her breasts rose and fell with each breath, nipples tight and begging for his mouth. The bag nearly slipped from his grip as he drank her in, cock jumping fully to attention, pressing painfully against his zipper.

"Fuck, Rey," he breathed, setting the food on the dresser with deliberate care, his movements tense, controlled. He stepped closer, the bottle of wine clinking against the wood as he abandoned it too. "You look... edible." His eyes darkened, tracing the towel's precarious hold, the way it barely concealed the juncture of her thighs. He wanted to drop to his knees again, bury his face there and lap at her until she screamed, but the memory of her command held him back, turning his whine into a low rumble in his chest.

She laughed softly, a throaty sound that sent a jolt straight to his groin, and tossed the towel aside entirely, letting it pool on the floor. Naked now, she sauntered toward the bed, hips swaying with intentional grace, her ass cheeks flexing with each step. The room's dim lamp cast shadows that accentuated her form—the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips, the subtle jiggle of her breasts. She perched on the edge of the mattress, legs crossing casually, but not before giving him a flash of her pussy, lips still puffy and inviting.

"Food first, remember? You promised." Her tone was playful, but her eyes smoldered, challenging him to obey. She leaned back on her elbows, arching slightly to thrust her chest forward, nipples pointing like accusations.

Ben's jaw clenched, fists balling at his sides as he fought the urge to pounce. The scent of her—clean skin mixed with lavender and the faint musk of arousal—filled his nostrils, making his mouth water. He stripped off his shirt in one fluid motion, revealing the broad planes of his chest, the dark hair trailing down to his waistband, muscles taut from restraint.

"You're a tease, you know that?" he growled, but there was no real anger, only raw hunger as he unbuckled his belt, the leather whispering free. His pants followed, shoved down his thighs along with his boxers, his cock springing out—thick, veined, the head already weeping pre-cum in a fat bead that stretched toward the floor. He kicked the clothes aside, standing bare before her, erection bobbing with his pulse. "But fine. Food. Then you."

He grabbed the bag, unpacking it on the small table by the bed: juicy burgers wrapped in foil, golden fries steaming in a cardboard boat, two tall shakes in wax cups. The savory smell overpowered the room's coziness, making his stomach growl even as his gaze never left her body. He handed her a burger first, their fingers brushing—electric, deliberate—before sitting beside her on the bed, close enough that his thigh pressed against hers, heat radiating from his skin. 'Eat up,' he murmured, unwrapping his own, but his free hand settled on her knee, thumb stroking the soft skin there, inching upward slowly, testing her boundaries.

Rey unwrapped the burger, taking a slow bite, juices dripping down her chin as she chewed, moaning exaggeratedly at the taste.

"Mmm, this hits the spot." She licked her lips, eyes locked on his cock, watching it twitch under her attention. A fry followed, dipped in ketchup from a packet, and she fed him one playfully, pushing it past his lips with her fingers, letting him suck the salt from her skin. The act was innocent on the surface, but the way his tongue curled around her fingertip, hot and wet, made her clit throb. She shifted, uncrossing her legs to let his hand slide higher, his palm grazing the crease where thigh met pussy.

"Good hunter," she purred, swallowing a sip of shake. "Now tell me—what else did you bring besides this?"

Ben's breath hitched as his fingers brushed her outer lips, finding her wet—not from the bath, but from her own desire. He groaned around the fry, pulling her finger from his mouth with a pop, then leaning in to kiss the corner of hers, tasting the ketchup.

"Wine. And my appetite." His hand cupped her mound fully now, middle finger dipping between her folds to circle her entrance, gathering her slickness before retreating. He took a bite of his burger, chewing mechanically, eyes hooded as he watched her reactions—the way her breath quickened, her thighs parting wider in invitation. The bed dipped under their weight, sheets rumpling as she leaned into him, her free hand trailing down his chest, nails scraping lightly over his nipple, then lower, wrapping around his shaft in a loose grip. She stroked once, base to tip, thumb smearing the pre-cum over the sensitive head, making him buck into her palm.

"Careful," she warned with a grin, releasing him to grab another fry, but she didn't pull away from his touch. Instead, she guided his hand back, pressing his fingers against her clit, rocking her hips to grind down. The burger sat half-eaten in her lap, forgotten as pleasure sparked, her pussy clenching around nothing.

"We eat... then you fuck me properly." Her voice dropped, commanding, as she nipped at his earlobe, breath hot against his neck. The rain outside intensified, a rhythmic backdrop to their teasing, the fire's distant glow flickering through the half-open door.

He obeyed for a moment longer, feeding her bites between strokes—his fingers now plunging shallowly into her, two digits curling to hit that spot inside that made her gasp. She rode his hand lazily, burger abandoned as she smeared ketchup on his chest just to lick it off, tongue flat and dragging over his pec, teeth grazing the muscle. His cock leaked steadily now, a wet spot forming on the sheet where it rested against his thigh.

"Rey... please," he rasped, voice breaking as she squeezed him again, her hand pumping in time with his thrusts. The food scattered—fries tumbling to the floor, shakes tipping precariously—but neither cared. Hunger shifted, primal and urgent.

She pushed him back suddenly, straddling his lap, her wet pussy sliding along his length without taking him in, coating him in her arousal.

"Beg for it," she demanded, grinding down, clit dragging over his ridge, sending shocks through both of them. Her breasts pressed against his chest, nipples scraping his skin, and she captured his mouth in a messy kiss, tasting salt and grease and him. His hands gripped her ass, spreading her cheeks, thumb circling her tight hole teasingly, but she controlled the pace, rising just enough to let his cockhead nudge her entrance before pulling away.

"Fuck, Rey—please, let me inside you. I need to feel you clench around me, milk my cock dry."

The words tumbled out, desperate, his hips snapping up futilely as she held him down with her weight. She sank down an inch, then stopped, savoring his whine, the way his eyes rolled back. The room filled with their sounds—wet slides, ragged breaths, the creak of the bed—as she finally gave in, impaling herself fully in one swift drop. His cock stretched her, filling her completely, and she rode him hard, breasts bouncing, pussy gripping him like a vice.

Ben thrust up to meet her, hands roaming—pinching her nipples, slapping her ass lightly to hear her moan. Her wetness easing the way as he pounded into her, the head of his dick battering her cervix with each drive.

"So tight... so fucking perfect," he grunted, flipping them suddenly despite her dominance, pinning her beneath him. He hooked her legs over his shoulders, folding her in half, and slammed deeper, balls slapping her ass. She clawed at his back, nails digging in, urging him faster, her walls fluttering as orgasm built.

They came together—her pussy spasming, gushing around him, his cock pulsing as he flooded her again, hot spurts painting her insides, her collapsed onto of her, sweat-slicked and sated, the forgotten food cooling nearby.

"Happy birthday," he whispered against her neck, kissing the pulse there, as the rain lulled them into a haze. But even in the afterglow, her hand wandered back to him, teasing, promising more rounds before the night ended.

 

The rain had softened to a gentle patter against the cabin windows, a soothing rhythm that wrapped around them like a shared secret. The bedroom glowed faintly from the lamp on the nightstand, casting warm shadows over the rumpled sheets and the scattered remnants of their meal—half-eaten burgers forgotten on the table, fries cooling in the dim light. The fire in the living room crackled distantly, its warmth seeping through the cracked door, but here, in this intimate cocoon, the heat came from their bodies pressed close.

Rey nestled against Ben's chest, her head tucked under his chin, one leg draped lazily over his thigh. Her skin was still flushed from their earlier passion, a soft pink that lingered like the afterglow of sunset. She breathed in the scent of him—musky sweat mingled with the faint pine from his coat, grounding her in the moment. His arm encircled her waist, holding her securely, as if afraid she might slip away into the night. The diamond bracelet he'd given her earlier caught the light, sparkling on her wrist like a promise etched in stone.

Ben's fingers threaded gently through her damp hair, the strands still carrying the subtle fragrance of lavender from her bath. He stroked slowly, each pass deliberate and soothing, untangling the waves with care. His lips brushed the crown of her head in feather-light kisses, lingering there as if savoring the taste of her skin. The world outside—the storm, the uncertainties of their future—faded into irrelevance. Here, it was just them, two hearts beating in sync, vulnerabilities laid bare.

"I'm sorry I was so fucking dumb," Ben murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through his chest into hers. There was a raw edge to it, laced with regret, but softened by the tenderness in his touch. He pulled her closer, his hand pausing in her hair to cup the back of her neck, thumb tracing small circles against her scalp.

Rey shifted slightly, tilting her head to look up at him, her brown eyes wide and searching. Strands of hair fell across her forehead, and she didn't bother to brush them away. The vulnerability in his gaze mirrored her own—the fear of loss, the depth of what they shared. She reached up, her fingers grazing his stubbled jaw, feeling the faint tremor there.

"Ben...its okay" she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, but he shook his head gently, silencing her with another kiss to her temple.

"I don't know what I was thinking," he continued, his whisper barely audible over the rain. "I'd follow you everywhere, Rey." The words hung between them, heavy with sincerity, a vow whispered in the quiet hours. His free hand found hers, intertwining their fingers, the bracelet cool against his palm. He squeezed, as if to seal the promise, his eyes never leaving hers. In that gaze, she saw the man beneath the professor—the one who'd risked everything for stolen moments, for her.

A soft smile curved her lips, and she nestled back into him, her cheek pressing against the steady thump of his heart.

"You weren't dumb," she replied softly, her breath warm against his skin. "We were both scared. That's all." Her hand rested on his chest, fingers splaying over the dark hair there, feeling the rise and fall of his breaths. The cabin seemed to hold its breath with them, the storm outside a mere backdrop to this fragile peace.

Ben exhaled slowly, the tension easing from his shoulders as he resumed stroking her hair. Each caress was an apology in itself, a silent reassurance. He kissed her forehead again, then the bridge of her nose, his lips lingering as if memorizing her features.

"Scared or not, I should have said it sooner. That night in the car, when you talked about L.A.... I panicked. Thought about my job, this place, everything I've built. But none of it matters without you." His voice cracked just a fraction, betraying the depth of his fear—the fear of being left behind, of loving so fiercely it might break him.

Rey lifted her head once more, propping herself on her elbow to meet his eyes fully. The lamplight danced in her irises, highlighting the flecks of gold that always seemed to sparkle when she looked at him like this—with unwavering trust. She traced the line of his brow with her fingertip, smoothing away the furrow there.

"I'd always wait for you, Ben. No matter where I go, you're my anchor." Her words were a balm, wrapping around the ache in his chest. She leaned in, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, soft and unhurried, tasting the salt of their shared tears from earlier.

He returned the kiss with equal gentleness, his hand sliding up her back in a slow, comforting glide. When they parted, he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, his thumb brushing her cheekbone.

"Tell me about your dreams again," he said, his tone inviting, curious. "The stage lights, the applause. I want to hear it all—every detail." It was his way of showing he listened, that he cared about the life she envisioned, even if it pulled her away.

Rey's eyes lit up, a spark of excitement cutting through the tenderness. She settled against him, her voice gaining a dreamy lilt as she spoke.

"It's this little theater in L.A., tucked away in the hills. The seats are worn, but the energy... it's electric. I'd play the lead in something raw, like a modern twist on Romeo and Juliet—two people from worlds that shouldn't collide, but do anyway." She paused, her fingers drawing lazy patterns on his arm. "And after? Standing ovations, the rush of it all. But even then, I'd think of you, waiting in the wings. Or better yet, in the front row, that proud smile on your face."

Ben chuckled softly, the sound warm and rumbling, chasing away the last shadows of doubt. He kissed the top of her head again, inhaling her scent deeply.

"I'd be there. Every night. Hell, I'd learn the lines just to prompt you if you forgot." His hand continued its soothing rhythm through her hair, now massaging her scalp lightly, drawing a contented sigh from her lips. The rain outside tapered further, leaving only the occasional drip from the eaves, as if the storm itself approved of their reconciliation.

They lay like that for what felt like hours, wrapped in each other's warmth, sharing whispers and dreams. Rey recounted stories from her childhood auditions, the way she'd perform for her reflection in the mirror, pretending the world was her stage. Ben listened intently, interjecting with questions that showed his genuine interest—about the characters she'd play, the emotions she'd channel. In turn, he opened up about his own buried passions, the poems he'd written in secret, inspired by her from the moment she'd walked into his classroom.

"You were always the muse I didn't know I needed," he confessed, his voice hushed, as if the words were sacred. He shifted slightly, pulling the blanket higher over them both, cocooning them further. His lips found her temple once more, pressing a lingering kiss there. "Thank you for giving me another chance. For seeing past my stupidity."

Rey turned in his arms, facing him fully now, their noses almost touching. Her hand cupped his face, thumb stroking his lower lip.

"We're in this together, Ben." She sealed it with another kiss, tender and deep, pouring all her love into the simple press of mouths.

Rey's words drifted into the quiet space between them, her breath warm and uneven against the skin of Ben's neck. She was fighting sleep, her eyelids fluttering like delicate wings caught in a breeze, but the visions she painted kept her tethered to the moment just a little longer. Her body molded perfectly to his, one arm slung loosely across his abdomen, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring herself to the dream she described. The cabin's air was thick with the scent of aged wood and the faint, lingering smoke from the fire, wrapping them in a cocoon of intimacy that felt eternal.

Ben's hand, still buried in the soft waves of her hair, paused for a heartbeat as her imagination unfolded. He could feel the subtle rise and fall of her chest against his, synchronized with his own, a rhythm that spoke of deep connection. Gently, he tilted his head down, his lips grazing the top of her ear in a feather-soft kiss, encouraging her to keep going even as exhaustion tugged at her.

"Imagine it though," she breathed, her voice a husky murmur laced with wonder, eyes half-lidded but sparkling with the joy of possibility. The words hung there, inviting him into her reverie, and he smiled against her temple, the expression hidden but felt in the way his hold on her tightened ever so slightly—protective, adoring.

She shifted closer, her cheek nuzzling into the crook of his shoulder, the warmth of her skin seeping through his clothes like sunlight on chilled earth.

"Us on a beach," she continued, her tone dreamy, painting the scene with effortless strokes. "The sand warm under our feet, waves crashing just close enough to splash our toes. I'd wear that sundress you like—the one with the thin straps that slips off my shoulders when the wind picks up. We'd walk hand in hand, no rush, just the salt in the air and your laugh echoing over the water." Her fingers traced idle patterns on his side, light and absentminded, as if sketching the horizon she envisioned. Ben's free hand covered hers, stilling the movement to intertwine their fingers, his thumb stroking the back of her knuckles in slow, reassuring circles. He closed his eyes briefly, letting her words wash over him, building the image in his mind: her hair tousled by the sea breeze, bare feet sinking into the grains, his arm around her waist pulling her close against the endless blue.

A soft hum escaped her lips, contentment vibrating through her as she nodded off a fraction more, her head growing heavier against his chest. But she pressed on, her voice gaining a playful lilt despite the drowsiness.

"Or us going out to dinner. A little place with candlelight and wine that tastes like summer. I'd steal bites from your plate, and you'd pretend to mind but end up feeding me dessert instead—chocolate melting on your fork, your eyes locked on mine the whole time." She let out a quiet giggle, the sound muffled against him, her body relaxing further into the curve of his embrace. Ben chuckled low in his throat, the vibration rumbling through both of them, his lips finding the curve of her forehead for another lingering press. He could see it so vividly: a corner booth in some cozy bistro, her foot hooking around his ankle under the table, conversations flowing from light banter to deeper confessions, the world outside forgotten in the glow of shared glances.

Her breathing deepened, words slurring just at the edges as sleep won its slow battle.

"Going for a walk because we can, no rules, no secrets," she added, the happiness in her voice like a melody fading into night. She nodded faintly, her chin brushing his collarbone, a final affirmation before her eyes fully surrendered, lashes fanning out against her cheeks. The phrase lingered in the air—no rules, no secrets—a mantra of freedom that eased the last remnants of tension from Ben's frame. He held her there, unmoving, as if the weight of her trust was the most precious thing he'd ever cradled. His hand resumed its gentle path through her hair, fingers combing with infinite care, each stroke a silent vow to make those imaginings real.

The rain had ceased entirely now, leaving only the whisper of wind through the trees outside, a lullaby for their quiet. Ben's gaze drifted to the window, where moonlight filtered through the clouds, silvering the edges of the room. He pictured them in those scenes she described, but amplified by his own additions: on the beach, he'd lift her into the surf, her squeals mixing with the waves; at dinner, he'd whisper promises across the table, his hand on her knee under the cloth; on that walk, he'd stop to kiss her under streetlamps, unhurried and open, the secrecy of their past a distant memory. For the first time in what felt like ages, hope bloomed in his chest, steady and warm, mirroring the steady beat of her heart against his.

He didn't wake her, content to let sleep claim her fully, his arms a safe harbor. Instead, he murmured back into the stillness, his voice barely above a breath, words meant for her dreams.

"We'll have all of it, Rey. Beaches, dinners, walks—everything. I'll give you everything" His lips brushed her hairline once more, a final tender seal on the night. As her breathing evened out into the soft cadence of slumber, Ben allowed his own eyes to close, the future they dreamed of pulling him under with her, intertwined and unbreakable.

Chapter 17

Rey stirred slowly, the first hints of dawn filtering through the cabin's curtains like a soft veil, pulling her from the depths of a dreamless sleep. The bed beside her was empty, the sheets cool and rumpled where Ben had been, his warmth a ghost that lingered in the indent of the mattress. She blinked against the light, her body heavy with the kind of satisfaction that came after a night of tangled limbs and whispered confessions, but a flicker of absence tugged at her chest. No Ben. Just the quiet creak of the wooden floorboards settling in the morning hush.

She sat up, the thin blanket pooling around her waist, her skin prickling in the chill air that carried the faint scent of pine from outside. Her bag lay open by the bedside, clothes spilling out in careless disarray from their hurried arrival the night before. Rey reached for her dressing gown—a soft, faded blue thing that hugged her curves loosely—and slipped it on, tying the sash with a lazy knot. Barefoot, she padded down the hall, the floor cool against her soles, each step echoing softly in the empty space. The cabin felt alive in its solitude.

The kitchenette came into view, sunlight slanting across the counter in golden bars. No Ben there either, but something caught her eye: a scrap of paper propped against the coffee machine, the handwriting bold and familiar, scrawled in black ink. She picked it up, her lips curving into a smirk as she read the words:

"Fresh, drink me please - love Ben x."

The 'x' at the end made her heart skip, a simple mark that carried the weight of his affection, playful yet tender. She could picture him writing it in the dim pre-dawn light, his broad shoulders hunched over the counter, that quiet focus he got when he was thinking of her.

The coffee machine hummed faintly, still warm from recent use, the rich aroma filling the air like an invitation. Rey poured a mug, the dark liquid steaming as it filled the ceramic to the brim, and cradled it in both hands, letting the heat seep into her palms. She carried it toward the balcony door, pushing it open with her hip. A cool breeze greeted her, laced with the earthy petrichor of recent rain, and she stepped out onto the wooden deck, the mist rolling in gentle waves from the lake below.

The view unfolded like a painting come to life: the lake stretched out in a serene expanse, its surface shrouded in a light drizzle that turned the water into a shimmering mosaic of grays and silvers. Mist drifted lazily across it, veiling the far shore in ethereal softness, where trees stood like silent sentinels cloaked in fog. It was beautiful, achingly so—the kind of quiet beauty that made the world feel vast and intimate all at once. Rey settled into the oversized wicker chair at the balcony's edge, curling her legs beneath her, the dressing gown draping over her knees like a protective layer. She sipped the coffee, the bitterness grounding her, warming her from the inside out as she watched the scene.

Droplets pattered softly on the railing, a rhythmic lullaby that matched the distant lap of water against the dock. Her mind wandered back to the night before, fragments of their reunion replaying in flashes: Ben's hands on her skin, urgent and reverent; the way his breath had hitched when she whispered her fears; the promises they'd traded in the afterglow. Now, in this peaceful interlude, doubt crept in like the mist—where was he? Had he stepped out for a walk? The uncertainty didn't sting as much as it might have days ago; instead, it felt like part of their rhythm, a pause before the next pull toward each other.

She leaned her head against the chair's cushion, mug balanced on her knee, and let her eyes trace the mist's dance. A loon called from somewhere across the water, its haunting cry echoing through the haze, and Rey smiled faintly, the sound weaving into her thoughts. This was what she'd imagined in her drowsy confessions—the freedom to simply be, no shadows of secrecy looming. The drizzle picked up slightly, fine specks kissing her cheeks, but she didn't mind; it felt cleansing, like the rain washing away the remnants of their storm. Another sip of coffee, and she closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the solitude, the way the world narrowed to the patter of rain and the steady thrum of her pulse.

In the distance, through the veil of mist, she thought she saw movement—a figure emerging from the tree line, tall and purposeful, making his way toward the cabin. Ben, perhaps, returning from whatever errand had drawn him away. Her smirk deepened, anticipation warming her more than the coffee ever could. For now, though, she stayed curled there, content in the watch, letting the morning unfold at its own misty pace.

 

Rey lingered on the balcony long after the mist had begun to thin, the drizzle easing into a sporadic patter that left the lake's surface dotted with tiny ripples. The coffee in her mug had gone lukewarm, but she savored the last sips anyway, her mind drifting between the serene view and the quiet anticipation of Ben's return. The afternoon stretched lazily, the sun breaking through the clouds in hesitant shafts that warmed the wooden deck beneath her feet. She stretched her legs out, toes curling against the cool planks, and watched a family of ducks glide across the water, their quacks faint echoes in the still air. Hours slipped by unnoticed—perhaps two, maybe three—as she lost herself in the rhythm of the lake, the occasional bird call punctuating the hush. Her dressing gown had slipped open slightly at the neck, exposing the curve of her collarbone to the gentle breeze, but she felt no rush to move, content in this stolen pocket of peace.

The sound of tires crunching on the gravel driveway finally pulled her from her reverie. She set the empty mug on the small side table and rose, padding back inside through the sliding door, the cabin's warmth enveloping her like an embrace. In the kitchen, she reached for the coffee pot, the machine's gurgle filling the space as she poured a fresh stream into a clean mug, steam rising in lazy curls. The door creaked open just then, and Ben stepped in, his broad frame filling the entryway, arms laden with several glossy shopping bags that rustled against his sides. His dark hair was tousled from the wind, a light stubble shadowing his jaw, and his eyes lit up when they found her, that familiar spark of affection igniting as he kicked the door shut behind him.

"What is all that?" Rey asked, her voice laced with curiosity and a hint of amusement, pausing mid-pour as she glanced over her shoulder. The coffee pot hovered, a dark trickle spilling slightly over the rim of the mug before she set it down.

Ben grinned, crossing the room in a few long strides, the bags swinging lightly. He deposited them on the counter with a soft thud, freeing his hands to brush a stray lock of hair from her face.

"A new dress... makeup... a few other bits for you," he said, his tone casual but threaded with excitement. "Get ready—we're going out tonight. Be ready by six." He scooped up the four bags—each emblazoned with upscale labels she'd never bothered with—and pressed them into her arms, his fingers lingering on hers for a beat longer than necessary.

Rey balanced the load, the paper handles digging into her palms as she peered inside the top one, her brows furrowing.

"Ben, you understand this is crazy, right?"

She shifted the bags to one arm and delved deeper, pulling out a swath of fabric that cascaded like liquid fire—a long red silk dress, its sheen catching the light in waves of crimson. She gasped, her free hand flying to her mouth.

"Ben! No!" The words tumbled out in a mix of shock and delight, the dress held aloft as if it might vanish. It was elegant, floor-length with a subtle slit up one side, the silk whispering against her skin as she let it drape over her forearm.

"What on earth are we doing? Visiting the queen?" she muttered, half to herself, shaking her head as she rummaged further. From another bag emerged a pair of red heels, sleek and strappy, the kind that screamed sophistication; then delicate lingerie, black lace edged in silk that made her cheeks flush just glancing at it; and finally, a makeup kit—high-end brushes, palettes of shimmering shadows, and lip colors in bold hues that promised transformation.

"Ben... for an only child without sisters, this is mad," she said, shaking her head again, though a smile tugged at her lips despite the overwhelm. The bags cluttered the counter now, spilling their contents like a treasure trove she hadn't asked for but couldn't deny the thrill of. It was extravagant, thoughtful in a way that spoke to how well he knew her—pushing her out of her comfort zone while wrapping it in care.

Ben chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through the space between them. He leaned against the counter, watching her with that intense gaze that always made her feel seen.

"No sisters, but I have a Rose, and she guided me well," he replied, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Rose—her roommate, the one who'd become an unlikely confidante in their tangled world—had clearly pulled strings, her fashion savvy filling in the gaps Ben couldn't. "Now go get ready, gorgeous."

Before she could protest further, he closed the distance, his hand sliding down to give her ass a firm, playful slap through the thin dressing gown. The sting was light, teasing, sending a warm jolt up her spine. Then he cupped her face, pulling her in for a kiss—slow at first, lips brushing hers with the taste of fresh air and faint cologne, deepening just enough to leave her breathless before he pulled back. He turned to the coffee machine, pouring himself a mug with easy familiarity, as if orchestrating her evening was the most natural thing in the world.

Rey stood there for a moment, bags in hand, her pulse quickening from the kiss and the absurdity of it all. The cabin felt charged now, the quiet morning giving way to this whirlwind of preparation. She glanced at the clock on the wall—early afternoon still, plenty of time to transform—but the weight of the dress in her arms grounded her in the reality of his plans. Whatever "out" meant tonight—a fancy dinner by the lake, perhaps, or something more surprising—it was clear Ben intended to make it unforgettable. With a final smirk at his back, she gathered the bags and headed toward the bedroom, the silk dress trailing like a promise of the evening ahead.

The bedroom door clicked shut behind her, and Rey spread the contents across the bed, the afternoon light filtering through the curtains in soft patterns. She started with the lingerie, holding up the pieces against the light— a bra that cupped with intricate lace, matching panties that hugged low on the hips, a garter belt that seemed almost too indulgent. Her fingers traced the edges, imagining how it would feel against her skin, how Ben's eyes might darken when he saw her in it. Next, the dress: she slipped out of the dressing gown, letting it pool at her feet, and stepped into the silk. It glided over her body like water, clinging to her curves in all the right places—the bodice hugging her breasts, the skirt flowing to her ankles with that daring slit revealing a flash of leg with each step. She twisted in front of the full-length mirror propped against the wall, the red deepening her complexion, making her feel bold, almost regal.

Makeup came next, a ritual she rarely indulged in beyond the basics. Seated at the small vanity Ben had set up earlier in the week, she unpacked the kit: foundations in warm tones, eyeliners sharp as arrows, blushes that mimicked a natural flush. Rose's influence was evident here too— the shades were perfect for her, enhancing her hazel eyes with smoky depths and painting her lips in a berry stain that promised to smudge under the right pressure. She worked methodically, blending and brushing, the mirror reflecting a version of herself she barely recognized: poised, alluring, ready for whatever night Ben had conjured.

By five-thirty, the heels were on—red to match, elevating her stance, the click of them on the hardwood floor echoing her growing excitement. She spritzed a light perfume from one of the smaller bags, floral notes mingling with something deeper, more seductive. A quick glance at the clock spurred her on; she wanted to be ready, to see the look on his face when she emerged. The cabin hummed with the scent of her preparations, the lake outside now bathed in the golden hues of late afternoon, the drizzle long forgotten.

As six approached, Rey stepped out of the bedroom, the dress swishing softly, heels steady despite the unfamiliar height. Ben was in the living room, adjusting his own attire—a crisp button-down shirt tucked into slacks, his hair combed back, looking every bit the man who'd planned this escape. He turned at the sound of her approach, his mug abandoned on the side table, and his expression shifted from casual to captivated, eyes roaming over her from head to toe.

"You look... incredible," he murmured, crossing to her in two strides, his hand finding the small of her back, pulling her close. The kiss this time was hungrier, his fingers pressing into the silk, but he reined it in, stepping back with a grin. "Ready to see where the night takes us?"

Rey nodded, her hand slipping into his, heart racing with a mix of nerves and thrill.

 

The cabin door clicked shut behind them, sealing in the warmth of the afternoon as Ben guided Rey down the steps to the driveway. The gravel crunched under her red heels, each step a deliberate click that echoed her heightened senses, the silk dress whispering against her legs with the subtle sway of the fabric. The air carried the fresh, clean scent of post-rain earth, mingling with the faint pine from the surrounding woods, and the lake lapped gently at the shore in the distance, a soothing underscore to the evening's unfolding mystery. Ben's hand rested possessively at the small of her back, his fingers pressing lightly through the silk, steering her toward his sleek black sedan parked under the overhang of a sturdy oak. He opened the passenger door for her with a flourish, his eyes locking onto hers in that way that made her stomach flutter—intense, appreciative, like she was the only thing worth seeing in the world.

Rey slid into the leather seat, the cool material kissing her bare thighs where the dress's slit parted, and she smoothed the fabric down as Ben circled to the driver's side. The engine purred to life with a low rumble, headlights cutting through the deepening twilight as he pulled onto the winding road that hugged the lake's edge. Trees blurred past in a canopy of greens and golds, the sun dipping low on the horizon, painting the water in strokes of amber and rose. She watched him from the corner of her eye, his profile sharp against the window—jaw set with quiet determination, one hand on the wheel, the other occasionally brushing her knee in a casual touch that sent sparks up her leg.

"Ben, what are we doing?" she asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and that old undercurrent of caution, twisting the hem of her dress between her fingers. "We can't be seen." The words hung in the air, a reminder of the shadows they'd danced around for so long—the forbidden lines they'd crossed back at school, the risks that still lingered like ghosts.

He glanced at her, a small smile tugging at his lips as he navigated a gentle curve, the tires humming over the asphalt.

"Now usually that is true," he agreed, his tone steady and reassuring, acknowledging the weight of her worry without dismissing it. He reached over, squeezing her hand briefly before returning to the wheel.

"However, we are three hours away from school and that shitty town. We're in a small posh little lakeside town—no one knows us. We're just a husband and wife away for the weekend for their first wedding anniversary." He winked at her then, the gesture playful yet laced with that deeper intent, his eyes sparkling under the dashboard lights.

Rey felt a laugh bubble up, surprise softening the tension in her shoulders.

"Oh, are we now?" she smirked, leaning back into the seat, her head tilting as she studied him. The idea was absurd, thrilling—a mask to wear, a story to slip into like the silk hugging her body. "I don't remember the proposal or the wedding," she giggled, the sound light and teasing, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the armrest.

Ben chuckled, a deep, warm sound that filled the car like the engine's hum, his free hand gesturing animatedly as he dove into the tale.

"Of course you do. How could you forget?" He paused for effect, his voice dropping to a softer, more intimate timbre, painting the scene with words that wrapped around her like a gentle embrace. "It was summer, right at dusk on that little beach we found—the driftwood scattered like forgotten treasures and the waves whispering secrets to the shore. We'd been walking barefoot, your hand in mine, the sand cool between our toes, and the sky was on fire, all pinks and oranges bleeding into the sea. You were laughing about something silly—and I stopped, pulled you close, right there under the fading light. I got down on one knee, the water lapping at my feet, and I told you that every moment with you felt like coming home, like the world finally made sense. I said your eyes held the stars I'd been searching for my whole life, and I couldn't imagine a single day without your fire lighting mine. Then I slipped that simple silver band on your finger—imagined it sparkling like your smile—and asked you to be my forever, to build a life where we could steal these moments every day." He glanced at her again, his expression earnest, the fake memory crafted with such tenderness that it blurred the line between pretense and truth, his thumb brushing her knuckles as if sealing the vow.

Rey's heart swelled, a flush creeping up her neck despite the playfulness of it all. She squeezed his hand, her smirk softening into a genuine smile, the road ahead curving toward the twinkling lights of the town emerging from the treeline. Quaint lampposts lined the streets, casting a golden glow over manicured lawns and ivy-draped cottages, the lake's edge dotted with upscale bistros and boutiques that screamed quiet luxury. The air through the cracked window carried hints of blooming jasmine and grilled seafood, promising an evening far removed from their everyday constraints.

Ben continued, undeterred, weaving the story deeper as they slowed at a stop sign, the engine idling softly.

"And the wedding? You got a bit tipsy—blame Rose, she kept pouring that champagne like it was water. It was in her family's big garden, under a canopy of fairy lights strung between the old oaks, the air thick with the scent of roses and summer rain just threatening on the horizon. You wore this flowing white dress that caught the breeze like a sail, your hair loose and wild, barefoot on the grass because you said shoes would ruin the magic. I was a mess, fumbling my vows—something about how you'd enchanted me from the first glance, how loving you was the bravest thing I'd ever done. Rose officiated, of course, with that grin of hers, and we exchanged rings under the stars peeking through the branches. The cake was chocolate, messy and sweet, just like us, and we danced until our feet ached, your head on my shoulder, whispering promises into the night." He laughed softly, the sound rich with affection, as he turned onto the main street, the town unfolding around them—charming storefronts with flower boxes overflowing in vibrant blooms, couples strolling arm-in-arm, the distant hum of live music from a nearby patio.

Rey leaned her head against the window, watching the scene with wide eyes, the fabricated history settling over her like a warm shawl. It was romantic, sweet in its simplicity—the beach proposal evoking stolen sunsets they'd actually shared, the garden wedding echoing Rose's meddlesome charm.

"You're something else" she teased, though her voice held no bite, only delight, her free hand resting on his thigh as the car glided to a stop outside a elegant Italian restaurant, its facade aglow with soft lanterns. Valets in crisp uniforms approached, but Ben waved them off lightly, preferring to park himself in a nearby spot.

He killed the engine, turning to face her fully, the interior light casting shadows that accentuated the sincerity in his gaze.

"Just honest about how I feel" His fingers traced her jawline, tilting her chin up for a brief, lingering kiss—lips pressing firm and promising, tasting faintly of coffee and anticipation. When he pulled back, his smile was conspiratorial. "Come on, Mrs. Solo. Our anniversary awaits."

They stepped out into the balmy evening, Ben rounding the car to offer his arm, which she took with a playful curtsy, the heels steadying her as they walked toward the restaurant. The town enveloped them—passersby nodding politely, assuming the narrative Ben had spun, a young couple celebrating love's milestone. Inside, the hostess led them to a corner table overlooking the lake, where candlelight flickered across white linens and crystal glasses. Rey settled into her chair, the dress pooling elegantly around her, and as Ben ordered a bottle of red wine with the ease of a man playing his role to perfection, she felt the last threads of worry unravel. Here, in this posh lakeside haven, they were free—husband and wife, anniversary revelers, their story as real as they chose to make it.

The meal unfolded like the evening itself—courses of creamy risotto studded with fresh herbs, seared scallops that melted on the tongue, each bite savored amid light conversation that danced between their fake history and stolen truths. Ben's foot nudged hers under the table, a secret touch that made her pulse quicken, and she retaliated by tracing her heel along his calf, drawing a low chuckle from him. Laughter flowed as freely as the wine, the clink of glasses sealing moments that felt timeless. As dessert arrived—a shared tiramisu dusted with cocoa—Rey's hand found his across the table, fingers intertwining, the diamond bracelet from earlier glinting in the low light, a tangible reminder of the life they were pretending, but yearning, to claim.

Later, as they strolled the waterfront promenade, arm in arm, the stars mirroring on the lake's surface, Rey leaned into him, her head on his shoulder.

"This... it's perfect," she murmured, the night's magic weaving through her words. Ben kissed the top of her head, his arm tightening around her waist, and in that posh little town, far from prying eyes, their anniversary—real or not—bloomed into something profoundly theirs.

The promenade stretched out before them like a ribbon of polished stone, winding along the lake's edge where the water murmured softly against the pebbled shore. Streetlamps cast pools of warm amber light that danced on the ripples, and the air hung heavy with the scent of damp earth and distant woodsmoke from nearby fireplaces. Rey's heels clicked rhythmically against the pavement, a counterpoint to the gentle patter of rain that had begun to fall—not a downpour, but a fine mist that clung to her skin like a lover's breath, turning the world into a hazy watercolor. The silk of her dress, now slightly damp at the hem, clung to her legs with each step, and she shivered lightly, though not from the chill. Ben noticed immediately, his eyes flicking to her with that protective intensity she adored, the one that made her feel seen, cherished.

Without a word, he shrugged off his tailored jacket—the dark wool still carrying the warmth of his body and the faint trace of his cologne, sandalwood and spice—and draped it over her shoulders. The fabric enveloped her like an embrace, heavy and reassuring, the sleeves dangling long enough to brush her fingertips.

"Better?" he murmured, his voice low and roughened by the evening's wine, as he drew her closer. His arm slid around her waist, fingers splaying possessively across the curve of her hip, pulling her flush against his side. The heat of him seeped through her dress, chasing away the rain's cool kiss, and she leaned into it, her body molding to his as they continued their leisurely stroll. The slight drizzle beaded on his shirt, darkening the crisp white cotton to reveal the outline of his broad shoulders and the steady rise and fall of his chest, but he didn't flinch, didn't pull away. Neither of them cared about the wet; in this moment, under the vast, indifferent sky, the rain felt like part of the magic, a shared secret washing away the world's edges.

They walked in comfortable silence for a while, the town's gentle hum fading behind them— the clink of glasses from an open café, the laughter of other couples echoing faintly—until the path opened to a secluded stretch lined with willows, their branches bowing low like courteous sentinels. Ben slowed, then stopped altogether, turning to face her with a soft smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. His free hand cupped her cheek, thumb tracing the line of her jaw, and before she could ask, he pulled her in closer, their bodies aligning as if magnetized. There was no music, no orchestra swelling from the shadows, just the rain's steady rhythm tapping on leaves and stone, the lake's whisper, and the synchronized beat of their hearts. He began to sway with her, slow and unhurried, his hips guiding hers in a gentle circle, one hand firm at her waist while the other intertwined with hers, lifting it to rest against his chest.

Rey's breath caught, a soft exhale lost in the mist, as she surrendered to the motion. The world narrowed to the press of his body against hers—solid, unyielding, yet tender in its hold. Rain trailed down her neck, slipping beneath the collar of his jacket to trace cool paths along her collarbone, but the warmth radiating from him kept her grounded, anchored. She tilted her head up, meeting his gaze, those dark eyes reflecting the scattered lights like stars trapped in obsidian, and felt the familiar pull, the one that had drawn her to him from the start, forbidden or not. He spun her then, with effortless grace, his arm extending to guide her under it in a fluid twirl. Her dress flared out, the silk catching the air before settling back against her thighs, and she laughed—a light, breathless sound that mingled with the rain—as she came back to him, her free hand landing on his shoulder for balance.

Ben's smile deepened, predatory and sweet all at once, and he dipped her back over his arm, her spine arching in a graceful curve that exposed the line of her throat. The rain fell freer now on her upturned face, cool droplets sliding over her lips, but she didn't close her eyes. He leaned in, capturing her mouth in a kiss that started soft, exploratory—lips brushing hers with the taste of tiramisu and red wine—then deepened, hungry and claiming. His tongue swept against hers, coaxing a quiet moan from her as his hand supported her weight at the small of her back, fingers digging in just enough to send a spark of heat pooling low in her belly. The dip held for a heartbeat, two, the rain pouring over them in earnest now, soaking through his shirt to plaster it to his skin, outlining every ridge of muscle beneath. Then he brought her up slowly, their lips parting with a lingering graze, her chest heaving against his as she steadied herself.

They swayed again, closer now, her head finding its place against his chest, right over the steady thrum of his heart. His chin rested atop her hair, damp strands sticking to his skin, and his arm tightened around her waist, holding her as if she might dissolve into the night. The rain drummed on, a veil that blurred the horizon, turning their dance into something intimate, eternal. Rey closed her eyes, inhaling the mingled scents of wet wool, his skin, and the lake's clean brine, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, feeling the warmth of him beneath.

"See, life could be like this all the time," he whispered to her, his voice a rumble against her ear, laced with quiet conviction and a hint of vulnerability that made her heart ache. The words hung between them, heavy with promise, a vision of tomorrows unbound by secrets or distance—just endless nights of rain-kissed dances, his arms around her, their world small and complete. She didn't reply, not yet, but she pressed closer, her body answering for her in the slow press of her hips to his, the way her breath synced with the sway. In that posh little town, under the relentless drizzle, the fantasy felt achingly real, a glimpse of the life they both craved, one sway at a time.

The rain had eased into a soft, persistent veil, draping the promenade in a shimmering curtain that softened the edges of the world around them. Rey's body still hummed from their impromptu dance, her cheeks flushed not just from the chill but from the warmth of Ben's proximity, the way his jacket enveloped her like a shield against the night. She pulled back just enough to look up at him, her eyes bright and sparkling under the faint glow of a nearby lamppost, water droplets clinging to her lashes like tiny diamonds. The silk of her dress, now thoroughly damp, molded to her curves, and she felt alive, unburdened, as if the storm had washed away the lingering shadows of their secrets back home.

"I like this," she said happily, her voice a light melody cutting through the drizzle, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest where his shirt clung transparently to his skin. The steady thump of his heartbeat beneath her palm grounded her, a reminder of the life they could build if they dared.

"Can we stay out? Is there anything else we can do?" She tilted her head, her damp hair falling in loose waves over one shoulder, exposing the elegant line of her neck, still tingling from where his lips had brushed during their sway.

Ben's gaze softened as he looked down at her, his dark eyes reflecting the misty lights, one hand still resting possessively at her waist while the other cupped the back of her neck, thumb stroking gently along her jawline. Rain traced lazy paths down his face, but he made no move to wipe it away, too captivated by her enthusiasm. He chuckled low, the sound rumbling from his chest like distant thunder, affectionate and indulgent.

"There's not much open this late... there's a pub down the way, but I don't know—you deserve classy," he replied, his voice warm and teasing, laced with that protective edge that always made her feel like the center of his universe. He leaned in closer, his breath mingling with hers, carrying the faint hint of wine from their dinner. The idea of dragging her into some dimly lit local spot felt wrong; she was radiant tonight, a vision in her heels and that dress he'd chosen for her, and he wanted to keep the evening wrapped in elegance, not compromise it with anything less.

Before she could protest or suggest something reckless—like wandering the misty paths until dawn—the soft click of paws on the wet pavement announced company. An old couple ambled past, bundled against the rain in sensible coats and scarves, their small terrier trotting obediently at the end of a leash, its fur fluffed and unperturbed by the weather. The man, silver-haired and sturdy with a neatly trimmed beard, glanced at them with a knowing smile, his wife—petite, with kind eyes crinkled at the corners—clutching his arm as she eyed the young pair with evident delight. They slowed, the dog pausing to sniff at a puddle, giving Ben and Rey a moment to register their presence.

The old man cleared his throat politely, his voice carrying a gentle, weathered timbre shaped by years of storytelling.

"There's a dancing place just up towards the woods," he suggested, nodding in the direction of the shadowed treeline where the path veered off the promenade. "They've got a bar inside, and folks dance all night long. Jazz singer in tonight—smooth as silk, she'll have you two moving like you were born to it." He winked, his eyes twinkling with mischief, as if he'd interrupted a scene from one of his own cherished memories.

His wife, Dorothy, beamed up at them, her gloved hand patting her husband's arm approvingly. "Perfect for a young couple in love," she added, her tone warm and conspiratorial, as if she could sense the electric undercurrent between Ben and Rey. The dog yipped softly in agreement, tail wagging, and Dorothy chuckled, bending slightly to scratch its ears.

Rey's face lit up, her earlier question answered by fate itself, and she squeezed Ben's hand, excitement bubbling over.

"Oh, thank you!" she said happily, her voice bright and genuine, stepping a fraction closer to Ben as if to share the serendipity with him. The rain pattered on, but the chill felt distant now, chased away by the prospect of more time in his arms, more moments pretending this was their everyday reality.

The wife tilted her head, curiosity softening her features as she studied them, her gaze lingering on the way Ben's arm encircled Rey's waist.

"How long have you been married?" she asked, her words laced with the easy familiarity of someone who'd seen countless couples navigate the years.

Ben didn't hesitate, his response quick and seamless, as if the lie had always been true.

"A year," he chimed in, his voice steady and proud, pulling Rey imperceptibly closer. The word hung in the air like a vow, and for a heartbeat, Rey's heart stuttered—imagining it as fact, their first anniversary marked not by pretense but by rings and shared mornings. She glanced up at him, her lips curving into a secret smile, the rain forgotten in the warmth of his claim.

"Oh, wish you both years of happiness," Dorothy replied, reaching out to pat Rey's hand gently, her touch light but reassuring, like a grandmother's blessing. "He's handsome," she added with a conspiratorial whisper, her eyes flicking to Ben with approval.

Rey's smirk bloomed fully now, playful and unashamed, as she looked up at him through her lashes, water beading on her skin like morning dew.

"Yes, he is," she agreed, her tone laced with teasing affection, her free hand sliding up to rest against his damp collar, fingers brushing the edge of his jaw.

Ben's response was immediate, instinctive—a soft press of his lips to the crown of her head, lingering there as rain dripped from his hair onto hers. The gesture was tender, possessive, and it sent a quiet thrill through her, his warmth seeping into her scalp. He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, then turned to the couple with a grin.

"She's got more beauty on her side," he chuckled, his voice rich with sincerity, the words a quiet compliment that made Rey's cheeks warm despite the cool mist. He'd meant it as praise, of course—her far surpassing him in grace and light—and the old woman caught the intent, her smile widening.

"Oh, how romantic," Dorothy hummed happily, clasping her hands together as if savoring the moment, her eyes misty with nostalgia.

"Come on, Dorothy," he said gently, though his words tumbled out with a fond gruffness. "Both Archie and I are getting cold out here." He tugged lightly on the leash, the dog perking up at the motion, ready to continue their evening constitutional.

Rey smiled at them both, her expression radiant and grateful, the encounter feeling like a gift from the night itself.

"Have a lovely night," she said happily, her voice carrying over the rain's soft cadence, waving a small hand in farewell.

"You both enjoy," Dorothy called back as they walked off, her arm linked firmly with Archie's, the dog trotting ahead into the shadows. Their figures receded along the path, swallowed gradually by the mist, leaving behind a trail of warmth in the cool air.

"Goodnight!" Ben shouted after them, his voice booming with easy camaraderie, one arm still wrapped securely around Rey as he watched them go.

Then he turned back to her, his expression shifting to something softer, more intimate, his dark eyes locking onto hers with that intensity that always made the world fade. The rain continued its gentle assault, but neither moved, standing there in the hushed aftermath, the suggestion of the jazz club lingering like an invitation. Ben's fingers traced a slow circle at her hip, his thumb dipping just beneath the edge of his jacket, brushing her skin through the damp silk.

"What do you say?" he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. "Jazz, dancing, a bar where no one knows us? Or should we head back and make our own music?" His tone was teasing, but underneath it pulsed the promise of whatever she chose—the night was theirs, endless and unscripted, just like the life he wanted to give her.

The mist hung heavy in the air, a fine shroud that blurred the edges of the lampposts and turned the path ahead into a dreamlike haze. Rey's heart raced with a giddy thrill as she met Ben's gaze, the rain-kissed night wrapping around them like a secret shared only by lovers.

"Jazz," she said happily, her voice bubbling with delight, the word escaping on a soft laugh that cut through the drizzle. She stepped closer, her fingers curling into the lapel of his jacket, pulling him down just enough to brush her lips against his jaw. "More dancing with you all night, then I'll allow you to take me home, my loving husband." She winked up at him, playful and bold, the role of devoted wife fitting her like the damp silk of her dress, seamless and intoxicating.

Ben's eyes darkened with that familiar hunger, a slow smile spreading across his face as he took in her teasing words. Without a second's hesitation, he bent and scooped her up into his arms, one arm hooking under her knees while the other supported her back, lifting her effortlessly against his chest. She let out a surprised squeal that dissolved into laughter, her arms looping around his neck, fingers threading through the wet strands of his hair. The world tilted as he cradled her close, her body molding to his, the heat of him seeping through their soaked clothes. Rain pattered against his shoulders, but he strode forward with purpose, his steps sure on the slick pavement leading toward the woods.

"As you wish, Mrs. Solo," he murmured against her temple, his breath warm and teasing, lips grazing her skin in a promise of the night to come. She nestled into him, her cheek pressed to his collarbone, inhaling the clean scent of rain mixed with his cologne, feeling utterly cherished, utterly his.

The path wound gently uphill, the trees closing in like silent guardians, their branches whispering in the wind. The jazz club emerged from the mist like a hidden gem—a low-slung building with warm light spilling from mullioned windows, the faint thrum of bass and saxophone notes drifting out to greet them. Laughter and clinking glasses echoed from within, a beacon against the night's chill. Ben shifted her weight slightly as they approached the wooden door, etched with swirling patterns that suggested old-world charm, and pushed it open with his shoulder. A wave of heat and golden light washed over them, carrying the rich aroma of aged wood, spilled wine, and the subtle smoke of a nearby cigar. He set her down gently inside the entryway, his hands lingering at her waist to steady her, thumbs brushing the curve of her hips through the fabric.

The interior unfolded like a scene from a bygone era: polished oak floors scuffed from countless dances, walls adorned with framed posters of legendary performers, and clusters of small round tables scattered around a central dance floor. Dim chandeliers cast a soft amber glow, catching the swirl of cigarette haze and the glint of glasses. Couples swayed in the shadows, lost in their own rhythms, while a small stage at the far end held the jazz singer—a woman with a voice like velvet and smoke, her sequined gown shimmering under the spotlight as she poured her soul into the microphone. The band behind her—upright bass, brushed drums, a trumpet gleaming in the low light—wove a sultry backdrop, the melody of 'Fools Rush In' unfurling like a lover's confession.

Ben guided Rey toward the bar, his hand firm at the small of her back, fingers splaying possessively over the damp silk. The bartender, a grizzled man with a neatly trimmed mustache and sleeves rolled up to reveal tattooed forearms, nodded in greeting as they approached. The polished mahogany counter stretched long and inviting, lined with stools upholstered in cracked red leather. Ben leaned in, his voice low and commanding over the music.

"Two red wines," he said, glancing back at Rey with a smile that made her pulse quicken. She stood transfixed, eyes locked on the singer, whose lyrics wrapped around her heart:

Wise men say only fools rush in, but I can't help falling in love with you.

Rey swayed instinctively, her body picking up the slow, sensual beat, hips shifting in a subtle rhythm that echoed the song's pull. The words hit too close, mirroring the reckless leap she'd taken with Ben, the forbidden fire that burned brighter with every stolen moment. Water still dripped from her hair, tracing cool paths down her neck, but the club's warmth chased away the chill, leaving her skin flushed and alive.

The bartender poured generously, the deep crimson liquid swirling in balloon glasses, and slid them across the counter. Ben picked them up, turning to hand one to Rey, his fingers brushing hers in a deliberate linger that sent sparks up her arm. She accepted the glass, bringing it to her lips for a sip—the wine smooth and full-bodied, bursting with notes of black cherry and spice that warmed her from the inside out. She hummed appreciatively, the flavor lingering on her tongue as she took another slow pull, her eyes drifting back to the stage where the singer's voice climbed, raw and emotive.

Ben settled onto a stool, pulling her gently between his legs, her back to his chest as he wrapped an arm around her waist. His free hand cradled his glass, but his focus was all on her, the way the light played across her features, highlighting the curve of her smile.

"How are we feeling, my beautiful wife?" he asked, his voice a low rumble against her ear, laced with affection and that underlying heat that always simmered between them. He nuzzled her damp hair, inhaling her scent—rain and jasmine shampoo—his lips curving into a grin as he waited for her reply.

Rey leaned into him, the solid wall of his body a perfect anchor, her free hand resting on his thigh where it pressed against hers. The wine glass dangled loosely in her fingers, and she turned her head just enough to meet his gaze, her eyes soft and shimmering.

"Like I could ditch everything and stay here forever," she whispered, the words slipping out like a vow, heavy with truth beneath the playfulness. The music swelled around them, the singer's voice dipping into the chorus, and Rey felt it echo in her chest—the temptation to freeze this moment, to let the world beyond the club's walls fade into irrelevance. No school, no secrets, no looming futures pulling them apart; just the two of them, husband and wife in this hazy paradise, dancing until dawn broke. She set her glass down on the bar, turning fully in his arms to face him, her hands sliding up his chest to toy with the collar of his shirt.

"Don't let me go tonight," she murmured, her lips brushing his in a feather-light tease, the sway of her body inviting him to pull her closer, to lose themselves in the rhythm once more.

 

The club's ambiance pulsed with a gentle intimacy, the saxophone's mournful wail weaving through the air like a lover's sigh. Ben felt the weight of Rey's words settle in his chest, her whisper of wanting to stay forever igniting a fierce protectiveness in him. He set his wine glass down on the bar with a soft clink, his hand finding hers in the dim light, fingers intertwining with a deliberate squeeze that spoke volumes without words.

"Then let's make tonight count," he said, his voice a low murmur meant only for her, eyes gleaming with unspoken promises. He rose from the stool, drawing her up with him, her body brushing against his in a way that sent a quiet thrill through them both. His arm slipped around her waist, guiding her away from the bar's polished edge and toward the heart of the room, where the dance floor beckoned like an open invitation.

The floor was a mosaic of scuffed wood, worn smooth by years of shuffling feet and swaying hips, surrounded by shadowed corners where couples leaned into each other. The jazz singer's voice climbed higher, her notes trembling on the edge of vulnerability as 'Fools Rush In' reached its crescendo: But I can't help falling in love with you. Rey's steps matched his instinctively, her free hand resting lightly on his shoulder as he pulled her closer to the throng of dancers. The crowd parted subtly, as if sensing the private world they inhabited, and Ben positioned them near the center, where the spotlight's edge just grazed their forms. He turned to face her fully, his palm pressing flat against the small of her back, urging her body flush against his. Her curves molded to the hard lines of his frame, the damp fabric of her dress clinging in places that made his breath hitch, but he kept his touch reverent, exploratory rather than demanding.

They began to move, a slow sway that synced with the song's languid rhythm. Ben's hand at her waist guided her hips in gentle circles, his thigh slipping between hers for balance as they shifted weight from foot to foot. Rey's eyes lifted to meet his, locking in a gaze that stripped away the pretense of the club, the rain outside, the secrets waiting beyond this night. In that stare, there were no roles—just Ben and Rey, raw and connected, the world narrowing to the space between them. He led her through a simple turn, his fingers trailing up her spine to cup the nape of her neck, thumb brushing the sensitive skin there in feather-light strokes. She followed without hesitation, her body yielding to his lead, a soft smile playing on her lips as the music wrapped around them like silk.

As the final notes of the song lingered, Ben drew her even nearer, their chests rising and falling in unison. The singer's voice faded into applause, but he didn't release her, instead letting his free hand rise to her face. His fingertips traced the line of her jaw, soft and unhurried, before settling on her cheek. He stroked it gently, the pad of his thumb gliding over her skin in a caress that was tender, almost worshipful. Rey leaned into the touch, her eyelids fluttering half-closed, the warmth of his palm grounding her amid the swirl of emotions. They swayed through the transition, bodies still in motion even as the band eased into the next melody. The air hummed with anticipation, the drummer's brushes whispering against the snare, the bass thrumming low like a heartbeat.

Then, the piano keys tinkled softly, introducing 'Dream a Little Dream of Me' in a haze of nostalgia and longing. The singer's voice returned, smoother now, laced with a dreamy haze: Stars fading, but I linger on, dear... Still craving your kiss... Ben's eyes never left Rey's, the lock unbreakable, a silent conversation passing between them in the depths of those shared glances. He pulled her impossibly closer, one hand splaying across her lower back to hold her steady, the other still cradling her cheek as if she were the most fragile, precious thing in his world. They danced in tight circles, his steps measured and graceful, leading her with the ease of someone who had imagined this a thousand times. His body moved against hers—chest to chest, hip to hip—the friction subtle but electric, a reminder of the passion simmering beneath the romance.

Ben let his hand slide from her cheek to tangle lightly in her hair, tilting her head back just enough to expose the elegant line of her throat. He didn't kiss her there, not yet; instead, he simply held her gaze, letting the song's lyrics fill the space.

"This is what it could be," he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, voice roughened by emotion. "Every night, just like this—holding you, dancing with you, making you feel like the only woman in the world." His words were a vow, soft and sincere, painting a picture of domestic bliss intertwined with unwavering devotion. He spun her slowly, arm extended before reeling her back in, her laughter bubbling up like champagne as she collided gently against him. The motion brought her face inches from his, breaths mingling in the warm air, and he captured her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles, lingering there as if sealing a promise.

The dance floor seemed to shrink around them, other couples fading into blurs of motion and shadow. Ben's touches remained soft, exploratory—fingers grazing the curve of her waist, palm pressing warmly against her side to draw her through a dip. He supported her effortlessly, lowering her back until her hair brushed the floor, her eyes wide and trusting as they stayed fixed on his. Time stretched, the song's melody coiling around their movements like a spell. As the singer crooned Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you, Ben pulled her upright, enfolding her in his arms once more. His chin rested atop her head, and he swayed them side to side, humming the tune low in his throat, the vibration rumbling through his chest into hers. It was an act of pure romance, Ben embodying the husband he yearned to be—attentive, gentle, his every gesture designed to show her the life they could build, free from hiding and haste.

Rey's hands clutched the fabric of his shirt at his shoulders, anchoring herself to him as the music swelled. The club's lights dimmed further, casting their entwined forms in a golden halo, the scent of her perfume mingling with the faint trace of rain still clinging to their clothes. Ben's hand ventured lower, tracing the dip of her spine to rest at the base, a possessive yet tender hold that spoke of forever. He murmured against her hair,

"I'd wake up to you every morning, dance with you every night. No more running, no more fears—just us." The words hung between them, heavy with truth, as the song approached its close, the band's notes fading into a soft, lingering chord.

When the applause rippled through the room once more, Ben didn't let go immediately. He eased back just enough to cup her face in both hands, thumbs stroking her cheeks as he searched her eyes. The vulnerability there mirrored his own, a shared hope flickering in the dim light.

"You're my dream, Rey," he said simply, leaning in to press his forehead to hers, their breaths syncing in the quiet aftermath. The next song began to stir, but for that moment, the world was theirs alone, wrapped in the afterglow of music and unspoken commitments.

The final strains of 'Dream a Little Dream of Me' hung in the air like a fragile promise, the singer's voice trailing off into a hush that left the club wrapped in a cocoon of quiet applause. Ben held Rey close, their bodies still swaying in the fading rhythm, his hand warm and steady at the small of her back. The dim lights cast a soft glow over her features, highlighting the vulnerability in her eyes, the way her lips trembled slightly as if words were battling to escape. He felt the subtle shift in her posture, the way she pressed closer not out of desire alone, but a deeper need for reassurance, and it tugged at something profound within him—a fierce urge to shield her from every doubt that ever shadowed her heart.

Then, her whisper broke the spell, so faint it was almost lost to the murmur of the crowd and the first notes of the next song stirring from the band.

"Ben, I don't deserve you," she breathed, her voice laced with a raw honesty that pierced him straight through. Her gaze dropped for a moment, lashes brushing her cheeks, as if the weight of her own words pressed too heavily to hold his stare. The confession hung between them, intimate and aching, born from the insecurities that had simmered beneath their stolen moments, the complications of their lives pulling at the edges of this perfect night.

Ben's heart clenched, a surge of tenderness flooding him as he stopped their sway, the world around them blurring into insignificance. He cupped her face gently with both hands, his thumbs tracing slow, soothing arcs along her cheekbones, coaxing her eyes back to his. The touch was deliberate, grounding, a silent vow that he wasn't going anywhere.

"Rey," he murmured, his voice low and steady, threaded with an emotion so deep it roughened the edges of his words. "Don't say that. You deserve everything—more than I could ever give you, more than this world knows how to offer."

He leaned in, his forehead resting against hers, their breaths mingling in the warm space between them, the faint scent of her perfume and the club's smoky haze enveloping them like a private veil.

The band eased into a new melody, something slower and more introspective, but Ben paid it no mind; his focus was solely on her, on unraveling the doubt that had slipped into her whisper. He pulled back just enough to search her eyes, his own dark and earnest, reflecting the depth of his feelings like a mirror to her soul.

"Listen to me," he continued softly, one hand sliding down to intertwine their fingers, squeezing with a quiet intensity. "You've been the light in my chaos, the reason I fight through every damn day. If anyone's undeserving here, it's me—for all the times I've let you down, for the secrets we've had to keep. But you? You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Rey. You deserve a man who'll stand by you, love you fiercely, without question."

He guided her hand to his chest, pressing her palm over his heart so she could feel its steady thrum, accelerated now by the nearness of her. The gesture was intimate, exposing the raw beat that belonged to her alone, and he covered her hand with his, holding it there as if to anchor her to the truth of his words. Around them, other couples drifted into motion, but Ben and Rey remained in their own orbit, the dance floor a distant hum. He tilted his head, brushing his lips against her temple in a feather-light kiss, lingering there to let the warmth of his breath soothe her.

"We've both made mistakes, carried burdens that weren't ours to bear alone. But tonight, here with you, I see us—not the doubts, not the what-ifs. Just us, building something real."

Rey's eyes shimmered, the vulnerability giving way to a flicker of hope, and Ben smiled faintly, a soft curve of his lips that crinkled the corners of his eyes. He resumed their sway then, slower than before, his arm encircling her waist to draw her flush against him once more. His free hand trailed up her arm, fingers dancing lightly over the fabric of her dress, tracing patterns that spoke of adoration rather than possession.

"Imagine it," he whispered, his lips grazing the shell of her ear, voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush. "Waking up to you every morning, no more hiding in cars or stolen glances. Dinners where I cook with all my heart—and nights like this, dancing until the stars fade. You'd be my partner, my equal, in every way that matters."

As the song progressed, Ben spun her gently, his hold never wavering, bringing her back into his embrace with a tenderness that made her breath catch. He stroked her hair, tucking a stray strand behind her ear, his touch reverent, as if memorizing the feel of her. The club's atmosphere wrapped around them—the low chatter, the clink of glasses, the occasional laugh—but it all faded, leaving only the rhythm of their shared heartbeat.

"You deserve to be cherished, Rey," he said, his words a quiet pledge, eyes locked on hers with unyielding sincerity. "And I want to be the one to do that, every single day. Let me show you—you're worth it all."

They moved together through the lingering notes, Ben's romance unfolding in every subtle gesture: the way he dipped his head to nuzzle her neck briefly, inhaling her scent; the protective curve of his body around hers, shielding her from the crowd's press; the soft hum of the melody he took up under his breath, just for her. In that moment, he was the husband she could envision—steady, devoted, his love a quiet force that chased away shadows. The song wound toward its end, but Ben's hold on her tightened fractionally, a silent promise that this night, this feeling, was only the beginning of what he yearned to give.

Rey's eyes lifted to meet Ben's, the shimmer of unshed tears giving way to a spark of raw desire that mirrored the heat building between them. Her lips parted slightly, and she surged forward, capturing his mouth in a kiss that started soft but deepened quickly, her arms sliding up to wrap around the back of his neck. Her fingers threaded into his dark hair, tugging gently as she pressed her body flush against his, the thin fabric of her dress doing little to hide the curves molding to his solid frame. The kiss was hungry, tongues tangling in a slow dance that echoed the music fading around them, her breath hitching as his hands gripped her waist, pulling her impossibly closer on the dimly lit dance floor.

Ben responded with equal fervor, one hand sliding up her back to cradle the nape of her neck, tilting her head for better access as he devoured her mouth. The taste of her—sweet from the wine they'd shared earlier—mixed with the faint salt of emotion, making his pulse thunder in his ears. He broke the kiss just enough to whisper against her swollen lips, his voice a gravelly murmur laced with need.

"Can I take you home now?"

"Yes," she breathed into the kiss, her words a soft exhale that vibrated against his mouth, reigniting the fire as she nipped at his lower lip. Her body arched into him, hips shifting subtly to grind against the growing hardness she felt pressing into her thigh, a silent affirmation of her want. The club's haze enveloped them, the low hum of conversations and clinking glasses distant as Ben's free hand trailed down her side, fingers splaying possessively over her hip before dipping lower to cup her ass, squeezing through the dress's clingy material.

He pulled back slightly, his dark eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her knees weaken, the promise in his gaze sending a shiver down her spine. Without another word, Ben took her hand, interlacing their fingers with a firm grip, and led her through the crowd. The jazz singer's voice trailed after them, crooning about dreams and midnight promises, but Rey barely registered it, her focus on the warmth of his palm, the way his thumb stroked the back of her hand in soothing circles. They wove past tables where couples leaned close, oblivious to the world, and Ben paused only to nod a quick thanks to the band as they slipped toward the exit.

The cool night air hit them like a splash of reality outside the club, the misty drizzle from earlier now a light fog that clung to the streetlights along the quaint lakeside town's cobblestone path. Ben shrugged off his jacket without hesitation, draping it over Rey's shoulders, the fabric still warm from his body and carrying his scent—clean soap and a hint of cologne that made her stomach flutter. She pulled it tighter around herself, leaning into his side as he wrapped an arm around her waist, guiding her toward the car parked a short walk away under the awning of a nearby café. The town's quiet charm surrounded them: the soft lap of the lake against the shore, the distant call of a night bird, the glow of lanterns strung between old brick buildings.

Ben unlocked the doors with a beep that cut through the hush, but before he opened the passenger side for her, he backed her gently against the car, his body crowding hers in the shadowed space.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear, sending goosebumps racing across her skin. He kissed her again, slower this time, his hands framing her face as if she were something precious and breakable. Rey's arms looped around his neck once more, pulling him down, her nails grazing the short hairs at his nape. The kiss lingered, building tension like a coiled spring, until she was breathless, her chest heaving against his.

Finally, he stepped back, a crooked smile tugging at his lips as he opened the door for her. Rey slid into the seat, the leather cool against her thighs where her dress had ridden up slightly, and she watched him round the hood with predatory eyes, admiring the broad set of his shoulders, the confident stride that spoke of a man who knew exactly what he wanted. Ben settled behind the wheel, the engine purring to life with a low rumble that vibrated through the seats. He reached over, his hand finding her knee, fingers tracing lazy patterns up her inner thigh as he pulled onto the winding road leading back to their rented lakeside cabin.

The drive was charged with unspoken anticipation, the headlights cutting through the fog-shrouded trees lining the lakeshore. Rey turned her head to watch him, the dashboard lights casting his profile in sharp relief—strong jaw clenched slightly, eyes focused but flicking to her every few seconds. She placed her hand over his on her thigh, guiding it higher, her touch bold and teasing.

"I've been thinking about this all night," she confessed softly, her voice husky from the kisses. Ben's grip tightened, his thumb brushing the edge of her panties under the hem of her dress, eliciting a soft gasp from her.

"Tell me," he urged, his tone low and commanding, the car slowing as they navigated a sharp curve. Rey bit her lip, leaning back against the seat, her free hand trailing up her own arm in a self-soothing gesture that only heightened the intimacy.

"About you... touching me. Everywhere. Making me forget everything but us." Her words hung in the air, bold and vulnerable, and Ben's response was a deep groan, his hand slipping fully between her legs now, fingers pressing against the damp fabric covering her core. He rubbed slow circles, watching her face as she arched into his touch, her breath coming in shallow pants.

The cabin came into view sooner than expected, its warm lights a beacon through the mist, tucked away on a private stretch of the lake with a deck overlooking the water. Ben parked in the gravel drive, killing the engine before turning to her fully.

"Inside," he said, voice rough with restraint, and Rey nodded, scrambling out with a laugh that bubbled up from the thrill. He caught her hand again, pulling her toward the door, the rain starting to pick up in earnest, pattering against the leaves overhead.

The key turned in the lock with a click, and they tumbled inside, the door slamming shut behind them. The space was cozy, fire crackling in the stone hearth from the embers they'd left earlier, casting flickering shadows across the wooden beams and plush rugs. Ben shrugged off his jacket from her shoulders, tossing it aside before backing her toward the bedroom, his mouth claiming hers in a searing kiss. Rey's hands roamed his chest, fingers working at the buttons of his shirt, popping them open one by one to reveal the taut muscles beneath, dusted with dark hair that she traced with her nails.

He lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her through the doorway, the bed looming invitingly in the center of the room. Ben lowered her onto the soft duvet, following her down, his weight a delicious pressure as he settled between her thighs.

"You're mine tonight," he whispered, nipping at her collarbone, his hands pushing her dress up to bunch at her waist. Rey arched beneath him, her fingers digging into his shoulders, urging him on.

"Always," she replied, her voice a breathless moan as his mouth trailed lower, kissing a path down her sternum to the swell of her breasts.

Ben hooked his fingers into the straps of her dress, easing them down her shoulders, exposing her lace bra to the cool air. He paused to admire her, eyes dark with hunger, before leaning in to suckle at the soft skin above the fabric, his teeth grazing just enough to make her whimper. Rey's hands fisted in his hair, guiding him as he unclasped the bra with practiced ease, freeing her breasts to his eager mouth. He lavished attention on one nipple, tongue swirling around the hardened peak before drawing it between his lips and sucking hard, the sensation shooting straight to her core.

She bucked against him, feeling the rigid length of his cock straining against his pants, pressing insistently against her soaked panties.

"Ben... please," she begged, her hips grinding up in search of friction. He chuckled darkly against her skin, switching to the other breast, his hand sliding down to tug her panties aside. His fingers found her slick folds, parting them to circle her clit with deliberate slowness, making her cry out. 'So wet for me,' he murmured, slipping one finger inside her, then two, curling them to hit that spot that made stars burst behind her eyelids.

Rey rode his hand, her body trembling as pleasure built, coiling tight in her belly. Ben watched her every reaction, his thrusts steady and deep, thumb flicking her clit in rhythm.

"Come for me, Rey," he commanded, his voice a low growl, and she shattered, walls clenching around his fingers as waves of ecstasy crashed over her, her moans filling the room. He kissed her through it, swallowing her cries, his free hand pinning her hip to the bed to prolong the bliss.

As she came down, panting and flushed, Ben withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his lips to taste her essence with a satisfied hum. He stripped off the rest of his clothes swiftly, his cock springing free—thick and veined, tip glistening with pre-cum. Rey reached for him, wrapping her hand around the base and stroking firmly, eliciting a hiss from him.

"I need you inside me," she whispered, guiding him to her entrance.

Ben positioned himself, rubbing the head along her slit to coat himself in her arousal before pushing in slowly, inch by inch, stretching her deliciously. They both groaned at the fullness, her legs locking around his waist to pull him deeper. He set a measured pace at first, long thrusts that bottomed out each time, his hips snapping forward with controlled power. Rey met him thrust for thrust, nails raking down his back, leaving red trails that spurred him on.

Ben hovered above Rey, his cock buried deep inside her, the heat of her pussy clenching around him like a vice that threatened to unravel his control. He paused, breath ragged, eyes locked on hers in the dim firelight filtering through the bedroom door. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his muscles taut as he fought the urge to thrust hard and chase his release. Instead, he shifted, rolling his hips in a slow, deliberate grind, savoring the way her walls fluttered against his length. Rey's eyes widened, a soft gasp escaping her lips as she arched beneath him, her nails digging into his biceps.

He wanted this to last, to etch every second into his memory—the way her breasts rose and fell with each breath, nipples still pebbled from his earlier attention, the flush creeping across her chest. Ben lowered himself onto his elbows, their bodies pressed close, skin slick and warm. His thrusts began languid, pulling out almost to the tip before sliding back in with measured ease, feeling every ridge and vein drag along her inner walls. Rey's mouth parted, a whimper building in her throat as she met his gaze, her brown eyes hazy with pleasure, pupils blown wide.

"Ben," she breathed, her voice a husky plea, legs wrapping tighter around his waist to pull him deeper. He watched her face intently, the way her brows furrowed in concentration, lips trembling as he bottomed out slowly. His body trembled with the effort of restraint, thighs quivering as he held back the primal drive to pound into her. Fuck, he could live inside her like this—buried to the hilt, surrounded by her heat, her scent enveloping him like a drug. Each slow withdrawal made her pussy grip him tighter, reluctant to let go, and he groaned low in his chest, the sound vibrating between them.

Rey's hands roamed his back, tracing the flex of his muscles as he moved, her touch urging him on even as he kept the pace torturously unhurried. He varied it then, pulling out slow before snapping his hips forward in a sudden, deep thrust that jolted her body up the bed. She cried out, head tipping back, exposing the column of her throat where his earlier marks bloomed red. Ben's eyes never left her—the way her eyes squeezed shut for a beat, then fluttered open to meet his stare, filled with raw need. He repeated the motion: slow drag out, then deep plunge, his cock hitting that spot inside her that made her toes curl against his ass.

Her reactions fueled him, each gasp and moan a reward for his control. Rey's hips bucked up to meet his sudden depths, her pussy soaking him further, the wet sounds of their joining filling the room alongside the steady patter of rain outside. Ben's arms shook, restraint coiling tighter in his gut as he fucked her like this—slow, then sudden, watching her unravel inch by inch.

"You feel so good," he murmured, voice strained, forehead pressing to hers. "So tight around my cock. I could stay like this forever."

Rey nodded frantically, her breaths coming in short bursts, one hand sliding down to grip his ass, urging those deep thrusts. Her other hand cupped his face, thumb brushing his stubble as she held his gaze, vulnerability and lust swirling in her expression. The slow rhythm built the tension anew, her clit throbbing against him with every grind, pressure mounting low in her belly. Ben kept his eyes on her, memorizing the flush on her cheeks, the way her lips formed silent pleas, her body trembling beneath his as he pushed her higher.

He felt her tightening, walls pulsing around his cock, and he maintained the pace—slow withdrawals that teased her entrance, sudden slams that filled her completely. Rey's cries grew louder, uninhibited, echoing off the cabin walls:

"Oh god, Ben... right there... don't stop." Her face contorted in ecstasy, eyes locking on his with desperate intensity, tears of overwhelm pricking the corners. He thrust deep again, holding there, rolling his hips to rub her clit, and she shattered. Her orgasm crashed over her, pussy convulsing wildly around him, milking his cock with rhythmic squeezes. Rey's back bowed off the bed, a keening wail tearing from her throat as she came hard, juices flooding around him, her entire body shuddering in waves.

The sight of her—face alight with bliss, cries raw and beautiful—snapped Ben's restraint. He couldn't hold back anymore, the tremble in his body turning to full quakes as he drove into her through her climax, chasing his own. Two more deep thrusts, and he exploded, cock pulsing as he spilled deep inside her, hot ropes of cum flooding her pussy.

"Fuck, Rey," he groaned, burying his face in her neck, hips jerking erratically until he was spent, collapsing onto her with a final shudder. They lay tangled, their breaths syncing in the quiet aftermath.

Chapter 18

Rey stirred slowly from sleep, the soft sheets tangled around her legs like a lover's embrace, the faint scent of rain and woodsmoke lingering in the air from the night before. Sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains of the cabin bedroom, casting a warm glow over the rumpled bed. She blinked her eyes open, feeling the weight of Ben's gaze on her before she even fully registered his presence. He lay propped on one elbow beside her, his dark hair tousled from sleep, a soft smile curving his lips as he watched her wake. His free hand reached out gently, fingers brushing a stray lock of her brown hair from her forehead, tucking it behind her ear with a tenderness that made her heart flutter.

"Good morning, beautiful," he murmured, his voice low and rough with the remnants of sleep, eyes tracing the lines of her face like he was committing every detail to memory.

Rey yawned widely, her body arching in a lazy stretch that pulled the sheet down to reveal the curve of her shoulder and the swell of her breast, marked faintly from their passionate nights. She felt the ache of satisfaction in her muscles, a delicious reminder of how he'd claimed her again and again. Rolling onto her side, she faced him fully, a playful chuckle bubbling up as she met his gaze.

"Morning, husband," she teased, the word still carrying that thrilling edge of their pretend world, even as reality loomed.

Ben's smile deepened, his hand lingering on her cheek, thumb stroking her skin in slow circles. He leaned in to press a light kiss to her forehead, then her nose, before pulling back just enough to search her eyes.

"Ready to return to reality?" he asked, his tone light but laced with a quiet reluctance that mirrored her own.

She groaned dramatically, burying her face into the pillow for a moment before peeking out at him, her lips pursed in mock protest.

"Nope," she said firmly, though a sigh escaped her, heavy with the weight of what awaited them—school, distance, the secrets they'd have to bury once more. "But I guess we have to, right?"

He nodded, his expression softening with understanding, and pulled her closer, wrapping an arm around her waist to tuck her against his chest. They lay like that for a few minutes, bodies fitting together perfectly, his heartbeat steady under her ear. The warmth of him seeped into her skin, chasing away the chill of the morning air seeping through the window. Rey traced idle patterns on his bare chest with her fingertip, feeling the rise and fall of his breaths, reluctant to move. But eventually, the day called, and Ben shifted, pressing one last kiss to her temple before sitting up.

"Come on, let me make you breakfast before we pack up this dream."

Rey watched him slide out of bed, admiring the play of muscles across his back as he pulled on a pair of loose pants, leaving his torso bare. The cabin's kitchen was just beyond the bedroom door, a cozy space with wooden counters and a small stove that he'd already stocked with supplies during their getaway. She followed after a moment, slipping into one of his shirts that hung to her thighs, the fabric soft and carrying his scent. Padding barefoot across the cool floorboards, she leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed as she observed him move with easy confidence.

Ben cracked eggs into a bowl, whisking them with a fork while a pan heated on the stove, butter sizzling as it melted. He glanced over his shoulder at her, winking.

"Sit, wife. I've got this." He nodded toward the small table by the window, where the misty lake view stretched out, the rain from the night before leaving everything glistening and fresh.

She obeyed, settling into a chair with a grin, propping her chin on her hand as she watched him work. He added chopped vegetables—peppers and onions he'd diced earlier—sautéing them until fragrant, the aromas filling the air and making her stomach rumble. Then the eggs went in, scrambled gently, and he toasted slices of bread from the loaf they'd picked up in town, slathering them with butter. Bacon followed, crisping up in another pan, the smoky scent mingling with the rest. It was simple, but he made it feel special, plating it all with care: fluffy eggs piled high, bacon crisp and golden, toast on the side, and two mugs of coffee steaming beside fresh berries he'd rinsed.

Ben carried the plates over, setting one in front of her before taking the seat across, his knee brushing hers under the table.

"Eat up," he said, digging into his own with appetite, but his eyes kept flicking to her, warm and affectionate.

Rey forked up a bite of eggs, moaning softly at the flavor—perfectly seasoned, fluffy and savory.

"This is amazing," she said around a mouthful, reaching across to squeeze his hand. "You spoil me, you know that?"

He chuckled, catching her fingers and bringing them to his lips for a quick kiss.

"Only because you deserve it. Every bite." His gaze held hers, intense even in this domestic moment, and she felt that familiar pull, the one that made her want to forget the world outside.

His lips met hers softly at first, tasting of coffee and salt from the bacon, but it deepened quickly, her free hand sliding into his hair to hold him there. Ben's tongue traced her lower lip, coaxing her open, and she sighed into it, the flirtation sparking heat low in her belly. When they broke apart, breathless, he rested his forehead against hers.

"If we keep this up, we'll never leave."

"Promise?" she whispered, nipping at his lip before pulling back, her cheeks flushed. They finished eating amid more stolen touches—his foot hooking around her ankle, her hand lingering on his thigh under the table, tracing the seam of his pants. The flirting wove through their words: compliments on how the shirt looked on her, her playful suggestion that he should cook like this every morning, his retort that he'd do anything to keep that smile on her face.

Plates cleared and stacked in the sink—Ben insisting he'd handle the dishes—Rey finally stood, reluctance settling in her chest like a stone.

"I should pack," she said, glancing toward the bedroom, the weekend's magic already fading at the edges.

Ben nodded, rising to wrap his arms around her from behind as she paused in the doorway, his chin resting on her shoulder.

"Yeah. But this isn't goodbye, Rey. Not really." He kissed the side of her neck, a gentle press that sent shivers down her spine, before letting her go.

In the bedroom, she folded clothes methodically, the dress from their 'anniversary dinner' smoothed and tucked away, the lingerie he'd peeled off her last night folded with care. Ben appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame, watching her with that same intense stare from morning.

"Need help?" he offered, stepping in to zip the suitcase when she nodded.

They worked in companionable silence, hands brushing as they gathered toiletries, the bracelet he'd given her—sparkling on her wrist—catching the light. When everything was ready, suitcases by the door, Rey turned to him, the sigh from earlier returning.

"Back to pretending we're just... whatever we are to everyone else."

Ben pulled her into his arms, holding her tight.

"For now. But soon, beautiful, we'll make this real." His words hung between them, a promise amid the ache of parting.

 

The drive back from the cabin stretched out like an endless ribbon of asphalt under a sky heavy with the promise of more rain, the wipers occasionally swiping at stray droplets that dotted the windshield. Ben gripped the steering wheel with one hand, the other resting on Rey's thigh where it lay exposed beneath the hem of her skirt, his thumb tracing lazy circles over her skin in a rhythm that spoke of reluctance to let the weekend slip away. The radio hummed softly in the background, some old jazz tune fading into static as they passed through rural stretches where signal weakened, mirroring the fading glow of their stolen time together.

Rey leaned her head against the window, the cool glass pressing into her temple, her eyes growing heavy from the motion of the car and the emotional exhaustion of their passionate days. The suitcase sat in the back seat, a silent sentinel of their return to secrecy, packed with memories folded into clothes and trinkets—the bracelet on her wrist catching faint glimmers from passing headlights, the faint scent of the lake still clinging to her hair.

She fought sleep at first, turning to watch Ben's profile, the way his jaw clenched slightly when they hit a pothole, or how his eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, always vigilant about who might be behind them.

"Tell me something," she murmured after a while, her voice thick with drowsiness.

Ben's hand squeezed her thigh gently, his gaze staying on the road as the trees blurred by.

"Tomorrow be torture,' he said, his tone low and honest, laced with that mix of humor and ache that defined them. "You'll sit there, all focused and brilliant, and I'll have to pretend I don't know how you sound when you come undone. But we'll manage. We always do."

He glanced at her then, his dark eyes softening, and she smiled faintly, reaching over to intertwine her fingers with his free hand. The warmth of his palm grounded her, a tether to the man who'd worshipped her body and soul over the weekend.

As the miles ticked by, the conversation ebbed into comfortable silence, broken only by the hum of the engine and the occasional sigh from Rey. The landscape shifted from wooded hills to familiar suburban edges, the school looming in their thoughts like a shadow. Exhaustion won out, and Rey's eyelids drooped, her head lolling against the seatbelt as she nodded off, her breathing evening into soft, rhythmic inhales. Ben watched her from the corner of his eye, a fond smile tugging at his lips despite the knot in his chest. She looked peaceful like this, cheeks flushed from sleep, lips parted slightly—vulnerable in a way that made him want to pull over, gather her into his arms, and drive them far away from the rules that bound them.

 

The usual spot came into view too soon: a quiet pull-off a few blocks from campus, tucked under the overhanging branches of ancient oaks that provided just enough cover from prying eyes. The gravel crunched under the tires as Ben eased the car to a stop, the engine ticking down to silence. Streetlights cast a dim, amber glow through the leaves, dappling the interior in shifting patterns. He killed the headlights, letting the world outside fade into twilight hush, and turned to Rey, who still slumbered beside him, her chest rising and falling steadily.

Gently, he reached out, his fingers brushing her cheek, tracing the soft curve of her jaw before cupping her face.

"Rey," he whispered, his voice a caress, thumb stroking her lower lip. She stirred, a small frown creasing her brow, but didn't wake fully. He leaned closer, the scent of her—vanilla and faint sweat from their last embrace—filling his senses, and pressed a light kiss to her forehead.

"Wake up, beautiful. We're here."

Her eyes fluttered open, hazy with sleep, and she blinked at him, orienting herself to the dim car interior. A yawn escaped her, stretching her arms above her head, the motion pulling her shirt taut across her breasts.

"Already?" she mumbled, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand, then glancing out the window at the shadowed path leading toward school. Reality crashed in, sharp and unwelcome, and she sighed, shifting to face him fully.

Ben nodded, his hand sliding to the nape of her neck, fingers threading into her hair.

"Yeah. Time to say goodbye... for now." The words hung heavy, and he pulled her toward him, closing the distance between their seats. Their lips met in a kiss that started soft, a brush of mouths tasting of coffee from breakfast and the lingering sweetness of berries, but it deepened quickly, fueled by the desperation of parting. Rey's hand fisted in his shirt, tugging him closer as she angled her head, her tongue slipping past his lips to tangle with his in a slow, thorough exploration. He groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against her, his free hand gripping her waist to hold her steady as the console dug into his side.

The kiss stretched, turning heated, her body leaning into him as much as the space allowed, nipples hardening against the fabric of her bra from the friction and the chill of the evening air seeping in. Ben's teeth grazed her bottom lip, nipping gently before soothing with his tongue, and she whimpered softly, the sound sending a jolt straight to his core. He wanted to climb over, lay her back against the seat, hike up her skirt and bury himself inside her one last time—feel her clench around him, hear her gasp his name without the professor title. But the risk was too great here, so close to school, and he forced himself to pull back, forehead resting against hers, breaths mingling in the scant inches between them.

"I hate this part," Rey whispered, her voice cracking slightly, eyes shining with unshed tears as she searched his face. Her fingers traced his stubble, memorizing the texture, the warmth of his skin.

"Me too," he replied, pressing another quick kiss to the corner of her mouth, then her cheek, reluctant to fully release her. He cupped her face again, thumb wiping away a stray tear that escaped, his expression fierce with promise. "I love you, Rey. Don't forget that."

She nodded, swallowing hard, and leaned in for one final kiss—chaste this time, but no less poignant, lips lingering as if to seal the words between them.

"I love you too," she breathed against him, then straightened, smoothing her hair and clothes with trembling hands. The air in the car felt thicker now, charged with what they couldn't say, the weekend's intimacy clashing against the cold barrier of their roles.

Rey unbuckled her seatbelt, the click echoing loudly in the quiet, and twisted to reach into the back for her suitcase. She hauled it forward, the wheels clattering softly against the floor mat as she maneuvered it to the door.

"See you tomorrow, professor," she said, injecting a teasing lilt into the words to mask the ache, but her eyes betrayed her, soft and longing as she met his gaze one last time.

He smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes, and nodded.

"Bright and early, Miss Kenobi. Don't be late." The formality stung, a necessary armor, but it eased the moment just enough.

She pushed the door open, cool night air rushing in, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant rain. Stepping out onto the gravel, she gripped the suitcase handle, the weight of it grounding her as she glanced back at him through the open window. Ben's hand rested on the sill, fingers brushing hers in a fleeting touch—warm, reassuring—before she pulled away. With a small wave, her arm lifting in a half-hearted gesture, she turned toward the path, the shadows swallowing her step by step. The suitcase wheels rumbled over the uneven ground, echoing her retreating footsteps, and Ben watched until she rounded the bend, disappearing into the night toward the dorms that awaited her.

Only then did he start the engine, the headlights cutting through the dark as he pulled away, the emptiness beside him a stark reminder of the distance they'd bridge again tomorrow.

 

The path from the pull-off wound through a quiet stretch of campus grounds, the gravel giving way to smoother sidewalks lined with lampposts that flickered to life as dusk deepened into night. Rey dragged her suitcase behind her, the wheels rumbling softly over the cracks and uneven pavement, each jolt a reminder of the weight she carried—not just the clothes and souvenirs from the weekend, but the tangled emotions swirling in her chest. The air was crisp, laced with the earthy scent of recent rain, and a light mist hung in the air, beading on her skin and dampening the edges of her hair. Her mind replayed the goodbye kiss in the car, Ben's hands warm and possessive on her face, his whispered promises echoing like a lifeline. She quickened her pace, eager to shed the secrecy of the shadows and step into the familiar chaos of the dorm, where at least she could breathe without glancing over her shoulder.

The dormitory building loomed ahead, its brick facade glowing under strings of outdoor lights, laughter and music spilling from open windows on the lower floors. Rey fished her keycard from her pocket, swiping it against the reader with a beep that unlocked the heavy door. She hauled the suitcase up the steps inside, the elevator too slow for her impatience, and climbed the two flights to her floor, her thighs aching faintly from the weekend's exertions—a pleasant burn that made her smile despite the fatigue settling in her bones. The hallway smelled of instant noodles and cheap perfume, doors cracked open here and there with snippets of conversation floating out. She reached her room and pushed the door open with her hip, the familiar creak welcoming her home.

Inside, the space was dimly lit by a desk lamp, casting warm shadows over the cluttered room—posters of indie bands on the walls, textbooks piled on the nightstand, and Rose's side a riot of colorful throw pillows and half-empty water bottles. Rose and Poe were perched on the edge of Rey's bed, knees touching as they leaned in close, scrolling through something on Poe's phone with shared giggles. Rose's dark hair was tied back in a messy ponytail, her face lighting up the moment the door swung in. Poe, with his easy grin and tousled curls, looked up too, but it was Rose who reacted first, her eyes widening in delight.

"Oh my god!" Rose squealed, the sound piercing the air like a siren, her hands flying to her mouth too late to muffle it. She bounced on the mattress, nearly toppling Poe sideways.

"Ow," Poe winced, rubbing his ear with exaggerated drama, his fingers pressing against the lobe as if checking for damage. He shot Rose a mock glare, but his lips twitched with amusement. "Warn a guy next time, yeah? My eardrums aren't built for that pitch."

Rose waved him off without a shred of apology, her focus laser-sharp on Rey now.

"Get out now," she urged, shooing Poe toward the door with frantic gestures, like she was herding a stray cat. "This is girl talk only. Shoo! Go bother Finn or something."

Poe chuckled, unfolding his lanky frame from the bed and stretching his arms overhead, his shirt riding up to reveal a sliver of toned abdomen. He sauntered past Rey, pausing to lean against the doorframe.

"Heya, Rey," he said, tilting his head as if testing his hearing, cupping a hand to his ear dramatically. "Survived the wilderness? You look... glowy. In a good way." His eyes twinkled with unspoken curiosity, but he didn't pry—Poe had that knack for knowing when to bow out gracefully.

Rey managed a tired smile, setting her suitcase by the closet with a thud.

"Hey, Poe. Yeah, it was... something." She watched him go, the door clicking shut behind him, then turned to Rose, arching an eyebrow in that knowing way that spoke volumes. The look she gave her roommate was equal parts accusation and affection, her lips pursing as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"You are a sneaky little bitch," Rey said, pointing a finger at Rose accusingly, though her tone held no real heat—just the warmth of shared secrets. "Setting that up like some mastermind matchmaker. The cabin, the surprise... all of it."

Rose's grin widened, unrepentant, as she scooted back on the bed, patting the spot beside her invitingly. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, her eyes sparkling with the thrill of gossip, like a kid in a candy store eyeing her favorites.

"Did it work though?" she asked, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, brows wiggling suggestively. "Come on, spill. I deserve details after pulling strings like that."

Rey hesitated for a beat, savoring the tease, then dropped her bag on the floor and sank onto the bed with a dramatic sigh. The mattress dipped under her weight, the sheets still rumpled from mornings past. She kicked off her shoes, curling her legs beneath her as a flush crept up her neck at the memories flooding back.

"It might've," she said coyly, drawing out the words, her fingers twisting the bracelet on her wrist absentmindedly—the one Ben had fastened around her skin with such care.

Rose gasped, clutching a pillow to her chest. :Might've? Rey!"

"Okay, yeah, it worked," Rey admitted, her voice softening as relief washed over her features. She leaned back against the headboard, the tension from the drive melting away in the safety of the room. "We're gonna be okay. Really okay." Her eyes grew distant for a moment, tracing the cracks in the ceiling, but the curve of her smile betrayed the hope blooming inside her.

"Oh yay, finally!" Rose clapped her hands together, the sound sharp and joyful, her whole body vibrating with excitement. She bounced once, then twice, before grabbing Rey's arm and giving it a gentle squeeze. "I knew it! You two are like some epic romance novel. Forbidden love, secret getaways... it's straight out of a movie. So, how was it? The whole weekend. Don't skimp—I want the full rundown."

Rey laughed, a light, breathless sound that eased the last knots in her shoulders. She fell back onto the bed fully, arms spreading out as she stared up at the ceiling, the pillow cradling her head like a cloud.

"A lot of sex," she confessed bluntly, her cheeks heating but her voice steady, unashamed. "Like, a lot. The kind where you lose track of time and your body feels like it's on fire in the best way. He knows exactly how to touch me" She paused, biting her lip as flashes of their encounters played behind her eyelids: Ben's mouth on her breasts, sucking hard enough to leave marks; his hips thrusting deep, her nails raking down his back; the way he'd flip her over, gripping her ass as he pounded into her from behind, their moans echoing off the cabin walls.

Rose's eyes went wide, fanning herself with one hand. "Girl, stop. I'm jealous"

"But it wasn't just that," Rey continued, rolling onto her side to face her friend, propping her head on her hand. Her expression turned dreamy, softer around the edges.

"Last night, he took me out. He got me all dressed up in this gorgeous red dress he bought, the kind that hugs every curve, and these heels that made my legs look endless. We ate at this cozy Italian place, twirling pasta and sipping wine under candlelight. The food was amazing" She chuckled, the memory warming her from the inside out. "And then we danced. He pulled me close, his hand on my waist, leading me like we'd done it a thousand times."

Rose sighed dramatically, flopping back beside her. "Danced? Like, slow and romantic?"

'Yeah,' Rey nodded, her voice dropping to a hush as if reliving it.

"He pretended we were husband and wife celebrating our first anniversary. It felt so real, Rose—like a glimpse of what could be if we didn't have to hide. No professor, no student. Just us, tangled up in each other, promising things we can't say out loud yet." She trailed off, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the bedspread, the ache of longing mixing with the sweetness.

Rose let out a wistful whine, rolling to mirror Rey's position, their faces inches apart.

"Oh my god, where do I find a professor like this? Someone who'll whisk me away and make me feel like the center of the universe? Mine would probably assign extra reading instead of dancing in the rain." She groaned, burying her face in the pillow for a second before peeking out. "Seriously, though—I'm happy for you. You deserve this glow. Promise me you'll tell me everything"

Rey reached over, squeezing Rose's hand, gratitude swelling in her chest.

"Promise. And hey, maybe I'll put in a good word for you with the faculty lounge." They both dissolved into laughter, the sound filling the room like sunlight breaking through clouds, chasing away the shadows of secrecy for a little while longer.

Chapter 19

ITS CHRISTMASSSSSSS

For our lovely Rey and Ben at least....

 

The dormitory hallway buzzed with pre-holiday frenzy as Rey and Rose stepped out of their room, the door clicking shut behind them with a finality that echoed Rey's mixed emotions. It was the last day of classes before everyone scattered for Christmas break, and the air thrummed with the kind of electric anticipation that only came from impending freedom—or, in Rey's case, a carefully constructed facade of it. She smoothed down the front of her costume, a sexy little Santa ensemble that Rose had insisted on: a plush red velvet mini-dress that hugged her curves like a second skin, the hem barely grazing mid-thigh, edged with white faux fur that tickled her legs with every step. The neckline plunged daringly low, framed by a black belt cinched tight at her waist, and a floppy Santa hat perched jauntily on her head, complete with a pom-pom that bobbed against her cheek. Fishnet stockings clung to her calves, ending in shiny black boots that clicked against the linoleum floor, and she'd added a touch of glittery makeup to her eyes, making them sparkle under the fluorescent lights. Rose matched her perfectly, her version a tad shorter and sassier, with the dress riding up just enough to show off her toned thighs, her laughter already bubbling as she linked arms with Rey.

Rey forced a grin, shoving down the pang in her chest. She hadn't told anyone the truth—not Rose, not Poe, not even Ben in their stolen whispers. Her father hadn't called, hadn't sent a single email or text since Thanksgiving, his silence a heavy weight that she'd buried under layers of denial. 'Leaving later,' she'd lied breezily when asked, claiming some vague family delay. In reality, she was staying right here on campus, the dorms half-empty and echoing, because everything else felt like admitting defeat. But tonight? Tonight was for pretending. The party would drown out the quiet ache, at least for a few hours, with music and laughter and the sharp tang of spiked eggnog.

"This is gonna be epic," Rose declared, her voice pitching up with excitement as they navigated the crowded corridor. Students milled about in various states of festive disarray—elf ears, reindeer antlers, one guy in a full Grinch suit that swallowed him whole—carrying red Solo cups and strings of battery-powered lights. The scent of pine and cinnamon wafted from somewhere down the hall, mingling with the faint, underlying whiff of weed from a cracked door. Outside the tall windows, real snow fell in lazy, fat flakes, blanketing the quad in a pristine white hush that made the world feel muffled and magical. Rey paused for a second, pressing her palm against the cold glass, watching the flakes swirl like confetti against the darkening sky. It was beautiful, in a lonely sort of way, but she shook it off, turning back to Rose with a determined smile.

They reached the end of the hall and pushed through the double doors into the main lounge area, transformed into a winter wonderland for the occasion. A massive Christmas tree dominated the corner, easily ten feet tall, its branches drooping under the weight of ornaments: glittering baubles in every color, twinkling fairy lights that pulsed in time with the bass-heavy holiday remix blasting from hidden speakers, and tinsel draped like silver waterfalls. At the top, a star glowed with an ethereal blue light, casting sparkles across the room.

Fake snow machines hummed softly from the ceiling, releasing flurries of soapy white particles that drifted down like gentle snowfall, sticking lightly to hair and shoulders without the melt of the real stuff outside. The floor was scattered with them already, creating a slippery, festive sheen underfoot. Folding tables lined the walls, laden with platters of cookies shaped like snowflakes, bowls of cheesy dips, and a punch bowl that sloshed suspiciously with something stronger than cranberry juice. Laughter erupted from clusters of people, bodies swaying to the music—'All I Want for Christmas Is You' twisted into a thumping EDM beat—and the air hummed with chatter, the clink of glasses, and the occasional whoop.

Rose tugged Rey forward, her eyes scanning the crowd like a hawk.

"There they are!" she yelled over the din, pointing toward a knot of guys near the tree. Poe stood at the center, looking every bit the charming rogue in a plaid flannel shirt unbuttoned just enough to show a hint of chest hair, paired with jeans that hugged his hips and a Santa hat tilted rakishly. Beside him was Finn, broad-shouldered and grinning wide, dressed as a sexy lumberjack with suspenders over a thermal that strained against his muscles, and a fake beard that he kept adjusting with amusement. A couple of other boys from their lit class hovered nearby—Kaydel's boyfriend with a string of lights wrapped around his neck like a scarf, and Zorii in a sleek black elf outfit that made her look more assassin than holiday sprite, though she was laughing with the group.

"Look who decided to show up!" Poe called out as they approached, his eyes lighting up as he took in their outfits. He let out a low whistle, handing over two cups of punch without missing a beat. "Damn, ladies. You two are serving looks tonight. Sexy Santas? Bold choice for the North Pole takeover." He winked at Rey, clinking his cup against hers, the liquid inside sloshing a vibrant red.

Rose struck a pose, hand on hip, the fur trim of her dress fluffing out dramatically.

"What can we say? We're here to make merry—and maybe a few hearts race." She grabbed Finn's suspenders, tugging him closer for a quick peck on the cheek, which elicited cheers from the group. "You boys clean up nice too. Finn, that beard is doing things for you."

Finn chuckled, rubbing the fake fur self-consciously.

"Yeah, well, Poe dared me. Said I couldn't pull off rugged holiday vibes. Proved him wrong, though." He flexed an arm playfully, drawing laughs, then turned to Rey with a warm smile. "Hey, Rey. You good? You look like you could use this punch. Rough week with finals?" His concern was genuine, the kind that came from months of group study sessions and late-night rants, but Rey waved it off, sipping the drink to hide the flicker of truth in her eyes. It was sweet and boozy, burning pleasantly down her throat, chasing away the chill from the window.

"I'm great," she lied smoothly, forcing enthusiasm into her voice as she leaned against the wall beside them, the fake snow dusting her hat like powdered sugar. "Just ready to let loose before I head out tomorrow. This party's already better than I expected—tree's insane, isn't it?"

She nodded toward the towering pine, its lights reflecting in her eyes, and the group murmured agreement, Poe launching into a story about how the RA had nearly set it on fire last year with a rogue candle.

As the conversation flowed—Rose teasing Poe about his 'elf on the shelf' dance moves from a previous party, Finn challenging everyone to a gingerbread man eating contest—the weight on Rey's shoulders lightened fractionally. The boys pulled them into the circle, passing around a tray of spiked hot chocolate that warmed her from the inside out, and for a moment, she let herself sink into the joy. Outside, the real snow piled higher, muting the world beyond the windows, while inside, the fake flakes continued their endless, whimsical fall. No one pressed her about home, about the lie she'd spun, and she was grateful for that. Ben's face flashed in her mind—his secret smile in class earlier that day, the promise of a quiet Christmas together once the campus emptied—but she pushed it down, focusing on Rose's laughter and Poe's bad jokes. Tonight was for this: friends, festivity, and forgetting, if only until the morning light crept in.

 

The room pulsed with holiday chaos, the EDM remix of "Jingle Bells" thumping through the speakers like a heartbeat on steroids, bodies twisting and grinding in the center of the room where the fake snow swirled thicker now, coating shoulders and hair in a sticky, glittering residue. Rey's cheeks flushed warm from the third—or was it fourth?—cup of punch, the boozy sweetness lingering on her tongue as she swayed with Rose, their arms linked in a tipsy tangle. The sexy Santa dresses rode up slightly with each spin, the fur trim brushing against their thighs, but neither cared; the alcohol had melted away the edges of self-consciousness, turning the party into a blur of laughter and stolen sips from a shared flask Poe had pressed into their hands earlier. Rose's eyes sparkled under the tree's twinkling lights, her ponytail loosened into wild waves that bounced as she pulled Rey into a clumsy twirl, their boots slipping on the faux snow-dusted floor.

"Come on, Santa's little helper, shake it!" Rose giggled, her voice slurring just enough to make the words slur into a playful slur, hips popping to the beat as she dragged Rey closer. Rey laughed, the sound bubbling up from her chest despite the undercurrent of ache she'd been nursing all night—the lie about her holiday plans sitting heavy like undigested eggnog. But here, in this moment, with Rose's infectious energy pulling her along, she let go. She mirrored her roommate's moves, arching her back and tossing her head, the pom-pom on her hat flopping wildly. The group around them cheered—Poe hollering something about "ho ho ho's" that made Finn snort into his drink—and for a few breathless minutes, Rey forgot the empty dorm waiting for her, the unanswered messages from her father, the secret pull toward Ben that tugged at her even now, amid the festive din.

Sweat beaded at the nape of her neck, mixing with the fake snow to create a cool trickle down her spine, but the heat from the crowd and the liquor kept her moving. Rose spun her again, their hands clasped tight, and Rey's fishnets whispered against her skin as she dipped low, rising with a grin that felt almost genuine. The massive tree loomed in the corner like a benevolent giant, its ornaments catching the strobe of colored lights, casting fleeting rainbows across their faces. Outside the windows, the real snow had picked up, flakes pressing against the glass in a relentless veil, turning the world beyond into a soft, white obscurity. But inside, it was all warmth and motion, the air thick with the scent of pine needles, spilled punch, and the faint, underlying tang of excitement.

Then, mid-twirl, Rose froze, her hand flying to her chest. A insistent buzz vibrated against her skin, muffled but persistent, and she yanked her phone from the depths of her bra with a dramatic flourish, the screen lighting up her face in a harsh blue glow.

"Ugh, hold up," she muttered, squinting at the caller ID as the music drowned out the ringtone. She thumbed the answer button, pressing the device to her ear, and immediately dragged Rey by the wrist toward the exit, weaving through the throng of dancers like a determined salmon upstream. Rey stumbled after her, the sudden shift from heat to the drafty hallway jarring, her bare arms prickling as the door swung open to the chill outside.

Snowflakes greeted them like tiny, icy kisses, swirling in the glow of the exterior lights that lined the main hall's facade. The real stuff was heavier now, accumulating in soft drifts along the shoveled paths, the cold biting through Rey's thin velvet dress and fishnets without mercy. She rubbed her arms vigorously, goosebumps rising in sharp relief under the pale skin, her breath fogging the air in quick, white puffs. The party noise faded to a muffled bass thrum behind the closed doors, replaced by the hush of falling snow and the distant crunch of tires on salted roads. Rose paced a few steps away, phone still to her ear, her Santa hat askew and dusted with fresh flakes that melted into her hair.

"Oh, you're here already? I'm outside the main hall," Rose said into the phone, her tone a mix of relief and exasperation, the tipsiness making her words clip a little too fast. She sighed heavily, rolling her eyes at Rey as if to say typical Mom, then hung up with a decisive jab at the screen. Shoving the phone back into her bra for safekeeping, she turned to Rey, the wind tugging at her dress's hem. "Rey, my momma's here. Early as always—probably been circling the block since the party started, worrying I'll turn into a pumpkin or something." Her voice carried a fond edge, but there was a sigh beneath it, the goodbye already weighing on her.

Before Rey could respond, headlights pierced the snowy veil, sweeping across the facade as a sensible SUV pulled up curbside, its engine humming low and steady. The driver's window rolled down halfway, revealing Rose's mother bundled in a wool coat, her face creased with that maternal mix of impatience and warmth. Steam from the heater fogged the glass slightly, and she waved impatiently, calling out something about the roads getting slick.

Rose pulled Rey into a tight hug, the fur on their costumes fluffing together like plush pillows.

"I'm gonna miss you, Rey. Have a good two weeks, okay? Don't study too hard if you're heading home late—text me when you get there." Her cheek pressed warm against Rey's, lips brushing in a quick, lipstick-smeared kiss that left a faint red mark. The embrace lingered a beat longer than usual, Rose's arms squeezing as if to imprint the moment, the cold seeping into their bones but the affection holding it at bay.

Rey managed a smile, genuine this time despite the chill gnawing at her exposed skin.

"You have a good Christmas and New Year, Rose," Rey said to Rose as she walked to her mothers car.

"Hey, ladies—wait, Rose is bailing already?" Finn asked, clapping Rey on the shoulder lightly, his broad frame blocking some of the wind. Poe nodded toward the SUV.

"Yeah, Momma's clockwork," Rose yelled "Hop in, boys—I'll get you to the station before the train leaves you in the dust."

Finn and Poe exchanged a quick look, then turned to Rey, pulling her into a group huddle against the cold.

"See ya, Rey," Finn said first, his hug warm and brotherly, smelling faintly of spiced cider. "Don't let the break turn you into a hermit—hit me up if you need anything." Poe followed suit, his embrace looser but no less sincere, ruffling her hat playfully. "Yeah, catch you after the holidays. Stay frosty—or whatever the opposite of that is."

Rey waved from the curb, her smile holding steady as the SUV's tires crunched over the fresh snow, headlights fading into the swirling white.

"See ya, guys," she murmured to the empty space, the words lost to the wind. The party noise hummed faintly from the hall, but out here, it was just her and the snow—fat flakes landing soft on her upturned face, the cold seeping deeper now that the warmth of friends had pulled away. She rubbed her arms again, the fishnets doing little to ward off the bite.

The snow fell thicker now, a relentless curtain of white that blurred the taillights of Rose's mom's SUV as it crunched away down the salted road, carrying her friends into the holiday haze. Rey stood rooted to the curb outside the main hall, the cold seeping through her fishnet stockings and up her bare thighs, the velvet of her sexy Santa dress doing nothing to shield her from the bite. Her arms stayed crossed tight over her chest, but the warmth from the group hugs had long faded, leaving her skin prickling with chill and something sharper—a loneliness that twisted in her gut like a knife.

Two weeks. The dorms would empty out, halls echoing with silence, her room a sterile box of textbooks and unmade beds. No family calls, no twinkling lights at home; just her, alone with the ghost of Christmases past and the fresh sting of her father's indifference. Tears welled up unbidden, hot tracks carving paths down her cheeks, mixing with the melting flakes that clung to her lashes. She didn't bother wiping them away at first, just stared at the fading red glow of the car, the party thump muffled behind her like a distant memory.

"What are you doing? You'll freeze out here," a deep voice cut through the wind, warm hands suddenly draping a heavy wool jacket over her shoulders. The fabric enveloped her like a shield, carrying the faint scent of cologne and pine—familiar, grounding. Rey turned, blinking through the blur of tears and snow, her breath catching as she met Ben's eyes. He stood there in the glow of the hall's exterior lights, snow dusting his dark hair and broad shoulders, his coat now gone left him in just a fitted sweater that hugged his chest, jeans tucked into boots that had already accumulated a light layer of white. Concern etched his features, softening the usual sharp lines of his jaw, but there was that spark too—the one that always made her pulse quicken.

"Hi, Ben," she murmured, swiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand, the jacket's sleeve rough against her skin. Her voice came out smaller than she intended, raw from the cold and the emotion clogging her throat. She pulled the coat tighter around herself, the hem brushing her knees, a poor barrier against the vulnerability she couldn't quite hide. "Just... waving off the guys and Rose. They've all left for Christmas and New Year. Rose's mom picked her up, and Finn and Poe hitched a ride to the station. Everyone's gone."

He stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, cutting through the icy air between them. His gaze flicked over her face, taking in the tear-streaked makeup, the way her lips trembled slightly.

"And you?" he asked, his tone gentle but probing, one hand lingering on her arm as if to steady her.

Rey shook her head, staring down at the snow piling at her boots, her voice dropping to a quiet whisper that the wind nearly stole.

"Staying here. Again. I think he's forgotten he has a daughter." The words hung heavy, the ache of it spilling out despite her efforts to lock it away. Her father—another year of radio silence, no card, no call, just the void she'd filled with lies to her friends. It stung worse in the snow, the festive cheer inside mocking her isolation.

Ben's expression darkened for a split second, a flicker of anger on her behalf, but then his mouth curved into a soft smile, the kind that reached his eyes and made her chest loosen just a fraction.

"Oh no, we can't have that," he said, his voice low and reassuring, thumb brushing her arm through the jacket. He tilted his head toward the hall, decisive. "Go pack a bag. Stay with me."

Her eyes widened, surprise cutting through the tears as she looked up at him, snowflakes catching in her eyelashes.

"For two weeks?" The question came out hesitant, laced with disbelief and a spark of hope she hadn't let herself feel all night.

"Couldn't think of a better Christmas or New Year, to be honest," he teased, his smile turning playful, a glint of mischief in his dark eyes as he leaned in closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "Can you?" His hand slid to her waist, pulling her gently against him for a moment, the solid warmth of his body chasing away the shivers.

Rey forced a smile, the expression wobbly but real, the weight on her shoulders lifting just enough to breathe. The party lights reflected off the snow around them, casting a soft, golden hue over his face, and for the first time that night, the holiday didn't feel quite so hollow.

"Are you sure?" she asked, searching his gaze, her fingers twisting in the edge of his jacket.

"Go get a bag," he repeated, firmer now, but with that affectionate edge that made her heart stutter. "Meet me at the car—and keep that outfit on." His eyes dipped deliberately, peeking under the draped jacket to rake over the curve of her hips in the red velvet mini-dress, the fishnets clinging to her legs, the plunging neckline that teased the swell of her breasts. He leaned in even closer, lips brushing her ear as he whispered, rough and heated, "Wouldn't mind fucking you in this." The words sent a rush of warmth straight to her core, chasing the cold from her veins, his breath hot against her skin.

She chuckled, a soft, surprised sound that broke through her tears, her cheeks flushing under the remnants of glittery makeup. The boldness of it—him, here, pulling her out of the snow and the solitude—made her feel seen, wanted, in a way that thawed the ache inside.

"Okay," she whispered back, stepping out of his hold with a lingering touch to his chest, her fingers trailing over the wool of his sweater. "I'll be back." She turned on her heel, the snow crunching under her boots as she dashed toward the hall doors, the jacket still wrapped around her like a promise. The wind whipped at her legs, but she didn't feel the cold anymore, the prospect of two weeks tangled up with him chasing away the loneliness.

Ben watched her go, a satisfied grin tugging at his lips as he shoved his hands into his pockets, turning toward the parking lot where his car waited.

 

Rey burst through the heavy doors of the main hall, Ben's jacket still draped over her shoulders like a makeshift cape, the wool heavy and warm against the chill that clung to her skin. The lobby was nearly deserted now, the echoes of the Christmas party fading into a hollow quiet, only the faint jingle of a forgotten ornament swaying from the massive tree in the corner breaking the silence. Her boots squeaked on the polished tile floor as she hurried toward the stairs, heart pounding not just from the run but from the whirlwind of emotions churning inside her—loneliness chased away by Ben's unexpected rescue, a flicker of excitement at the thought of two whole weeks with him, no sneaking around, no curfews or stolen moments. The sexy Santa dress rode up her thighs with each step, the fishnets whispering against her legs, a reminder of his heated whisper that sent a fresh wave of heat pooling between her thighs. She clutched the jacket tighter, the scent of him—woodsy cologne mixed with the crisp night air—wrapping around her like an embrace.

The stairwell was dimly lit, the fluorescent bulbs buzzing faintly overhead as she took the steps two at a time, her suitcase from earlier still abandoned by her dorm door from the weekend's return. Room 214 felt emptier already, Rose's side stripped bare of the usual clutter—posters rolled up, her vanity cleared, the bed made with military precision for the long absence. The air smelled stale, like the vanilla spray had evaporated with her roommate's departure, leaving only the faint mustiness of the radiator kicking on against the dropping temperature outside. Rey flicked on the overhead light, the harsh glow illuminating the space she called home, now a temporary waystation before whatever awaited with Ben. She shrugged off his jacket, draping it carefully over her desk chair, the fabric pooling like a shadow, and kicked the door shut behind her with her heel.

Breathing hard, she scanned the room, mind racing ahead to the packing. Two weeks. It wasn't just a weekend getaway; this was half a month, time to unpack the emotional baggage she'd been carrying, to lose herself in Ben's arms without the world intruding. She started with the essentials, yanking open her closet door with a creak. Clothes first—practical layers for the unpredictable winter weather, but also the pieces that made her feel desired, the ones she'd worn to tease him in stolen glances during class. She grabbed a thick wool sweater in deep crimson, soft against her fingers, then a pair of fitted jeans that hugged her curves just right, the ones Ben had once confessed made him want to bend her over the nearest desk. Layering in a few casual tees, a couple of blouses for any impromptu dinners he might plan, and that slinky black dress from their lakeside escape—the one that had ended with his hands pinning her wrists to the cabin wall. She folded them haphazardly into her largest duffel bag, the zipper straining as she stuffed in leggings for lazy mornings and a scarf that still carried the faint trace of his aftershave from when he'd wrapped it around her neck during a rainy walk.

Next, the pajamas—nothing frilly or innocent; she selected the silk camisole set in midnight blue, the fabric whispering as she shook it out, remembering how Ben's calloused fingers had traced the straps last time, sliding them down her shoulders with deliberate slowness. A pair of cozy flannel pants for colder nights, but even those she imagined tangled around his hips in the heat of the moment. Underwear was a deliberate choice: lace panties in black and red, the kind that framed her ass perfectly, a matching bra that lifted her breasts into soft swells he loved to bury his face in. She packed a few practical cotton pairs too, for the days when comfort trumped seduction, but mostly the ones that promised nights of his mouth exploring every inch, his teeth grazing the edges before tugging them aside with his teeth.

Books came from the shelf above her desk, her fingers trailing over the spines. She pulled down her worn copy of The Great Gatsby, the pages dog-eared from late-night readings that mirrored her own turbulent desires, and a poetry anthology Ben had recommended in class—ironic now, given their hidden poetry of touches and whispers. A light romance novel for downtime, something steamy to read aloud to him by firelight, her voice husky as his hands wandered. She tucked them into a side pocket of the bag, the weight grounding her amid the flurry.

The laptop was last for the main pack, its sleek case cool under her palms as she unplugged it from the charger on her nightstand. She powered it down, sliding it into a protective sleeve before nestling it atop the clothes, cords coiled neatly beside it. Essays half-written, scripts for her acting dreams, photos of them hidden in folders—the digital pieces of her life that she'd share with him over coffee, his chin on her shoulder as he read.

Just as she zipped the duffel shut, the bag bulging with the promise of extended intimacy, she paused at the door, eyes catching on the forgotten items. The phone charger lay tangled on her desk, a lifeline to the outside world she half-wanted to ignore for these two weeks. She snatched it up, stuffing it into an outer pocket, the cord whipping like an afterthought. Then, her gaze fell to the side table by her bed—Ben's gift from her birthday, the diamond bracelet, sparkling faintly under the lamp's glow. It was more than jewelry; it was a symbol of his quiet devotion, slipped onto her wrist during that surprise evening by the fire, his lips brushing her pulse point as he fastened the clasp. She hadn't worn it since, keeping it safe, but now it felt right— a piece of him to carry into their holiday haven. Her fingers trembled slightly as she picked it up, the cool metal warming in her grasp, and she slipped it onto her wrist, the diamonds catching the light like tiny stars. A quick twist of the clasp, and it was secure, a subtle weight that made her smile, anticipation thrumming through her veins.

Bag slung over her shoulder, duffel in hand, she grabbed Ben's jacket again, pulling it on over the Santa dress for the dash outside. The room looked abandoned now, her side the only sign of life, but she didn't linger— the pull toward him was magnetic, drawing her out. She flicked off the light, the door clicking shut behind her with finality, and bolted down the stairs, the bag thumping against her hip, boots echoing in the empty hall. The lobby was a ghost town, the porter dozing at his desk, oblivious to her hurried exit. Outside, the snow had thickened, swirling in eddies that stung her cheeks as she emerged into the night, the cold nipping at her exposed legs despite the jacket's coverage. The campus paths were slick, sodium lamps casting long shadows, but she navigated them with purpose, breath puffing in white clouds, the bracelet jingling softly with each step.

Ben's car idled in the parking lot a short jog away, headlights cutting through the flurry like beacons, exhaust curling into the air. He leaned against the driver's door, arms crossed over his chest, snowflakes melting on his dark hair as he scanned the path. When he spotted her, his face lit up, that teasing grin spreading as his eyes roved over her—jacket-clad but still in the red velvet that clung to her body, the duffel bag marking her commitment. He pushed off the car, rounding to pop the trunk with a beep of the key fob, his boots crunching snow as he met her halfway.

"There you are," he said, voice low and warm, taking the duffel from her shoulder without a word, his free hand brushing her waist, fingers lingering on the curve under the jacket. Up close, his breath was visible, mingling with hers, and he leaned in, pressing a quick, firm kiss to her lips—tasting of mint and promise—before pulling back just enough to murmur, "Missed you already. Let's get you warm." He guided her to the passenger side, opening the door with a gloved hand, the interior heat blasting out like a welcoming hearth.

Rey slid into the seat, the leather cool against her thighs even through the fishnets, buckling up as Ben stowed the bag and jacket in the back before circling to his side. The engine revved gently as he pulled out, wipers swishing snow from the windshield, the world outside blurring into white. She glanced at him, the dashboard lights casting his profile in soft blues and greens, and reached over to squeeze his thigh, the muscle firm under her palm.

"Thank you," she whispered, the words carrying the weight of the night, the bracelet glinting as she did. He covered her hand with his, thumb stroking her knuckles, the drive ahead stretching out like the start of something real, unbroken by the holidays' solitude.

The engine hummed steadily as Ben eased the car out of the campus parking lot, the tires crunching over a thin layer of fresh snow that dusted the asphalt like powdered sugar. The headlights sliced through the swirling flakes, illuminating the empty streets of the college town, where holiday lights twinkled from porches and lampposts, casting a festive glow that did little to chase away the bite of the winter night. Rey settled deeper into the passenger seat, the leather creaking softly under her as she tugged Ben's jacket closer around her shoulders, the warmth of his scent—pine and faint leather—seeping into her skin. Her duffel bag and laptop case were secured in the back, a tangible reminder that this wasn't just another stolen night; it was two weeks of uncharted territory, her life packed into a single bag and now hurtling toward his world.

The dashboard clock glowed 11:47 PM, the radio murmuring a soft jazz tune beneath the wipers' rhythmic swish. Rey's thighs pressed together instinctively, the fishnets rasping with the motion, the short hem of her Santa dress riding up just enough to expose more of her pale skin to the heated air blasting from the vents. She felt his gaze flicker sideways, a quick dart before snapping back to the road, and a small thrill zipped through her—knowing she could still pull his attention like that, even after the chaos of the party and her impromptu packing frenzy.

"Are you hungry?" Ben asked, his voice cutting through the quiet hum, one hand loose on the wheel while the other rested on the gear shift, fingers drumming lightly to the beat leaking from the speakers.

Rey tilted her head toward him, a playful smile tugging at her lips as she considered the gnawing emptiness in her stomach, amplified by the vodka still lingering in her veins.

"I could eat," she replied, crossing her legs slowly, deliberately, the fishnets stretching taut over her calves and thighs, the red velvet of the dress shifting with a whisper of fabric.

Ben's eyes drifted down for a beat longer than necessary, tracing the sheer black mesh that clung to her legs like a second skin, before he forced them back to the windshield. A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, warm and teasing, as he shook his head.

"Honestly, do you two ever dress like you aren't trying to make men sin?"

She laughed softly, the sound light and unburdened, leaning back against the headrest to watch the snow-laced trees blur past the window.

"I used to do it because Rose forced it," she admitted, her tone affectionate but honest, fingers idly twisting the diamond bracelet on her wrist—the one he'd given her, cool metal warming under her touch. "But now I do it just for you." Her smile deepened, eyes sparkling with mischief as she caught him glancing again, the admission hanging between them like an invitation.

He chuckled again, deeper this time, the sound vibrating through the car as he merged onto the main road leading out of town.

"It works," he said simply, his free hand reaching over to squeeze her knee, thumb brushing the edge of the fishnet in a slow circle that sent a shiver racing up her leg, straight to her core. The touch lingered, possessive yet gentle, before he withdrew to downshift as they approached a red light.

The conversation lulled for a moment, the jazz fading into a commercial, but Ben filled the silence with a casual warning, his tone shifting to something more domestic, almost boyish in its excitement.

"Now, be warned—my house is a mess and half decorated." He gestured vaguely with one hand, as if painting the picture of tangled lights and boxes of ornaments strewn across the floor. "But now that you're staying, you can help me do the tree." His voice lifted at the end, happy and unguarded, the idea of her there—tangling tinsel with him, her laughter echoing in his space—clearly lighting him up from the inside.

Rey nodded, picturing it: the two of them on hands and knees amid pine needles and holiday chaos, her in one of his oversized sweaters, the scent of fresh-cut tree mingling with whatever takeout they'd scrounge up. It felt normal, achingly so, a glimpse of the life they kept whispering about in the dark. But then he added, almost as an afterthought, pinching his fingers together in that exaggerated tiny gesture—forefinger and thumb close, like measuring a secret.

"Also... another tiny thing."

She arched an eyebrow, turning fully toward him now, the seatbelt pressing against her chest. "What?"

"My mother and father are visiting me tomorrow," he said, eyes on the road but his posture tensing just a fraction. "Don't worry, it's just for the day, but you will meet them. So maybe create a nice little story that isn't 'Hi, I'm the student your son loves.'"

The words hit her like a splash of cold water, her playful ease evaporating into a wide-eyed stare.

"Whoa, Ben, your parents? Is that safe?" Her voice pitched up, a mix of surprise and nerves twisting in her gut. Meeting his family? Even for a day, it felt like crossing a line they hadn't mapped out yet—their relationship still shrouded in the shadows of campus rules and stolen hours.

Ben glanced at her, his expression softening with reassurance as he flicked on the blinker, guiding the car toward the glowing sign of a 24-hour drive-through joint on the edge of town—a greasy spoon beacon with neon burgers flickering in the snow.

"Relax," he said, reaching over to cover her hand with his, giving it a firm squeeze. "They're from L.A. They'll have no idea you're a student. They'll judge me more for dating young." He winked, but there was a undercurrent of truth in it, a nod to the age gap that hovered between them like an unspoken challenge. His parents, worldly and sharp-eyed from years in the city, might raise eyebrows at her youth, but not the specifics of her enrollment. It was a risk, but one he seemed willing to take, pulling her deeper into his life.

The car rolled to a stop at the drive-through menu board, the speaker crackling to life with a tinny

"Welcome, what can I get you?" Ben leaned toward the window, ordering with easy familiarity—a couple of cheeseburgers loaded with extras, fries dusted in seasoning, chocolate shakes to cut the salt. Rey added her own request, a chicken sandwich, fries and onion rings, her appetite sharpening now that food was imminent. As he paid at the first window, sliding his card through the slot.

They collected the bags at the next window, the warm paper crinkling as Ben handed them over, the scents of grilled meat and fried potatoes wafting through the car like a comfort blanket. He pulled into the lot briefly, parking under a streetlamp to eat, the engine idling as snow tapped gently against the roof. Rey unwrapped her sandwich, taking a bite that was all juicy warmth and melted cheese, moaning softly. Ben watched her, smirking around a mouthful of burger, ketchup smudging his thumb.

As they finished, crumpling wrappers and slurping the last of the shakes, Ben started the car again, the drive resuming toward his house—a modest two-story on the outskirts, tucked among evergreens that bowed under snow. The conversation eased back into lighter territory: her packing mishaps, the bracelet's weight on her wrist feeling like an anchor now, his half-hearted attempts at holiday prep that involved more procrastination than progress. But beneath it all thrummed the anticipation of tomorrow—parents, tree-trimming, her fitting into his space like a puzzle piece she'd never known was missing. The road curved gently, the town lights fading behind them, and Rey let her hand rest on his thigh, feeling the steady flex of muscle as he drove, the night unfolding into something deeper, more real with every mile.

The drive to Ben's house wound through the quiet outskirts of town, the snow falling thicker now, blanketing the road in a soft white hush that muffled the world's edges. Streetlights cast golden pools on the drifts, and the car's wipers worked overtime, sweeping away the flakes that clung to the windshield like insistent whispers. Rey stared out the window, her breath fogging the glass in lazy bursts, the remnants of their drive-through meal settling warmly in her stomach. The shakes had been thick and sweet, but now the anticipation of his place—of stepping into that private space they'd only skimmed before—stirred something hotter in her veins, chasing away the chill seeping through the vents.

Ben pulled into the driveway of his modest two-story home, the engine cutting off with a final rumble that left only the wind's low moan and the patter of snow on the roof. The house loomed welcomingly, porch light glowing against the dark siding, a faint outline of holiday lights tangled along the eaves like forgotten promises. He killed the headlights, plunging the front yard into shadow, and turned to her with a grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

"Home sweet chaos," he murmured, popping the trunk before stepping out into the flurry.

Rey followed, zipping up his jacket against the bite as she grabbed her laptop case from the back seat. The snow crunched under her boots, soaking the hems of her fishnets, and she hurried toward the door, the cold nipping at her exposed thighs. Ben hefted her duffel bag effortlessly over one shoulder, the weight of her life for the next two weeks slung like it belonged there, and unlocked the front door with his free hand. He held it open for her, his body a shield against the wind, and she slipped inside, the rush of warm air enveloping her like an embrace.

The house smelled of pine and faint woodsmoke, the heater humming steadily from the vents, chasing the frost from her skin almost instantly. Rey shrugged off the jacket, hanging it on the coat rack by the door, her Santa dress hugging her curves as she toed off her boots, leaving wet prints on the mat. The living room stretched out before her, cozy in the lamplight: a worn leather couch piled with throw blankets, bookshelves crammed with novels and vinyl records, and in the corner, the bare Christmas tree standing sentinel—a seven-foot noble fir, its branches heavy with potential but stripped naked, surrounded by a battlefield of decorations. Boxes overflowed with ornaments, tinsel snarled in knots, strings of lights coiled like snakes on the hardwood floor, and a half-empty bag of multicolored hooks tipped over nearby.

"Mmm, this is gonna take a while," Rey said, crossing her arms under her breasts, the velvet fabric of her dress shifting with the motion. She surveyed the mess, a mix of amusement and mock exasperation on her face, already picturing the hours it would take to untangle and trim.

Ben dropped her duffel by the stairs with a thud, kicking the door shut behind him and shaking snow from his hair like a dog. His eyes raked over her, lingering on the way the dress clung to her hips, the fishnets laddering up her legs like an invitation.

"Thankfully, you'll do it later," he replied, his voice dropping low and rough, laced with intent. Before she could retort, he closed the distance in two strides, his hands clamping around her waist. He grabbed her firmly, hoisting her up and over his shoulder in one fluid motion, her body draping across his back like a prize.

Rey yelped, half-laughing, half-protesting as the world tilted, her hands instinctively gripping the back of his shirt for balance.

"Ben! Put me down!" But her tone was breathless, thrilled, the sudden dominance sending a spark straight to her core. He ignored her, his arm locked secure around her thighs, the heat of his palm pressing through the thin fishnets and velvet. Her ass was level with his face now, the short hem riding up to expose the curve of her cheeks and the edge of her red lace panties, and she felt his breath hot against her skin as he bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

The bedroom door banged open under his shoulder, and he carried her inside, the space familiar yet charged—king-sized bed with rumpled navy sheets, a dresser cluttered with cologne and watch, the faint scent of his aftershave hanging in the air. He dumped her onto the mattress with controlled force, the springs bouncing her once before she settled, sprawled out in her slutty Santa suit, chest heaving from the rough handling. Her hair fanned across the pillows, cheeks flushed, and she propped herself on her elbows, eyes locked on him with a challenge.

"Neanderthal," she teased, but her legs parted slightly, inviting.

Ben loomed over her, shrugging off his coat and kicking off his shoes without breaking eye contact. His shirt followed, buttons popping free to reveal the broad planes of his chest, dusted with dark hair that trailed down to his belt.

"You look like a present I can't wait to unwrap," he growled, climbing onto the bed, knees sinking into the mattress as he caged her with his body. His hands found her thighs, sliding up the fishnets, thumbs digging into the soft flesh above.

He started slow, deliberate, leaning down to capture her mouth in a deep kiss. His lips moved against hers with measured pressure, tongue tracing the seam until she opened for him, letting him in to explore, taste the lingering sweetness of chocolate shake on her tongue. Rey arched up, hands roaming his bare back, nails scraping lightly as she pulled him closer. He broke the kiss to trail his mouth down her neck, sucking at the pulse point there, teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp. One hand cupped her breast through the dress, thumb circling her nipple until it hardened into a peak, straining against the fabric.

"Ben," she whispered, hips shifting restlessly beneath him, seeking friction. He obliged, grinding his hardening cock against her core through their clothes, the bulge in his jeans pressing firm and insistent against the dampening lace of her panties. She moaned into his shoulder, biting down lightly as he rocked slowly, building the heat between them like a simmering fire.

His fingers hooked under the hem of her dress, pushing it up her thighs, exposing the fishnets fully. He traced the seams with his fingertips, then higher, dipping beneath the elastic of her panties to brush her slick folds. Rey bucked at the touch, already wet for him, her pussy clenching around nothing.

"Always ready," he murmured against her skin, circling her clit with slow, teasing strokes that had her whimpering.

But the slowness didn't last. Ben's control frayed as her hands fumbled with his belt, yanking it open and shoving his jeans down his hips. His cock sprang free, thick and veined, the head already glistening with pre-cum. He groaned as she wrapped her fingers around him, stroking from base to tip, thumb smearing the bead at the slit.

"Fuck, Rey." The roughness crept in then—his grip tightening on her hips, flipping her onto her stomach with a swift motion that left her breathless.

He yanked her dress higher, bunching it at her waist, and tore at the fishnets with both hands, the rip echoing sharp in the room. The sheer fabric gave way, exposing her ass and the soaked crotch of her panties. Ben palmed her cheeks, spreading them wide before hooking his fingers in the lace and ripping that too, the sound primal. Rey pushed back against him, ass up, face buried in the pillows as he positioned himself behind her.

He thrust in slow at first, the head of his cock breaching her entrance, stretching her pussy inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt. They both stilled, breathing ragged, her walls fluttering around his thickness. Then he pulled back, almost all the way out, before slamming forward, harder this time, the slap of skin on skin punctuating the air. Rey cried out, fingers twisting in the sheets, the burn of the stretch morphing into pleasure as he set a punishing rhythm.

Ben's hands gripped her hips bruisingly, pulling her back onto each thrust, his cock pounding deep, hitting that spot inside her that made stars burst behind her eyelids.

"Take it," he grunted, one hand sliding up her spine to fist her hair, yanking her head back so he could lean over her, teeth sinking into her shoulder. The pain mingled with the ecstasy, her body jolting with every rough drive, pussy clenching tighter around him.

He flipped her again, wanting to see her face, her tits bouncing free as he shoved the dress down her shoulders, exposing her breasts. He latched onto one nipple, sucking hard while pinching the other, his hips snapping forward relentlessly. Rey's legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his ass, urging him deeper, faster. Sweat slicked their skin, the room filling with the wet sounds of him fucking her, her moans escalating to screams as the coil in her belly wound tighter.

"Come for me," Ben demanded, his voice gravelly, thumb finding her clit and rubbing circles that matched his thrusts. She shattered, pussy spasming around his cock, milking him as waves of orgasm crashed through her, back arching off the bed. He followed seconds later, burying himself deep and groaning as he came, hot spurts filling her, pulsing inside her clenching heat.

They collapsed together, tangled and spent, his weight a comforting press as their breaths synced in the afterglow. Ben kissed her temple, slow and tender now, the roughness ebbing into something softer, more possessive.

"Welcome home," he whispered, and Rey smiled, sated and safe in his arms.

 

The living room hummed with the soft glow of the Christmas tree lights, twinkling in a cascade of warm whites and golds that danced across the walls like fireflies in a winter night. Rey stood on her tiptoes, the hem of her red silky nighty brushing her thighs as she carefully hooked the last shimmering ornament onto a high branch. The fabric clung to her body in the room's gentle warmth, its smooth material whispering against her skin with every stretch and twist. Glitter from the tree dusted her arms and chest like a fine layer of snow, catching the light and making her sparkle as much as the decorations. She stepped back, hands on her hips, admiring her work—the tree now a full, lush spectacle of red ribbons, silver bells, and crystal icicles that swayed lightly from the faint draft of the heater. It was almost perfect, save for the star at the top, waiting patiently on the coffee table.

From the kitchen, the rich scent of vanilla and cinnamon wafted through the air, mingling with the pine freshness of the tree. Ben leaned against the counter, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his broad shoulders flexing as he slid the final tray of gingerbread men into the oven. The cookies—golden-edged stars and snowflakes—cooled on a wire rack nearby, their icing still tacky, ready for tomorrow's family gathering. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her, though. Through the open archway, he watched Rey move with that effortless grace, the nighty hugging her curves, the way her hair fell in loose waves down her back. Every bend and reach drew his gaze, a quiet hunger stirring in his chest, tempered by the deep affection that had settled between them since their earlier tumble in the bedroom. She was his, here in this space he'd always kept guarded, and the sight of her transforming his home into something magical made his heart swell.

Rey bent down to adjust a stray strand of tinsel at the base of the tree, her nighty riding up just enough to tease the curve of her ass. As she straightened, her eyes caught on a small velvet box tucked beside a cluster of wrapped presents under the branches—gifts he'd snuck in earlier, some for his parents, others just for show. This one was different, though: small and square, tied with a thin silver ribbon, her name scrawled in his neat handwriting on the tag.

"Ooh, this one has my name," Rey said, plucking it up with a delighted grin, turning it over in her hands. The box was smooth under her fingers.

"What on earth could you fit in this tiny box?" She chuckled, the sound light and playful, shaking it gently near her ear but hearing only silence.

Ben wiped his hands on a dish towel, a smile tugging at his lips as he stepped into the doorway, arms crossed over his chest.

"Could be earrings? A key?" he hummed, his voice low and teasing, eyes tracing the glitter flecks on her skin like stars on a night sky. She looked ethereal, covered in the tree's sparkle, and it took effort not to close the distance right then.

Rey sauntered into the kitchen, the box still clutched in one hand, her bare feet padding softly on the cool tile. Up close, the glitter was even more evident—speckled across her collarbones, clinging to the swell of her breasts where the nighty's neckline dipped low. She set the box on the counter beside the cooling cookies, inhaling the sweet aroma deeply.

"Ben, what's the mystery gift? You've got me curious now."

He chuckled, shaking his head as he turned off the oven timer with a click.

"Patience, elf. You'll find out day after tomorrow, with the rest." His gaze lingered on her, affectionate and heated, before she held out the golden star, its points gleaming under the kitchen lights.

"I need you to do the star, Ben. I can't reach," she said, pouting playfully, the glitter shifting as she extended her arm. He took it from her, his fingers brushing hers, warm and deliberate, sending a small shiver through her despite the house's cozy heat.

"Hold on. I have a solution," he replied, setting the star down momentarily. He wiped his fingers clean on the towel once more, then took her hand, leading her back to the living room with a gentle tug. The tree loomed before them, nearly complete, its lights pulsing softly like a heartbeat. Ben positioned himself behind her, his hands settling on her waist, thumbs tracing the silk at her hips. "Up you go," he murmured, lifting her effortlessly by the hips, her body light in his grasp as he hoisted her toward the top branches.

Rey giggled, the sound bubbling up from her chest, joyful and free, her legs kicking lightly in the air before she steadied herself against his shoulders.

"There you go, little sexy elf helper," he teased, his voice rumbling against her back, holding her steady as she reached out. The nighty fluttered around her thighs, exposing more skin to the warm air, and she felt his breath on her legs, steady and close. With a careful twist, she placed the star atop the tree, plugging its cord into the string of lights. It lit up instantly, a radiant burst that crowned the whole display, sending sparkles cascading down like a meteor shower.

Ben lowered her slowly, his hands sliding down her sides, supporting her until her feet touched the floor. She turned in his arms, face flushed with laughter and the room's glow, and he captured her lips in a kiss—soft at first, then deepening as she melted against him. His mouth moved over hers with tender insistence, tongue slipping in to taste her, the faint sweetness of cookie dough lingering from his fingers. Rey's hands came up to his chest, fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him closer as the kiss stretched, warm and unhurried.

"I love you, Ben," she sighed happily against his lips, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes, her own shining with the tree's reflection. The words hung in the air, simple yet profound, wrapping around them like the tinsel on the branches.

"Rey," he whispered, his forehead resting against hers, breath mingling in the space between. "I love you, but even those words don't feel enough." His voice was rough with emotion, hands framing her face, thumbs stroking her glitter-dusted cheeks. He kissed her again, slower this time, pouring everything unspoken into it—the way she'd filled the empty corners of his life, the future he envisioned with her beyond the holidays, the depth of his devotion that words could only skim. She responded in kind, her body pressing flush to his, the silk of her nighty a silken barrier that did little to hide the heat building between them.

The kiss lingered a moment longer, their lips parting with a soft reluctance, breaths mingling in the warm glow of the tree. Ben's hands stayed at Rey's waist, steadying her as she leaned back slightly, her eyes half-lidded and sparkling with the same joy that lit the room. The star atop the tree shone steadily now, a beacon of their shared holiday magic, and the faint crackle of the oven timer in the kitchen reminded them that the night was far from over. He brushed a thumb across her lower lip, tracing the curve where their mouths had met, before pulling her gently toward the sofa.

"Come on" Ben murmured, his voice a low rumble of contentment, guiding her across the plush rug with one hand at the small of her back. The living room felt even cozier now, the tree's lights casting elongated shadows that danced lazily on the walls, syncing with the soft holiday playlist still humming from the speakers—gentle carols giving way to instrumental jazz. Rey followed without protest, her fingers intertwined with his, the glitter on her skin catching flecks of light like tiny diamonds as she moved. The red silky nighty swayed with her steps, brushing her thighs, and she felt utterly at ease in this space that was becoming theirs.

Ben scooped up the remote from the coffee table on their way, then detoured to the kitchen for the promised treats. He returned moments later, balancing a tray laden with goodies: two steaming mugs of hot chocolate topped with fluffy marshmallows that bobbed invitingly, a plate of the freshly baked gingerbread stars and snowflakes dusted with powdered sugar, and a bowl of mixed nuts and chocolate-covered pretzels for easy snacking. The rich, velvety scent of cocoa filled the air, blending with the lingering pine and cinnamon, creating an cocoon of holiday warmth. Rey had already fluffed the throw pillows on the wide leather sofa, pulling the thick knit blanket—soft gray wool with red threading—from its spot over the armrest. She nestled into the cushions, drawing her knees up as she waited, a soft smile playing on her lips.

He set the tray on the ottoman with a gentle clink, then slid onto the sofa beside her, his larger frame sinking into the seat and pulling her effortlessly into his side. Rey curled against him without hesitation, her head resting on his shoulder, one leg draping over his thigh under the blanket he tugged over them both. The fabric settled like a shared secret, trapping their body heat and the faint sweetness of the snacks between them. Ben's arm wrapped around her shoulders, his hand splaying across her upper arm, fingers tracing idle patterns on the silky sleeve of her nighty. She fit perfectly there, her body molding to his, the curve of her hip pressing into his side as she sighed contentedly.

"Love Actually?" Rey suggested, glancing up at him with a playful tilt of her head, her hair tickling his neck. The movie was a holiday staple, full of tangled romances and heartfelt moments that mirrored their own complicated but deepening bond. Ben nodded, a grin spreading across his face as he queued it up on the TV. The screen flickered to life, the opening credits rolling with Hugh Grant's narration, and the room dimmed just a touch as the tree lights provided the perfect ambient glow—no need for the harsh overheads when everything felt this intimate.

Rey reached for her mug first, wrapping both hands around the warm ceramic, inhaling the chocolatey steam before taking a careful sip. The liquid slid down her throat, rich and soothing, the marshmallows melting into a creamy swirl. She hummed in approval, offering it to Ben for a taste. He leaned in, his lips brushing the rim where hers had been, eyes locked on hers over the edge as he drank. A drop of cocoa clung to his upper lip, and she wiped it away with her thumb, her touch lingering as she brought it to her own mouth, tasting him mingled with the sweetness. He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest and into her side, pulling her closer until her cheek pressed against the steady thump of his heartbeat.

They settled deeper into the cushions, the blanket cocooning them as the movie unfolded. On screen, the Prime Minister navigated awkward flirtations, but Rey and Ben were lost in their own world, the plot a gentle backdrop to their quiet touches. She popped a piece of gingerbread into her mouth, the spice and molasses bursting on her tongue, then held one up to his lips. Ben took it between his teeth, nipping playfully at her fingers, his free hand sliding down to rest on her knee under the covers. His thumb circled there slowly, a soothing rhythm that sent tiny sparks up her leg, not urgent but affectionate, like he was memorizing the feel of her skin through the thin silk.

Halfway through the film, as the cue cards of love appeared on screen—'To me, you are perfect'—Rey shifted, turning her face up to his. The lights from the TV played across his features, softening the sharp lines of his jaw, making his eyes look even darker and warmer. She reached up, cupping his cheek, her palm rasping lightly against the faint stubble that had grown since morning.

"This is perfect," she whispered, echoing the movie's sentiment but meaning every bit of it—their bubble of warmth, the tree twinkling behind them, the way his presence chased away the holiday loneliness she'd carried for so long.

Ben turned his head to kiss her palm, his lips pressing firm and reverent against her skin, then trailed feather-light kisses along her wrist, up her arm until he reached her shoulder.

"You make it perfect," he replied, his voice hushed, laced with that raw honesty that always caught her off guard. He pulled her higher into his lap, her legs unfolding to straddle his thighs loosely under the blanket, though the position was more for closeness than anything heated. She leaned her forehead against his, noses brushing, and they stayed like that through the next scene, breathing in sync, the world outside the cabin forgotten in the swirl of snow beyond the windows.

Snacks forgotten for a moment, Rey's hands wandered to his chest, fingers toying with the collar of his shirt, slipping inside to trace the warm planes of his collarbone. He mirrored her, one hand at the nape of her neck, massaging gently to ease any tension from the decorating, the other splayed across her lower back, holding her steady. The movie droned on with laughter and tears, but their laughter came from shared glances—her giggling at his exaggerated impression of Alan Rickman's character, him pressing a kiss to her temple when she sniffled at the wedding scene. The hot chocolate cooled on the tray, mugs half-empty, but neither moved to refresh them, too content in this tangle of limbs and whispers.

As the credits rolled, the screen fading to black with the strains of 'God Only Knows,' Rey didn't stir right away. She nuzzled into the crook of his neck, inhaling the clean scent of his skin mixed with faint traces of cookie dough and pine. Ben's arms tightened around her, one hand stroking her hair in long, slow passes, the other rubbing circles on her thigh.

"Stay like this forever?" she murmured, her voice sleepy and sated, the glitter from earlier now smudged across his shirt from her closeness.

"Forever sounds good," he agreed, tilting her chin up for a soft kiss, chaste and lingering, tasting of chocolate and home. The tree lights continued their gentle pulse, the fire in the hearth crackling low, and outside, the snow fell silently, blanketing the lakeside town in quiet peace. In this moment, with her curled in his arms, they were utterly content—two souls wrapped in a blanket of love, safe from the uncertainties of tomorrow, lost in the sweet simplicity of now.

Chapter 20

Notes:

Meet Mr and Mrs Solo

The kitchen hummed with a quiet urgency, the air thick with the savory scents of roasting turkey and simmering gravy that Ben had been tending to all afternoon. The open-plan space felt both welcoming and exposed, the large windows framing the snow-dusted pines outside, where the late afternoon light cast long. Rey stood at the counter, her hands steady but her heart racing as she measured out fresh coffee grounds into the French press. She wore light blue jeans that hugged her legs comfortably, paired with a dolly pink jumper—soft and feminine, its cable-knit texture brushing her skin like a gentle hug. Her hair was pulled up into a neat ponytail, a few stray wisps escaping to frame her face, which she kept tucking back with nervous fingers. The outfit was deliberate: approachable, sweet, nothing too flashy for meeting Ben's parents for the first time, even if it was all built on the fragile foundation of their shared secret.

They were due any minute now, the knock on the door hanging over them like an unspoken countdown. Rey's stomach twisted, a mix of excitement and dread bubbling up. What if they saw through the story? The one where she was Ben's long-time girlfriend from out of town, visiting for the holidays. She pressed the plunger down on the French press a bit too hard, the rich aroma of brewing coffee filling the space, grounding her just a little.

"Smells amazing in here," she said softly, more to fill the silence than anything, her voice carrying a slight tremor she hoped Ben wouldn't notice.

Ben was at the stove, his broad shoulders tense under a simple gray sweater, sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he stirred the pot of cranberry sauce. Strands of dark hair fell across his forehead, and he pushed them back with the back of his hand, leaving a faint smudge of flour on his skin. He looked every bit the capable host, but Rey caught the subtle clench of his jaw, the way his eyes flicked toward the front door every few seconds.

"Yeah, it's coming together," he replied, his tone warm but distracted, flashing her a quick smile over his shoulder. That smile—reassuring, just for her—eased the knot in her chest a fraction. He set the spoon down and wiped his hands on a dish towel, stepping closer to her side. "You okay? It'll be perfect."

She nodded, pouring the hot water over the grounds, watching the dark liquid bloom and swirl. Her ponytail swung lightly as she moved, and she felt his presence like a steady anchor beside her.

"Just... nerves, you know? First impressions and all that." Her fingers lingered on the handle of the press, the warmth seeping into her palms. Ben reached out, his hand covering hers briefly, a touch that was light but loaded with unspoken support.

"They'll love you," he murmured, his voice low and sincere, thumb brushing her knuckles before he pulled away to check the oven. The turkey's skin crackled faintly as he basted it, the juices hissing in the pan. "Mom's been asking about you non-stop since I mentioned you weeks back. And Dad? He's all about the food, so as long as we don't burn the place down, we're golden."

Rey let out a soft laugh, the sound easing some of the tension, though her free hand twisted the hem of her jumper. The pink fabric bunched under her fingers, soft and fuzzy, a small comfort against the cool granite counter. She could picture it all too clearly: Ben's parents arriving, stepping into this cozy haven that Ben had made their temporary world. The fabricated story rolled through her mind—how they'd 'met' at a conference last year, how her family was back east and holidays were quiet for her. It wasn't entirely a lie, but the omissions weighed heavy. Still, for Ben, she'd play the part, because these moments of normalcy, of blending their lives even pretend-style, felt like steps toward something real.

The timer on the counter beeped softly, pulling Ben back to the stove. He adjusted the heat under the vegetables—carrots and Brussels sprouts glazed with honey and thyme— their colors vibrant against the cast-iron skillet.

"Almost ready," he said, glancing at her again, his eyes softening. "Hey, come here." He held out his arm, and she stepped into his side, the curve of her body fitting against his as naturally as breathing. For a moment, they stood like that, her head resting on his shoulder, inhaling the mingled scents of dinner and him—clean soap and a hint of pine from the tree in the living room. The coffee finished brewing, and she poured it into two mugs, adding a dash of cream to hers, remembering how Ben took his black. She handed him one, their fingers brushing in the exchange, a spark of warmth that had nothing to do with the steam rising from the ceramic.

"To surviving the evening," she toasted lightly, clinking her mug against his. Ben chuckled, the sound deep and rumbling, chasing away more of her jitters.

"To us" he corrected gently, taking a sip, his gaze holding hers over the rim. The way he said it, with that quiet intensity, made her cheeks flush under the pink wool of her jumper. She sipped her own, the bitter warmth steadying her, and set the mug down to help with the final touches—arranging the rolls on a basket lined with a checkered cloth, fluffing the napkins on the dining table visible just beyond the kitchen island.

Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, carrying faint flakes of snow that danced against the glass. The cabin's interior glowed with the soft light of pendant lamps and the twinkling string lights they'd draped earlier, creating pockets of holiday cheer. Rey smoothed her jeans, tucking her ponytail more securely, her mind racing through conversation starters: asking about LA, their drive up, maybe complimenting his mom's famous recipes that Ben had raved about. Ben plated the side dishes, his movements efficient yet careful, stealing glances at her that spoke volumes—pride, affection, a shared secret thrill in this domestic charade.

Then, it came: the sharp rap of knuckles on the wooden door, echoing through the quiet space like a starting gun. Rey's breath caught, her hand freezing mid-reach for a serving spoon. Ben straightened, setting down his mug with a decisive clink, and squeezed her shoulder as he passed.

"Showtime," he whispered, a playful glint in his eye that masked his own nerves. She watched him head to the door, her heart pounding in sync with the footsteps approaching from the other side, the coffee's aroma now mingling with anticipation.

 

The door swung open with a rush of cold air that carried the crisp bite of winter, swirling snowflakes into the warm glow of the cabin's entryway. Ben's parents stepped inside, their coats dusted with a light layer of white from the flurry outside, cheeks flushed from the chill. Leia, elegant even in her travel-worn wool coat and scarf, reached up first, her gloved hands cupping Ben's face as she pulled him down for a kiss on each cheek.

"My boy," she murmured, her voice rich with affection, eyes crinkling at the corners in that familiar way that spoke of years of shared holidays and quiet pride. Han followed suit, clapping Ben on the back with a hearty embrace that turned into a bear hug, his laughter booming as he ruffled his son's dark hair.

"Look at you, all grown up and playing house," Han said, his tone gruff but warm, the lines around his eyes deepening with genuine delight.

Snow melted in tiny rivulets down their shoulders, pooling on the wooden floorboards as they shrugged off their outer layers. Ben hung their coats on the rack by the door, his movements quick and efficient, though Rey could see the subtle tension in his shoulders easing now that the moment had arrived. The heat enveloped them immediately, the scent of roasting turkey and fresh coffee wrapping around the newcomers like a welcome embrace. Leia turned her attention to Rey, who stood a few steps back near the kitchen threshold, her hands clasped in front of her to hide their slight tremble. The dolly pink jumper felt suddenly too soft, too vulnerable under Leia's appraising gaze, but there was no judgment there—only a spark of curiosity and kindness.

"Oh, Rey, it's wonderful to see you," Leia said, closing the distance with open arms. She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Rey's cheek, her lips cool from the outdoors but her hug warm and enveloping. The faint scent of her perfume—something floral and timeless—lingered as she pulled back, holding Rey at arm's length for a moment. "I'm Leia, Ben's mother. And this is my husband, Han." Her smile was genuine, lighting up her face, and Rey felt a rush of relief mingled with the lingering nerves twisting in her stomach.

Han stepped forward next, his broad frame filling the space as he enveloped Rey in a quick, affectionate cuddle, one arm around her shoulders in a squeeze that was more paternal than anything else. His coat was still half-on, shedding a few more flakes onto the floor, and he smelled of the road—leather from the rental car and a hint of mint from his gum.

"Nice to meet you, kid," he said, his voice gravelly with that easy charm Ben had inherited. He glanced over at his son, a mischievous glint in his eye. "How on earth did my son land you, huh? Must be that Solo luck kicking in finally." He teased Ben with a wink, elbowing him lightly in the ribs as they all shuffled toward the kitchen, the group's laughter breaking the ice like sunlight on frost.

Ben rolled his eyes good-naturedly, a flush creeping up his neck as he led the way, his gray sweater now dusted with a stray snowflake from Han's coat.

"Dad, come on," he protested, but there was amusement in his tone, his hand brushing Rey's lower back in a subtle show of support as they moved into the open kitchen. The space felt alive now, the countertops cluttered with the final preparations—steaming pots, a platter of sliced vegetables, and the French press still warm from earlier. Rey's ponytail swayed as she turned to face them, forcing a steady smile despite the butterflies fluttering wildly in her chest. This was it—the fabricated story unfolding in real time, her role as Ben's long-time girlfriend from out of town slipping into place like a well-rehearsed line.

"Can I get you guys anything?" Rey asked, her voice brighter than she felt, stepping toward the counter to busy her hands. She gestured to the mugs and the half-open bottle of red wine they'd picked up earlier, the deep crimson liquid catching the light from the pendant lamp overhead. "Coffee or wine?" she suggested, pouring a fresh cup of the dark brew for anyone who wanted it, the steam rising in lazy curls that carried the rich, grounding aroma through the room. Leia settled onto one of the barstools at the island, unwinding her scarf fully now, her silver-streaked hair falling loose around her shoulders.

"Wine sounds perfect after that drive," Leia replied, her eyes scanning the spread with approval. "The traffic out of the airport was a nightmare—snow's coming down harder than they said." Han nodded, shrugging off his coat completely and draping it over the back of a chair, revealing a simple flannel shirt underneath that spoke of practicality over flash.

"Coffee for me, black, if you don't mind," Han said, pulling up a stool beside his wife. "Gotta stay sharp if Ben's roped me into helping with the carving later." He shot Ben another teasing look, but his gaze softened as it landed on Rey. "You two have made this place look great. Smells like a proper holiday in here."

Rey handed Han his mug, the ceramic warm in her palm, and uncorked the wine with a soft pop, pouring generous glasses for Leia and herself. Ben joined in, sliding a charcuterie board of cheeses and crackers across the island—something he'd thrown together earlier to tide them over.

Leia linked her arm gently through Rey's as they stepped away from the kitchen's bustling warmth, the soft clink of Han's coffee mug against the counter fading behind them. The living room of Ben's house unfolded like a cozy haven. The air carried the faint scent of pine from the fresh Christmas tree tucked in the corner, its branches heavy with twinkling lights and ornaments that caught the glow from the paused television screen. The movie frozen there was a classic holiday flick, some heartwarming tale of family reunions and snowy mishaps, the actors' faces mid-laugh, adding an unintended whimsy to the room's serene hush.

Rey followed Leia's lead, her light blue jeans whispering against the plush area rug as they crossed to the oversized sectional sofa, its cushions invitingly deep and scattered with throw pillows in soft holiday plaids. Leia settled into one end with a graceful ease, patting the spot beside her for Rey to join. Rey sank down, the fabric yielding under her with a comforting sigh, her dolly pink jumper bunching slightly at the waist as she tucked her legs beneath her. The wine glass in her hand felt like an anchor, its stem cool against her palm, and she took a small sip, letting the rich, velvety red warm her from the inside out. Outside, through the frost-laced windows, the snow continued its gentle descent, blanketing the neighborhood in a peaceful white hush that muffled the distant hum of holiday traffic.

"Tell me, what do you do, Rey?" Leia asked, her voice soft and inviting as she lifted her own glass to her lips, taking a measured sip. Her eyes, sharp yet kind, held a genuine curiosity, framed by the fine lines of a life well-lived.

Rey met her gaze, summoning the softest smile she could muster, the one that had become her shield in moments like this.

"I'm between jobs right now," she replied, her tone light but laced with a hint of determination. She wove the story they'd rehearsed—simple, believable—adding just enough detail to make it breathe. "Wanted more of a challenge, you know? I crave something with deeper creative freedom. What about you?" She turned the question back, eager to shift the spotlight, her ponytail swaying slightly as she tilted her head.

Leia chuckled, a warm, melodic sound that filled the space between them like sunlight filtering through clouds.

"Typical of my son," she said, her eyes sparkling with affection as she glanced toward the kitchen doorway. "I was a designer—fashion, mostly—for years, sketching dresses and dreaming up collections that made women feel powerful. But as the years have gone on, I've taken a step back. Now it's more consulting from home, picking projects that light me up rather than chasing deadlines." Her words carried a quiet contentment, her free hand smoothing the edge of her scarf as if tracing the threads of her own history.

"And Han?" Rey prompted, her curiosity genuine now, the conversation easing the knot of nerves in her chest.

Leia took another sip of wine, her expression fond.

"Han used to be a mechanic—grease under his nails and engines purring back to life under his hands. But he's retired now, tinkering with old cars in the garage for fun." She smiled over the rim of her glass, then leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "What about your parents, Rey? What do they do?" The question was gentle, but there was a quiz-like glint in her eye, the subtle probe of a mother sizing up the world her son had brought into.

Rey hesitated for a fraction of a second, her fingers tightening around the stem of her glass. She drew from the truth this time, letting it ground her amid the fabrication.

"Uh, my father, he's a surgeon," she said, the words slipping out with a mix of pride and old ache. "Long hours. My mother..." Rey's smile softened, tinged with nostalgia as she painted the picture. "She didn't work while she was with him; she was just the perfect mother. Always baking—cookies fresh from the oven on rainy afternoons, pies that filled the house with cinnamon and warmth. But they never got along, it was evident there was no love between them in the end." Her voice trailed off, the memory pulling at something real beneath the surface.

Leia's brow furrowed with empathy, her glass pausing midway to her lips. "Oh, did she pass?" she asked softly, the question hanging like a fragile ornament.

Rey looked at Leia, the weight of the moment pressing in, and she let a whisper of vulnerability escape.

"Worse," she said softly, taking a sip of wine to steady herself, the liquid burning sweetly down her throat. "She abandoned me and left me with him." Her gaze dropped to the floor, where the rug's intricate patterns blurred slightly under her stare. "She's married again now, fairly happy from the news I get passed along through mutual friends, but I haven't seen her since I was fifteen. Last I heard, she was pregnant again." Rey forced a smile then, lifting her eyes with effort, though it didn't quite reach them. "Love is very messy," she added, looking down at her glass, swirling the wine as if it held all the unspoken tangles.

Leia's expression softened further, a mother's intuition wrapping around Rey like a shawl. She reached out, placing a warm hand on Rey's knee for a brief, reassuring squeeze. "It really can be, sweetie," she murmured. "I do hope my son treats you well?"

Rey looked up, meeting Leia's gaze with a sincerity that surprised even her.

"Your son treats me like I am the only woman in the world," she said, the words true in a way that made her heart stutter. In that instant, the pretense blurred with reality, Ben's quiet affections flashing through her mind—the way he'd brush her hair back, the stolen glances that said more than words ever could.

Leia followed Rey's line of sight over her shoulder, her eyes landing on the kitchen where Ben stood, leaning against the doorframe with a dish towel slung over his shoulder. He was watching them, his usual reserved demeanor cracked open by a genuine smile that lit his features, softening the sharp lines of his face. Nearby, Han's voice rumbled through, a good-natured moan about the pipework in the house having gone bad again and needing his hands to fix it before it turned into a disaster.

Leia leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper that carried the weight of quiet revelation.

"I haven't seen my son smile in so long, Rey," she confided, her eyes misty with emotion. "He's always so... quiet, always alone, buried in his books and his thoughts like he's carrying the weight of the world. But he looks at you, and he lights up like the Fourth of July—fireworks and all." She paused, glancing back at Ben with a tender pride. "And I've only been here ten minutes."

Rey felt a flush creep up her cheeks, warm and unexpected, her own smile blooming in response. The room seemed to shrink around them, the paused movie a silent witness to this budding connection, the Christmas tree's lights twinkling like stars in approval. From the kitchen, Ben's laughter joined Han's grumbling, a harmonious backdrop that made the house feel like a true home—messy, real, and full of promise. Rey sipped her wine again, the sweetness lingering on her tongue, and for the first time that evening, the fabricated story felt a little less like a mask and more like a bridge to something deeper.

 

Rey shifted slightly on the sofa, the warmth of Leia's hand on her knee grounding her amid the swirl of nerves that had been building all evening. The paused Christmas movie on the TV cast a soft, flickering light across the room, illuminating the garland draped over the mantel and the stockings hung with care by the fire—Ben's touch, she knew, added just that morning in a quiet ritual of anticipation. She set her wine glass down on the coffee table, the crystal chiming faintly against the wood, and cleared her throat, her voice emerging with a gentle apology laced with sincerity.

"I must warn you, I haven't got either of you two gifts," Rey explained, her cheeks flushing a soft pink that matched the cozy glow of the room. "I won't lie, this was very last minute for me." She glanced between Leia and the empty spot where Han had wandered off to inspect the thermostat earlier, her fingers twisting the hem of her dolly pink jumper. "I literally found out last night you two were coming for dinner." The words tumbled out, carrying the weight of her improvised life, but she hoped the honesty softened the edges.

Leia's eyes crinkled at the corners with understanding, her chuckle a light, reassuring melody that eased the tension like a warm blanket unfolding.

"Oh, sweetie, don't fret," she said, waving a hand dismissively, her silver bracelet catching the light. "At our age, we've either got it or don't need it." She paused, her gaze drifting toward the kitchen where Ben's silhouette moved with purposeful grace, the clatter of plates and silverware hinting at the feast to come. "Plus, nothing can beat the gift of seeing my boy happy." With that, she gave Rey's leg a gentle squeeze, the touch maternal and affirming, bridging the gap between stranger and almost-family in an instant.

Rey felt a lump rise in her throat, unexpected and tender, and she placed her hand over Leia's, their fingers interlacing briefly in a silent thank you. The gesture was small, but it bloomed warmth in her chest, chasing away the chill of old Christmases spent in empty rooms with takeout and muted holiday specials. Before she could respond, Ben appeared in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame, a dish towel draped over one arm like a makeshift cape. He crossed the room in a few strides, his hand finding the curve of Rey's back, stroking downward in a soothing arc that sent a shiver of comfort through her.

"Dinner is about to be served," he announced, his voice rich and inviting, eyes sparkling with that quiet joy Leia had just named. "Would the two most beautiful women in the world join me?" The words were playful, directed at both of them, but the way his gaze lingered on Rey made her heart skip.

Leia rose with a chuckle, smoothing her blouse as she leaned in to press a quick kiss to Ben's cheek, the scent of her lavender perfume lingering in the air.

"Thank you, darling," she said, her tone affectionate as she glided toward the dining room, her steps light despite the years etched in her smile lines.

Rey stood more slowly, her legs unfolding from beneath her, and Ben was there instantly, closing the distance. He tipped her chin up with a gentle finger, his thumb brushing her lower lip before he leaned down to capture her mouth in a soft kiss—brief but deep, tasting of the spiced cider he'd been sipping earlier.

"This is perfect," he whispered against her lips, his breath warm and minty, the words meant only for her, a private anchor in the midst of the evening's whirl.

Rey smiled into the kiss, her hand rising to rest on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath the crisp button-down shirt.

"It really is," she murmured back, stealing one more brush of lips before they pulled apart, hands linking as they followed Leia into the dining room.

The space was a holiday dream realized: a long oak table draped in a deep red runner, flickering candles in silver holders casting golden pools of light over the polished silverware and crystal goblets. The air was thick with the aromas of roasted turkey—golden-skinned and carved tableside—accompanied by sides of creamy mashed potatoes flecked with chives, green beans almondine glistening with butter, cranberry relish tart and jewel-bright, and fresh rolls still warm from the oven, their crusts crackling invitingly. A centerpiece of holly and white poinsettia blooms added pops of red and green, while the windows framed the snowy world outside, fat flakes drifting lazily past the panes like confetti from the sky.

Han was already seated at one end, his flannel shirt sleeves rolled up, a napkin tucked into his collar as he eyed the spread with appreciative grunts.

"Smells like a proper feast, son," he rumbled, his voice gravelly from years of workshop chatter. Leia took her place beside him, and Ben pulled out a chair for Rey with old-fashioned courtesy, his hand lingering on her shoulder as she settled in.

They began with grace—Leia's soft words of thanks for family, food, and unexpected joys—before plates were passed and filled with generous portions. The first bites were a symphony: the turkey juicy and savory, melting on the tongue; the potatoes velvety smooth; the beans crisp with a nutty crunch. Rey savored it all, the flavors bursting in a way that made her realize how rare such shared meals had been in her life. Christmas Eve had never felt so warm for her—most of the time, she'd spent them alone in her small apartment, heating microwave dinners under the harsh fluorescent light of a single bulb, the TV droning holiday reruns to fill the silence. But here, laughter punctuated the clink of forks, and the room hummed with easy conversation, wrapping around her like the softest scarf.

As they ate, Ben leaned back slightly, his fork pausing midway to his mouth, genuine curiosity lighting his features.

"So, Mom, Dad—how have you been? It's been too long since we've caught up properly." His tone was warm, bridging the miles that usually kept them apart.

Leia dabbed at her lips with a napkin, her eyes twinkling.

"Oh, the usual whirlwind," she replied, launching into tales of her latest design consultations—a bridal gown for a client in the city that had involved midnight sketches and fabric hunts across three states. "And your father here decided to 'fix' the garden shed last month. Turned it into a full renovation project, didn't you, Han?" She nudged him playfully, her affection evident.

Han chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound as he carved another slice of turkey.

"What can I say? Idle hands and all that. Been good, though—visited your aunt in L.A. last week, caught a Dodgers game." He gestured toward the window with his knife, the storm outside now a gentle flurry that dusted the sill. "How about you, Ben? How's life treating you here? Settled in alright?"

Ben glanced at Rey, his foot brushing hers under the table in a subtle, reassuring touch, before he answered.

"Better than ever," he said simply, his smile genuine as he described the rhythm of his days—the quiet satisfaction of his work at the local firm, the hikes he'd taken along the nearby trails in fall's crisp air, and now, with the holidays, the way the town lit up like a postcard. "The house feels more like home these days. Rey's been a big part of that—helping with the decorations, making it all come alive."

Rey's cheeks warmed again at the mention, but she met Leia's knowing gaze with a soft nod, the conversation flowing onward like the wine poured fresh into their glasses. Stories wove through the meal: Han's mishaps with a stubborn carburetor from his mechanic days, Ben's boyhood memories of Christmases past that had Rey laughing at tales of snowball fights gone awry. The candles burned lower, wax pooling in delicate drips, and outside, the snow thickened, sealing them in this bubble of warmth and belonging. For Rey, it was more than dinner—it was the first threads of a family she hadn't known she craved, woven with care around the table's glow.

 

The clink of porcelain against the drying rack echoed softly in the kitchen, a rhythmic counterpoint to the low hum of holiday jazz drifting from the living room. Rey stood at the counter, a tea towel draped over her shoulder, her hands moving methodically as she wiped the suds from a stack of plates Ben had just handed her. The warm water from the sink steamed gently in the air, carrying the faint scent of lemon dish soap mingled with the lingering aromas of dinner—roasted herbs, buttery gravy, and the sweet undertone of Leia's famous apple pie cooling on the windowsill. Outside, the snow had eased into a serene blanket, muffling the world beyond the frosted panes, turning Ben's home into a cocoon of golden light and quiet intimacy.

Ben's sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing the strong lines of his forearms as he scrubbed a serving platter with focused care, his broad shoulders shifting under the soft fabric of his shirt. He glanced at her now and then, a small smile tugging at his lips, as if the simple act of sharing this domestic chore was a gift in itself. But Rey's attention wandered, her gaze slipping past the open archway into the living room where the fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the worn Persian rug.

There, in the center of the room, Leia and Han swayed to the slow, velvety strains of a classic crooner—something old and timeless, like Nat King Cole's voice wrapping around the melody of "The Christmas Song." Han's arms encircled Leia's waist, his callused hands splayed gently across her back, pulling her close as if they'd done this a thousand times before. Leia rested her head against his chest, her silver-streaked hair catching the firelight, her eyes closed in serene contentment. They moved in unhurried steps, bodies pressed together in a dance that spoke of decades woven into every touch—Han's chin dipping to brush her temple, Leia's fingers tracing idle patterns on his shoulder. It was effortless, profound, a quiet testament to love that had weathered storms and emerged stronger, needing no words or grand gestures, just the steady rhythm of two hearts beating as one.

Rey paused mid-wipe, the plate forgotten in her hands, her head tilting slightly as she watched them. A soft ache bloomed in her chest, not from envy, but from a deep, yearning hope.

"I want us to be like that," she whispered, the words slipping out unbidden, barely audible over the music and the soft slosh of water in the sink. She turned her eyes back up to Ben, her expression raw and vulnerable, the dolly pink jumper suddenly feeling too soft, too exposing for the depth of what she felt. "Old age, don't need nothing but each other."

Ben's hands stilled under the faucet, droplets of water tracing paths down his wrists as he met her gaze. His dark eyes softened, the intensity in them shifting from the everyday warmth of the evening to something deeper, more profound—a mirror to her own longing. He turned off the tap with a quiet click, shaking the excess water from his hands before reaching for a towel of his own, but instead of drying off, he stepped closer, closing the space between them until the heat of his body brushed against hers. The kitchen light haloed his features, highlighting the faint stubble along his jaw, the way his lips parted slightly as if weighing the weight of her words.

"Rey," he murmured, his voice low and husky, laced with emotion that made her pulse quicken. He lifted a hand, his fingers grazing her cheek, thumb tracing the curve of her jaw in a feather-light caress that sent a shiver racing down her spine. "That's exactly what I see for us. Every day, every year—waking up with you, sharing quiet mornings like this, dancing in the living room when the world's forgotten us." He leaned in, his forehead resting gently against hers, their breaths mingling in the intimate space. "I don't need grand adventures or crowded holidays. Just you. Always you."

Her heart swelled, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes—not from sadness, but from the overwhelming rush of being truly seen, truly wanted in a way that promised forever. She set the plate down on the counter with a soft clatter, her hands rising to frame his face, palms cupping the warmth of his skin.

"Promise me," she breathed, her voice trembling with the vulnerability of it all. "That we'll make it there. Through everything—the secrets, the doubts, the world trying to pull us apart."

Ben's arms wrapped around her waist, drawing her flush against him, his chest rising and falling in sync with hers. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering there as if sealing the vow into her skin.

"I promise," he whispered fiercely, his lips trailing down to brush her temple, then the shell of her ear. "We'll fight for it, build it step by step. Lazy Sundays with coffee and your head on my chest, walks in the snow when we're too old to run, holidays like this but with our own stories etched into every corner." His hands slid up her back, fingers threading into the loose strands of her ponytail, tilting her head back so he could capture her mouth in a slow, deep kiss.

The kiss unfolded like the dance in the next room—tender at first, lips brushing with the reverence of shared dreams, then deepening as passion stirred beneath the surface. Rey melted into him, her fingers curling into his shirt, tugging him closer until there was no space left between them. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, coaxing a soft sigh from her as she opened to him, tasting the faint sweetness of dessert wine on his breath. It was a kiss that spoke of futures imagined and presents cherished, his body pressing her gently against the counter, one hand cradling the nape of her neck while the other splayed possessively across her lower back.

From the living room, Leia's soft laughter floated over, mingling with Han's murmured reply, a reminder of the life unfolding just beyond the archway. But in that moment, the world narrowed to the two of them—the steady beat of Ben's heart against her own, the way his kiss promised not just tonight, but every night to come. Rey pulled back just enough to rest her forehead against his again, her eyes shining with unshed tears and unfiltered joy.

"I love you," she said simply, the words a anchor in the sea of emotion.

"And I love you," Ben replied, his voice a rumble that vibrated through her. He stole one more quick kiss, playful now, nipping at her lower lip before stepping back with reluctance, handing her the next plate as if nothing had changed—yet everything had.

"Come on," he said, nodding toward the living room with a grin that lit his eyes. "Let's join them. Dance with me like we're already there."

Rey nodded, her smile blooming as she dried the plate with renewed care, the towel moving in smooth arcs. The music shifted to another slow ballad, and as they finished the dishes side by side—his hip bumping hers teasingly, her laughter bubbling up in response—the evening wove onward, threads of romance pulling tighter around them all. Leia caught Rey's eye from across the room, a knowing wink exchanged, while Han clapped Ben on the shoulder when they finally wandered in, pulling them into the circle of light and song.

They danced then, all four of them in a loose, joyful tangle—Ben's arms around Rey's waist, guiding her in gentle spins that made her ponytail sway, Leia's hand in Han's as they led the way. The fire popped and sparked, the snow whispered against the windows, and for Rey, this Christmas Eve transformed into something sacred: a glimpse of the old age she craved, already taking root in the warmth of Ben's embrace.

 

The soft strains of the previous ballad faded into the ether, replaced by the upbeat swing of Michael Bublé's 'It's Christmas Baby Come Home,' the singer's smooth baritone filling the living room with infectious holiday spirit. The melody kicked in with a lively rhythm, brass horns punctuating the air like joyful exclamations, and the fire in the hearth seemed to pulse in time, casting merry shadows that danced across the walls adorned with twinkling lights and evergreen boughs.

Ben's hand tightened around Rey's waist, his fingers splaying possessively yet playfully against the soft wool of her dolly pink jumper. He pulled her closer, their bodies aligning in that effortless way that spoke of growing familiarity, and with a mischievous glint in his dark eyes, he gave her a gentle nudge forward.

"Come on," he murmured against her ear, his breath warm and teasing, "let's show them how it's done."

Rey laughed, a light, bubbling sound that cut through the music, her ponytail swinging as she matched his step. They started slow, mirroring the sway of Leia and Han just a few feet away, but Ben wasn't one to linger in restraint. As the chorus swelled—'It's Christmas time in the city'—he quickened the pace, guiding her into a spirited twirl that had her skirt flaring out around her light blue jeans. Rey's cheeks flushed with delight, her hands gripping his shoulders for balance as he spun her out, then reeled her back in with a flourish that made her gasp in surprise.

He pulled out all the stops then, his movements fluid and confident, drawing from some hidden well of showmanship that turned their dance into a private performance amid the family gathering. Ben twisted her under his arm with a dramatic flair, her body arching gracefully as she passed beneath his outstretched limb, the motion sending a thrill racing up her spine. She emerged on the other side giggling uncontrollably, her eyes sparkling with the sheer fun of it, and Ben couldn't resist—he dipped her back low, one arm braced behind her shoulders, the other hand firm on her hip, holding her suspended in a moment of breathless suspension. Rey's head tilted back, exposing the curve of her throat, and she trusted him completely, her laughter pealing out as he held her there just a beat longer than necessary, his face hovering inches from hers, lips curved in a roguish smile.

"You're trouble," she accused breathlessly when he pulled her upright, but her grin betrayed her, wide and unguarded, the kind that lit up her entire face. Ben chuckled, low and rumbling, drawing her into another spin that had them both weaving through the open space of the rug, their feet tapping out a lively rhythm against the floorboards. The energy between them crackled, playful and electric, turning the simple dance into an extension of their flirtation—his hand sliding to the small of her back to steer her, her fingers trailing up his arm in teasing retaliation. Every twist and turn brought them closer, bodies brushing in ways that hinted at the deeper intimacy waiting beyond the evening's glow.

Across from them, Leia and Han kept to their own unhurried pace, swaying side to side like leaves caught in a gentle breeze. Han's arm was looped loosely around Leia's waist, his free hand clasping hers against his chest, while she leaned into him, her head still pillowed on his shoulder. But Leia's eyes—sharp and knowing, framed by the fine lines of a life well-lived—were fixed on Ben and Rey, a soft, radiant smile blooming across her features. She was just so happy, the kind of joy that radiated from her like warmth from the fire, seeing her son so alive, so utterly smitten. It was as if the years melted away for her in that instant, watching Ben's face alight with unfiltered affection, the way he looked at Rey like she was the only star in his sky. Han noticed too, giving Leia's hand a squeeze, his own gruff features softening into a nod of approval as he murmured something low that made her laugh quietly.

Rey caught Leia's gaze mid-twirl and felt a rush of warmth, not just from the exertion but from the unspoken welcome in those eyes—a mother's quiet blessing that wrapped around her heart. But her attention snapped back to Ben as he caught her around the waist again, pulling her flush against him for a quick, exuberant lift that had her feet leaving the ground for a split second. She squealed in delight, wrapping her arms around his neck as he set her down, their foreheads touching briefly in the whirl of motion. They were smiling at each other like two love-struck teens, eyes locked in that magnetic pull, the world blurring around them—the fire's crackle, the snow tapping softly at the windows, even the music fading to a hum beneath the beat of their shared pulse.

Ben's expression was pure adoration, his dark hair slightly tousled from the spins, a faint sheen of effort on his brow that only made him more endearing.

"You make this feel like the first time," he said softly, just for her, his voice cutting through the upbeat tempo as he guided her into another dip, this one shallower, more intimate, his lips brushing her temple in the descent. Rey's breath hitched, her smile turning shy yet radiant, her hands clutching his shirt as if anchoring herself to the moment.

"Every dance with you does," she replied, her words laced with sincerity, the giggles subsiding into a contented sigh as they found their rhythm again, bodies moving in sync.

The song built to its crescendo, Bublé's voice soaring with holiday cheer, and Ben amped up the playfulness one last time—a final twist that left Rey breathless and laughing, her body spinning back into his arms where he held her steady, both of them swaying now as the music wound down. Leia's happiness seemed to infuse the room, her sway with Han growing a touch more animated, as if drawing energy from the younger pair's joy. The four of them formed a loose circle of motion, connected by the invisible threads of family and love, the air thick with the scent of pine, cinnamon from the pie, and the unmistakable tang of togetherness.

As the final notes lingered, Ben didn't let go, instead pulling Rey into a slow, lingering embrace right there, his chin resting atop her head. She nestled against him, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat, the earlier energy settling into a profound peace. Leia caught Han's eye over their heads, her smile unwavering, and in that shared glance, the evening promised more—stories by the fire, quiet confessions, and the kind of Christmas magic that bound them all a little tighter.

 

The evening unfolded with the gentle inevitability of a cherished holiday, the living room's warmth lingering like a fond memory as the clock ticked toward bedtime. Laughter had softened into contented sighs, the remnants of pie and cocoa cleared away, leaving only the glow of the tree lights and the crackle of embers in the hearth. Leia glanced at Han, her hand finding his across the sofa arm, and with a soft smile, she announced,

"Well, it's getting late. We should head to the hotel before the roads get too slick."

Ben straightened from where he'd been leaning against the mantel, his brow furrowing slightly in that protective way of his.

"You don't have to go," he said, his voice warm with insistence. "There's plenty of room here—guest bed's made up, and the drive's no fun in this weather." He gestured vaguely toward the window, where fat snowflakes continued their lazy descent, blanketing the world in hush.

Han chuckled, shaking his head as he rose, offering Leia a hand up.

"Appreciate it, kid, but we're fine. Hotel's just down the road, and we've got our own little routine." Leia nodded in agreement, her eyes twinkling with quiet amusement.

"Besides, we wouldn't want to cramp your style on a night like this." She squeezed Ben's arm affectionately, her touch light but reassuring.

Ben relented with a nod, though a flicker of reluctance crossed his features—he'd savored every moment of this unexpected family gathering, the way Rey fit so seamlessly into it all. As Leia and Han gathered their coats from the hall rack, the air filled with the rustle of fabric and the faint scent of pine from the tree. Leia turned first to Ben, rising on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek, her lips soft and maternal.

"You two enjoy your Christmas tomorrow." she murmured, her voice laced with genuine warmth, pulling back to cup his face briefly, as if memorizing the lines of his smile.

Then she moved to Rey, who stood nearby, her dolly pink jumper slightly rumpled from the evening's dances and hugs, ponytail a touch askew but her eyes bright with the glow of belonging. Leia drew her into a gentle embrace, the hug lingering just long enough to convey unspoken welcome.

"I hope to see you again soon," she whispered, her breath warm against Rey's ear, before planting a tender kiss on her cheek. The words carried a depth that made Rey's heart swell, a quiet invitation into the fold that chased away any lingering shadows of doubt.

Rey returned the kiss with a soft "Me too," her voice hushed, cheeks warming under the affection. Han clapped Ben on the shoulder with a gruff,

"Take care, son," and gave Rey a nod that spoke volumes—approval wrapped in his no-nonsense demeanor. With final waves and murmured goodnights, Leia and Han stepped out into the crisp night, the front door closing behind them with a soft click that echoed in the sudden quiet.

Snow was still falling steadily, a silvery veil that muffled the world beyond the porch light's golden pool. Rey and Ben followed them out, shrugging into their coats against the chill—his a woolen overcoat that hung broad on his frame, hers a lighter wrap that she pulled tight around her shoulders. They stood side by side on the steps, breath fogging in the frosty air, waving as Han's car headlights pierced the flurry, taillights glowing red like distant embers as the vehicle crunched down the driveway and disappeared around the bend.

The night enveloped them then, vast and serene, the house behind them a beacon of light and life. Ben turned to Rey, his dark eyes catching the snow's gleam, and without a word, he reached for her, drawing her close with an arm around her waist. The distant hum of music drifted from inside, faint but insistent—Sia's 'Snowman,' its whimsical melody weaving through the cracks in the door like an invitation. The song's playful lilt spoke of building dreams from the cold, of love that melted the freeze, and it seemed tailor-made for this moment, the lyrics a soft underscore to the falling flakes.

Rey melted into him, her hands sliding up his chest to rest against the lapels of his coat, the fabric cool under her palms. Ben began to sway, slow and deliberate, guiding her into a gentle rhythm that matched the tune's tender pulse. Their feet shuffled in the thin layer of snow on the porch, then ventured onto the lawn, where the powder cushioned each step with a whispery crunch. He held her securely, one hand at the small of her back, the other clasping hers against his heart, their bodies swaying in lazy circles under the open sky.

The snow dusted their hair and shoulders like powdered sugar, tiny crystals catching in Rey's lashes as she tilted her head up to meet his gaze. Ben's face was alight with something pure and unguarded, the lines of tension from earlier in the evening smoothed away by the magic of the night. They moved together effortlessly, breaths mingling in white plumes, the world narrowing to just the two of them—the sway of hips, the brush of thighs, the way his thumb traced idle patterns on her hand.

"God, I love you so much," Ben whispered, his voice a low rumble that cut through the quiet, intimate and raw, as if the words had been building all evening. He leaned in, forehead resting against hers, their noses brushing in the cold. The confession hung between them, sweet and unadorned, wrapping around Rey like the snow itself—light, yet profound.

She smiled, a soft curve that reached her eyes, her free hand rising to cup his jaw, feeling the faint stubble there.

"I love you too," she breathed, the words a promise carried on the wind. They danced on, the song's chorus swelling faintly from the house—'Don't cry, snowman, not in front of me'—its cheer a perfect counterpoint to their tender orbit. Flakes swirled around them, landing on their joined hands, melting slowly against the warmth they generated.

Ben dipped his head to press a kiss to her temple, lingering there as they turned in another slow circle, the snow deepening around their ankles. Rey's laughter bubbled up, light and joyful, when a gust sent a flurry into her face, and he chuckled too, pulling her even closer to shield her. It was romantic in the simplest way—cute and unhurried, two souls twirling in the winter hush, hearts aligned under the stars peeking through the clouds. The house lights framed them like a holiday card, but this was their private reverie, a moment etched in frost and forever.

As the music faded to its close, they didn't stop swaying, content to let the silence take over, the snow's gentle patter their new lullaby. Ben's arms tightened around her, a silent vow, and Rey nestled against his chest, listening to the steady beat beneath her ear—the rhythm of home, of love that no storm could touch.

 

The snow's gentle sway had woven its spell around them, but as the last notes of the song faded into the night, Ben's hold on Rey tightened with a purposeful tenderness. He gazed down at her, eyes dark and full of unspoken promises, the flakes melting on his lashes like tiny stars. Without a word, he bent slightly, scooping one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her effortlessly into his arms in a bridal carry. Rey let out a surprised giggle, the sound light and bubbly, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as she nestled against his chest.

"Ben!" she laughed, her breath warm against his jaw, but there was no protest in her voice—only delight, her fingers threading through the damp strands of his hair at the nape of his neck. He grinned, that rare, boyish smile that made her heart flip, and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead before turning toward the house. The snow crunched softly under his boots as he carried her across the porch, her weight featherlight in his strong embrace, her body molding perfectly to his.

With his free hand, he nudged the door open, the warmth from inside spilling out like an invitation, carrying the faint scent of pine and cinnamon. Rey's giggles continued, muffled now against his shoulder as he stepped over the threshold, kicking the door shut behind them with a gentle thud. The sudden shift from the chill to the cozy heat made her shiver slightly, but it was the way he held her—secure, adoring—that sent warmth blooming through her core. He paused in the entryway, just long enough to capture her lips in a deep, lingering kiss, his mouth moving slowly against hers, tasting of hot chocolate and the crisp night air.

Rey kissed him back eagerly, her lips parting to let their tongues brush in a soft dance, her hands cupping his face as if to anchor the moment. He started up the stairs then, each step measured and unhurried, his arms never faltering. The wooden risers creaked faintly under his weight, but the sound was lost in the rhythm of their kisses—soft pecks that grew more insistent, breaking only for breaths and more laughter from Rey, her body bouncing lightly with each rise.

"You're going to drop me," she teased between kisses, though her eyes sparkled with trust, her legs dangling playfully over his arm.

"Never," Ben murmured against her mouth, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her. He nuzzled her nose with his, stealing another kiss as they reached the landing, turning down the hallway toward the bedroom. The house was quiet now, save for the distant tick of a clock and the muffled patter of snow against the windows, wrapping them in their own private world. Rey's fingers traced the line of his jaw, then slipped inside his coat to feel the heat of his skin beneath his shirt, drawing a quiet groan from him that made her smile widen.

He shouldered the bedroom door open, the room bathed in the soft glow of a bedside lamp they'd left on earlier, casting golden shadows over the rumpled bed with its thick comforter and scattered pillows. Ben eased her down onto the edge of the mattress, but didn't let go entirely—his hands lingered on her waist as he knelt between her legs, pulling her into another kiss. This one was slower, deeper, his tongue exploring her mouth with a reverence that made her pulse quicken. Rey's hands roamed up his back, pushing his coat off his shoulders, and he shrugged it away without breaking the kiss, letting it pool on the floor.

She tugged at his shirt next, buttons giving way under her eager fingers until she could slide her palms over the warm planes of his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart mirroring her own. Ben's hands mirrored hers, slipping under her wrap to caress her sides, thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts through her jumper. He pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes tracing her face with such intensity it felt like a caress.

"You're everything," he whispered, voice husky with emotion, and leaned in to kiss her neck, lips trailing soft, open-mouthed presses along her skin.

Rey arched into him, a soft sigh escaping as his mouth found the sensitive spot just below her ear, sucking gently until she felt the first spark of heat pool low in her belly. Her fingers worked at the hem of her jumper, lifting it over her head with his help, revealing the simple lace bra beneath. Ben's gaze darkened with desire, but it was laced with tenderness as he cupped her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples through the fabric until they hardened into peaks. He unclasped the bra with practiced ease, sliding it off her shoulders, and lowered his head to take one nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling around it while his hand kneaded the other.

The sensation drew a gasp from Rey, her hands fisting in his hair as pleasure rippled through her. She rocked her hips forward, seeking friction against his thigh, and he obliged by pressing closer, his erection straining against his pants.

"Ben," she breathed, voice needy, and he switched to her other breast, lavishing it with the same attention—sucking, licking, nipping lightly until she was trembling. His free hand ventured lower, unbuttoning her jeans and slipping inside, fingers tracing the edge of her panties before dipping beneath to find her already wet.

He groaned against her skin at the discovery, circling her clit with slow, deliberate strokes that made her hips buck.

"Always ready for me," he murmured, kissing his way back up to her lips as two fingers slid inside her pussy, curling gently to stroke that spot that made stars burst behind her eyelids. Rey moaned into his mouth, kissing him fiercely, her body clenching around his fingers as he pumped them in and out, thumb still working her clit. The build was slow, intimate, every touch a declaration of love, his eyes locked on hers to watch her pleasure unfold.

When she was close, panting and writhing, he withdrew his hand, earning a whine of protest that he silenced with a kiss.

"I want to feel you around me," he said softly, standing to strip off the rest of his clothes—shirt, pants, boxers—revealing his hard cock, thick and veined, tip glistening. Rey's eyes roamed over him hungrily, her own hands pushing down her jeans and panties, kicking them aside until she was bare before him. She lay back on the bed, pulling him down with her, their bodies aligning skin to skin.

Ben settled between her thighs, bracing on his forearms so he could kiss her deeply, his cock nudging at her entrance. He entered her slowly, inch by inch, both of them gasping at the stretch, the fullness. Rey's legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his back as he bottomed out, pausing to let her adjust, their foreheads pressed together.

"I love you," he whispered, starting to move—long, deep thrusts that filled her completely, grinding against her clit with each roll of his hips.

She met him thrust for thrust, nails raking lightly down his back, their rhythm building like a shared heartbeat—slow at first, then gaining intensity without losing that tender connection. Ben's hand slipped between them to rub her clit, his mouth on her neck, her breasts, whispering endearments between kisses.

"You feel perfect... so tight around my cock... mine." Rey's responses were moans and gasps, her pussy fluttering as orgasm approached, walls clenching around him. He set a languid pace, each thrust measured and caring, his cock dragging along her inner walls, hitting that sensitive spot inside her with unerring precision. She wrapped her legs around his waist, heels pressing into the small of his back to draw him deeper, their bodies syncing in a dance as old as time.

Their lips met again, crashing together in a messy, open-mouthed kiss, tongues tangling as Ben's hips rolled forward steadily. He grunted low in his throat, the sound vibrating through his chest into hers, a testament to the effort it took to hold back. His cock throbbed inside her, the urge to release building like a storm on the horizon, but he tamped it down, focusing on her pleasure, on the way her pussy fluttered around him with every slow plunge.

"Rey," he murmured against her mouth, voice rough with restraint, "feel me... all of me."

She did—every ridge, every vein, the way he filled her completely, claiming her without rush. Her hands roamed his back, nails scraping lightly over sweat-slick skin, tracing the flex of muscles as he moved. Ben's mouth trailed from her lips to her jaw, then down her neck, sucking gently at the pulse point there while he kept up the unhurried rhythm, his cock withdrawing and returning in long, smooth strokes. The friction built heat low in her belly, a slow-burning fire that spread through her limbs, making her arch into him.

He lifted his head to kiss her again, lips bruising in their intensity, swallowing her soft moans as he ground his pelvis against her clit with each deep push. Ben's grunts grew more frequent, ragged breaths escaping between kisses, his body tensing as he fought the tightening coil in his gut. He wanted this to last, to etch the moment into their bones—the slide of skin on skin, the wet sounds of his cock moving in her pussy, the way her breaths hitched when he angled just right. It was love in motion, a profound intimacy that went beyond the physical, binding them in ways words never could.

Rey's hands cupped his face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones as she kissed him back with equal fervor, their lips crashing and parting only for air. She felt the tremor in his arms, the subtle hitch in his thrusts as he held himself in check, pouring all his devotion into every careful movement. Her pussy clenched around him tighter, the pressure coiling higher, and she broke the kiss to gasp against his ear, "Don't stop... please, Ben."

He didn't—his pace remained slow, caring, each thrust a caress from the inside out, his cock stroking her depths with loving precision. Ben's hand slipped between their bodies, fingers finding her clit and circling it firmly, adding sparks to the steady build. She writhed beneath him, hips lifting to meet his, the connection deepening with every shared breath, every grunt he stifled against her skin. Sweat beaded on his brow, dripping onto her collarbone, but he kept going, drawing out her pleasure, making her feel cherished in the most primal way.

The tension wound tighter in Rey, her body trembling as the waves of ecstasy crested. She cried out, the sound raw and unrestrained, her pussy spasming around his cock in powerful contractions that milked him relentlessly. Ben crumbled then, the dam breaking as her orgasm pulled him under. He thrust deep one final time, burying himself to the hilt, and came with a guttural groan, hot spurts of cum flooding her pussy as his body shook with release. He collapsed forward slightly, catching himself on his elbows to avoid crushing her, their lips finding each other in a final, tender kiss amid the aftershocks.

They stayed locked together, his cock softening inside her, cum leaking out around him as breaths evened out. Ben nuzzled her neck, pressing soft kisses there, the weight of their love settling over them like a warm blanket in the quiet room.

Ben's breath ghosted warm against the sensitive skin of Rey's neck, his lips brushing the curve where her shoulder met her throat in a feather-light kiss.

:Merry Christmas, Rey," he murmured, the words low and intimate, laced with a quiet reverence that made her heart stutter. His body was still draped over hers, heavy and reassuring, their sweat-dampened skin sticking together in the aftermath of their shared release. He shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow to gaze down at her, his dark eyes soft with unspoken promises, the faint stubble on his jaw catching the dim glow from the bedside lamp.

Rey smiled up at him, her fingers threading through his tousled hair, stroking the strands gently as if to anchor the moment.

"Merry Christmas, Ben," she whispered back, her voice a hushed melody that carried all the joy bubbling inside her. The world outside their cocoon felt distant—the soft patter of snow against the window, the distant hum of holiday lights—but here, in the rumpled sheets of their lakeside cabin bed, it was just them, wrapped in the afterglow of love made physical.

He leaned down again, nuzzling deeper into the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent of her—vanilla from her lotion mixed with the musky evidence of their passion. His free hand traced lazy patterns along her side, fingertips skimming the dip of her waist, up to the swell of her breast, not with intent to arouse but to savor, to map the terrain of her body like a cherished landscape. Rey arched into his touch instinctively, a contented sigh escaping her lips as she continued to pet his hair, her nails grazing his scalp in soothing circles.

The room was warm, the fire in the hearth crackling softly across the room, casting flickering shadows that danced over their entwined forms. Ben's cock, still half-hard and nestled against her thigh, twitched faintly as he pressed a series of slow kisses along her collarbone, each one a silent declaration. He lifted his head, capturing her gaze once more, and the intensity there made her breath catch—the way he looked at her, like she was the only star in his sky, the only gift he needed this Christmas.

"This... you... it's the best present I could ask for," Ben said, his voice rough from their earlier cries, but tender now, vulnerable in a way that made Rey's chest ache with affection. He rolled to his side, pulling her with him so they faced each other, legs tangling as he tucked her against his chest. His hand settled on the small of her back, holding her close, while hers remained in his hair, combing through it rhythmically.

Rey nestled into him, her cheek pressed to his shoulder, feeling the steady thump of his heart against her ear.

"I feel the same, I am so lucky Ben" she replied softly, her words muffled against his skin. Memories of the weekend flooded her—their secret drive up here, the way he'd surprised her with the cabin rental, the tree they'd decorated together with laughter and stolen kisses. Even the conflicts that lingered in her mind, the uncertainties about graduation and her family, seemed softer now, buffered by the warmth of his embrace.

Chapter 21

The first hints of dawn filtered through the frost-laced windows of the bedroom, casting a soft, ethereal glow that turned the snow outside into a blanket of shimmering white. Rey stirred beneath the heavy quilts, her body warm and languid from the night's intimacies, but sleep had slipped away from her early this Christmas morning. Beside her, Ben lay sprawled in deep slumber, his broad chest rising and falling in steady rhythm, one arm thrown out as if reaching for her even in dreams. His dark hair was tousled against the pillow, lips slightly parted, and the peaceful lines of his face made her heart swell with a quiet tenderness. She watched him for a moment, tracing the familiar curve of his jaw with her eyes, before carefully sliding out from under the covers, not wanting to disturb him.

The wooden floor was cool against her bare feet as she padded across the room, the air carrying a faint chill despite the embers still glowing in the hearth from the night before. She reached for her phone on the nightstand, the screen lighting up with a soft chime as she unlocked it, and slipped into the adjoining bathroom. The door clicked shut behind her with a gentle sound, sealing her in the tiled sanctuary. Steam began to rise as she twisted the faucet, the water rumbling to life in the shower enclosure, filling the space with the promise of warmth. While it heated, Rey perched on the edge of the toilet seat, the cool porcelain grounding her as she curled her toes against the bathmat.

Her thumbs danced over the screen, pulling up her messages first to Rose. The group chat with her friends buzzed with holiday cheer already—selfies of trees and stockings, emojis of snowflakes and gifts—but Rey wanted to send something personal.

Merry Christmas, Rose! Hope you're waking up to all the magic with your family. Miss you already—let's catch up soon. She hit send, a small smile tugging at her lips as she imagined Rose's excited reply, probably buried under a pile of wrapping paper in her parents' living room.

Next was Finn, ever the early riser.

Happy Christmas, Finn! Wishing you a day full of laughs and good food. Tell Poe I said hi too—hope your train ride was smooth. She added a string of festive icons, picturing the two of them huddled on a snowy platform, sharing thermoses of coffee before heading home.

Poe's message followed quickly after: Merry Christmas Poe! Enjoy the holidays—can't wait to hear about your break. The responses would come later, she knew, but the act of reaching out warmed her from within, a thread connecting her to the life she'd left behind at school.

The shower water had reached a steady hiss now, steam curling up to fog the mirror, but Rey's gaze lingered on her contacts list. She scrolled down, pausing at her father's name—Dr. Ken Kenobi, the entry stark and formal. Her thumb hovered, a familiar ache blooming in her chest. The last exchange was from last Christmas: her simple

Merry Christmas, Dad. Hope you're well. met with a curt Same to you.

No follow-up, no questions about her life, just the echo of distance that had grown between them over the years. She flicked to her mother's contact next—Mara, even more impersonal. The final message mirrored the one to her father, unanswered entirely, lost in the void of their fractured family.

Rey stared at the screen, the glow reflecting in her eyes, a mix of resignation and quiet hurt washing over her. The holidays always amplified it—the joy around her clashing with the silence from the people who should have been closest. But this year felt different; Ben's presence in the next room was a balm, a chosen family that filled the gaps without demanding she mend the old ones. With a soft exhale, she set the phone face-down on the counter, letting it go. The water beckoned, hot and inviting, and she stepped under the spray, tilting her head back as it cascaded over her skin.

Rivulets traced paths down her shoulders, over the curve of her breasts and the flat plane of her stomach, washing away the remnants of sleep and the faint stickiness from their lovemaking. She lathered soap between her palms, the scent of pine and lavender blooming in the steam, and worked it into her hair, massaging her scalp with firm circles that eased the tension she hadn't realized was there. The bathroom filled with the rhythmic patter of water, a soothing white noise that drowned out the world beyond. She rinsed slowly, letting the heat seep into her muscles, her mind wandering to the day ahead—lazy breakfasts, perhaps a walk in the snow, Ben's arms around her as they watched the flakes fall.

Back in the bedroom, Ben remained lost in sleep, the covers twisted around his waist, oblivious to the quiet start of her morning. The snow light painted him in gentle strokes, highlighting the strength in his arms and the vulnerability in his unguarded expression. Rey emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, towel-drying her hair, the scent of shampoo clinging to her damp skin. She paused in the doorway, watching him still, a soft smile curving her lips. Christmas had only just begun, and already, it felt like the best one yet—simple, shared, and full of the love she'd found in unexpected places.

She glanced at Ben once more, his form still relaxed in sleep, the covers draped over his hips, and felt a surge of affection that warmed her deeper than the shower had. Christmas Day deserved something special, a little surprise to match the joy bubbling inside her.

She rummaged quietly through her suitcase at the foot of the bed, pulling out the red dress she'd packed on a whim—a soft, knee-length number with a fitted bodice that hugged her figure just right, the fabric shimmering faintly under the light. It was festive without being over-the-top, the deep crimson evoking holiday cheer. She slipped it on, the material cool against her damp skin, smoothing it down over her hips with a satisfied twist in front of the mirror. Next came the white tights, sheer and silky as she rolled them up her legs, the contrast against the red dress making her legs look endlessly long and elegant. She caught her reflection, a playful smile forming; it felt good to dress up, to step into the role of holiday spirit.

Her eyes landed on the Santa hat perched jauntily on Ben's chair in the corner, forgotten from the night before when they'd laughed about decorating the tree. She tiptoed over, snatching it up with a soft chuckle, the fuzzy white trim brushing her fingers. Tugging it onto her head at a slight angle, she adjusted the red pom-pom so it bobbed just so, completing the ensemble. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed it: she looked like a vision of Christmas morning, ready to spread cheer. Satisfied, she eased the bedroom door open and slipped out, her bare feet silent on the stairs as she descended to the kitchen below.

The house was quiet, save for the faint crackle of the dying fire in the living room hearth, embers glowing like hidden treasures. Snowflakes danced lazily outside the windows, blanketing the world in pristine white, and the air carried the crisp scent of pine from the tree they'd trimmed the day before. Rey hummed softly to herself as she moved, her heart light with anticipation. She flicked on the kitchen lights, the warm glow chasing away the chill, and set to work gathering ingredients from the pantry and fridge. Eggs from the carton, a slab of bacon wrapped in paper, and a box of pancake mix—simple, hearty fare that promised comfort on this special day.

She cracked the eggs into a bowl first, whisking them vigorously with a fork, the yellow yolks blending into a frothy swirl. The sizzle of bacon hit the pan next, laid out in neat strips that curled and popped as the fat rendered, filling the air with a savory aroma that made her stomach rumble. Rey swayed her hips to an imaginary beat, the Santa hat's pom-pom bouncing with each movement. As the bacon crisped to golden edges, she poured the batter for pancakes onto a hot griddle, watching bubbles form on the surface before flipping them with a practiced flick of the spatula. The kitchen came alive with the symphony of cooking: the hiss of grease, the gentle pop of batter, the whisk of utensils.

Joy bubbled up uncontrollably, and she began to sing under her breath, her voice soft but clear, carrying the melody of 'Jingle Bells' at first. 'Dashing through the snow, in a one-horse open sleigh...' She twirled once, spatula in hand, careful not to splatter batter, her red dress flaring slightly around her knees. The song shifted to 'All I Want for Christmas Is You,' her tone playful and off-key in the best way, as she danced a little jig between the stove and counter, plating the first batch of fluffy pancakes golden-brown and steaming. Laughter escaped her lips between lyrics, the happiness infectious, fueled by the thought of Ben's face when he woke to this.

Upstairs, Ben stirred slowly, the scent of breakfast wafting up like an irresistible summons. His eyes fluttered open to an empty bed, the sheets cool where Rey had been, but the aroma pulled him fully awake. He sat up, rubbing a hand over his face, a lazy smile already forming as he registered the faint strains of singing drifting from below. Slipping into a pair of sweatpants and a soft gray tee, he padded barefoot down the stairs, moving silently to the kitchen doorway. There she was—his Rey, transformed into a holiday sprite in that red dress and tights, the Santa hat tilted rakishly, her body moving with effortless grace as she stirred the eggs into fluffy scrambles.

He leaned against the frame, arms crossed over his chest, watching her with a depth of love that tightened his throat. The way she sang, voice light and unselfconscious, her hips swaying as she reached for the syrup—every detail etched itself into him. The snow outside framed her like a picture, the kitchen light catching the white of her tights, making her glow. Ben's heart swelled, a profound ache of adoration settling in his chest; she was everything, this woman who'd chosen him, who'd filled his home with song and warmth on a day that had once felt empty. He stayed there, hidden in the shadows, savoring the moment, unwilling to interrupt the magic she was weaving just for them.

Rey turned from the stove, the spatula still in her hand, a fresh stack of pancakes steaming on the plate she'd just flipped. The sizzle of the last strips of bacon fading into a gentle pop, she balanced the utensil on the edge of the pan and reached for a serving dish, her mind already picturing how she'd stack everything just so for him. The kitchen felt alive with warmth, the scents mingling into a comforting haze—crisp bacon, fluffy eggs, and the sweet undertone of maple syrup she'd warmed on the side. Her Santa hat bobbed as she moved, the pom-pom swaying like a cheerful flag, and she hummed the tail end of "All I Want for Christmas Is You," her voice trailing off into a contented sigh.

That's when she caught the movement in her peripheral vision, a shadow in the doorway that made her pause. She pivoted slowly, her white-tights-clad legs brushing together with a soft whisper of fabric, and there he was—Ben, leaning casually against the frame, his broad shoulders bare and his chest rising and falling with easy breaths. He wore only a pair of loose black boxers that hung low on his hips, the morning light from the window casting a golden hue over his skin, highlighting the subtle lines of muscle from years of quiet strength. His dark hair was tousled from sleep, falling just a bit over his forehead, and his eyes—those deep, intense eyes—were fixed on her with a smile that started soft at the corners of his mouth and spread warmth all the way to his gaze. He looked utterly at ease, like he'd been drawn down by the promise of her presence alone, his arms crossed loosely over his torso, one foot propped against the wood behind him.

A flush crept up Rey's neck, not from embarrassment but from the sudden rush of seeing him like this—vulnerable in his half-dressed state, yet so undeniably hers in that moment. The snow outside continued its silent fall, flakes pressing against the glass like curious spectators, but inside, the air thickened with something tender and electric. She set the spatula down with a soft clink, her hands smoothing instinctively over the front of her red dress, the fabric clinging just enough to remind her of the care she'd taken in choosing it.

"Well, good morning," she said, her voice light and teasing, laced with that playful lilt she reserved for him. She tilted her head, the Santa hat shifting slightly, and let her eyes trace him from his smiling lips down to the way his boxers shifted as he straightened a fraction.

Ben's smile deepened, his teeth flashing white against the stubble shadowing his jaw. He pushed off the doorframe with a lazy grace, his bare feet padding softly across the cool tile floor as he closed the distance between them. The kitchen island separated them just enough for her to keep dishing up, but close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, a contrast to the chill seeping in from the winter world beyond.

"Morning gorgeous," he murmured back, his voice rough from sleep, low and intimate like a secret shared in the quiet hours. He didn't touch her yet, content to watch her hands move—efficient and sure as she scooped scrambled eggs onto a plate, the golden fluff piled high beside crispy bacon strips that still glistened with fat. She added three pancakes, golden and fluffy, their edges perfectly browned, and drizzled a generous swirl of syrup over the top, the amber liquid pooling in the crevices.

Rey slid the plate across the island toward him, her fingers lingering on the edge for a beat, brushing his as he reached for it. The contact sent a spark up her arm, simple and sweet, making her lips curve into a fuller smile.

"Figured you'd be hungry after... well, everything last night," she added with a wink, her tone dipping into that flirtatious warmth that always seemed to pull him closer. She turned back to the stove briefly to switch off the burner, the last wisps of steam curling up like festive ribbons, then plated a smaller portion for herself—two pancakes, a modest scoop of eggs, and a couple of bacon pieces. The Santa hat felt a little silly now under his gaze, but she left it on, embracing the whimsy of the morning.

Ben picked up the fork she'd set beside the plate, his eyes never leaving her face as he speared a piece of pancake, bringing it to his mouth. The first bite was slow, deliberate, and he chewed thoughtfully, the flavors bursting—sweet syrup cutting through the savory bacon she'd nestled alongside.

"This is incredible," he said after swallowing, his voice genuine with appreciation. He leaned forward on his elbows, the muscles in his arms flexing subtly, bringing him nearer to where she stood on the other side. "And you... you look like you stepped out of one of those old holiday cards. Red dress, tights, the hat—it's perfect."

His gaze flicked up to the pom-pom, then back to her eyes, holding there with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. He was so in love, it showed in the way his smile softened around the edges, in the quiet way he savored not just the food, but the sight of her moving through his kitchen like she belonged.

Rey laughed softly, a sound like tinkling bells, as she poured two mugs of coffee from the pot she'd brewed earlier—strong and black for him, with a splash of milk for her. She slid one over to him, their fingers brushing again, this time lingering a second longer.

She took a sip of her coffee, the warmth spreading through her chest, and watched him eat, the domesticity of it all wrapping around them like a blanket. Outside, the snow had picked up, swirling in gentle eddies against the window, but inside, the kitchen glowed with the soft hum of the fridge and the occasional clink of his fork.

He took another bite, this one of eggs, the fluffy texture melting on his tongue, and set the fork down for a moment to reach across the island. His hand found hers, thumb tracing a slow circle over her knuckles, the touch grounding and affectionate.

"You didn't have to do all this," he said quietly, though his eyes said he was glad she had. "Waking up to you singing, dancing around like that... it's the best gift I could ask for."

There was a vulnerability in his words, a depth that spoke of how much these small moments meant to him, especially on a day that carried so much weight from his own past holidays. He squeezed her hand gently, pulling her a fraction closer, the air between them charged with unspoken promises.

Rey felt her heart swell, the loneliness that had nipped at her edges in the quiet hours before fully dissolving under his gaze. She set her mug down and leaned in, her free hand reaching to trace the line of his collarbone, bare and warm under her fingertips.

"I wanted to," she whispered, her voice sincere. "For us. It's our first real Christmas together, right? No sneaking around—just this." She gestured vaguely at the plates, the steaming food, the hat still perched on her head, but her eyes meant so much more: the life they were building, piece by piece, amidst the snow and the secrets they'd left behind.

Ben nodded, finishing another forkful before standing to round the island, closing the space entirely. He stood before her now, towering yet gentle, his boxers shifting as he moved, and cupped her face in his hands, thumbs brushing her cheeks. The kiss he gave her was soft at first, tasting of syrup and coffee, deepening just enough to convey the love pooling in his chest. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, breaths mingling in the warm kitchen air. "Best morning ever," he murmured, and Rey believed him, her arms wrapping around his neck as the snow continued to fall, turning the world outside into a hushed wonderland just for them.

 

With breakfast plates cleared and the kitchen left in a tidy glow, Rey wiped her hands on a dish towel, her eyes lingering on Ben as he rinsed the last mug under the faucet. The steam from the coffee had dissipated, leaving behind the lingering aroma of syrup and bacon that clung to the air like a sweet memory. She felt a lazy contentment settle over her, the kind that made her want to stretch out the morning into something endless. Ben turned off the water, shaking droplets from his hands, his boxers riding low enough to tease the V of his hips, and caught her staring with that knowing smile of his.

"Ready for the next part of our Christmas?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine despite the warmth of the room.

Rey nodded, stepping closer to loop her arm through his, the fabric of her red dress brushing against his bare skin.

"Movies and you? Sign me up," she replied, her tone playful as she tugged him toward the living room. The transition was seamless, their bare feet padding across the hardwood floor, the Santa hat still perched jauntily on her head like a crown of holiday mischief. The living room opened up before them, bathed in the soft, diffused light filtering through frost-laced windows. The Christmas tree they'd decorated the night before stood sentinel in the corner, its lights twinkling in a slow, rhythmic pulse that matched the lazy fall of snow outside. The sofa, a deep plush sectional piled with throw blankets and pillows, beckoned like an invitation to indulgence.

Ben flicked on the TV with the remote, the screen flickering to life with the familiar glow of a streaming menu. He scrolled through the holiday selections, his free arm draping around Rey's shoulders as she nestled against his side.

"Classics or something cheesy?" he murmured, his breath warm against her ear, fingers tracing idle patterns on her upper arm through the thin red fabric. She tilted her head to look up at him, her cheek brushing his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath her.

"Cheesy all the way." Her hand slid to his waist, fingers hooking lightly into the elastic of his boxers, a subtle claim that made his breath hitch just a fraction.

He selected the movie, the opening credits rolling with upbeat holiday tunes and scenes of twinkling lights and falling snow. They sank onto the sofa together, Ben stretching out first, his long legs extending along the cushions as he pulled her down with him. Rey curled into his side, her body molding perfectly against his—her head on his shoulder, one leg thrown over his thigh, the white tights whispering against his skin. He tugged a soft fleece blanket over them both, the weight settling like a cocoon, trapping their shared warmth. The room dimmed slightly as he adjusted the lights, the tree's glow casting dancing shadows that played across their faces.

As the movie began, with the protagonist rushing through a bustling city street laden with shopping bags, Rey let out a contented sigh, her fingers tracing lazy circles on Ben's abdomen. His skin was smooth and warm under her touch, the faint trail of dark hair leading downward drawing her gaze for a moment before she met his eyes.

"This is perfect," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the dialogue on screen. Ben turned his head, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering there as if savoring the taste of her skin.

"You make it perfect," he replied, his hand sliding down to rest on her hip, thumb stroking the curve where dress met thigh.

The film progressed, the small-town girl arriving in the big city only to clash with the brooding billionaire in a coffee shop mishap. Rey chuckled at the contrived meet-cute, her laughter vibrating against Ben's chest.

"Think that's how it really happens? Spilling lattes and instant sparks?" she teased, propping herself up on one elbow to face him better. Her Santa hat tilted precariously, and Ben reached up to steady it, his fingers brushing through her hair in the process.

"If it does, I want my latte spill with you," he said, his eyes darkening with that mix of humor and heat that always made her stomach flutter. He pulled her closer, their faces inches apart, and stole a quick kiss—soft and teasing, tasting faintly of the syrup from breakfast.

She deepened it for a beat, her tongue flicking against his lower lip before pulling back with a grin.

The movie shifted to a montage of holiday preparations—decorating a tree, baking cookies—and Rey felt a pang of nostalgia mixed with joy. This was their bubble, away from the world's chaos, just them and these stolen moments. Ben's fingers dipped lower, tracing the seam of her tights along her outer thigh, a gentle exploration that sent tingles racing across her skin.

"What are you thinking?" he asked softly, his voice cutting through a scene where the characters shared their first tentative dance.

Rey glanced up, her eyes meeting his in the low light.

"About how lucky I am. Waking up here, with you... it's like a dream I don't want to wake from."

Her words carried a vulnerability, the weight of her past holidays—lonely dorm rooms and unanswered texts—hovering unspoken. Ben's expression softened, his hand cupping her cheek as he turned her face to his.

"Then don't. Stay in this dream with me. Every day, if you want." He kissed her again, slower this time, pouring affection into the press of his lips, the way his tongue gently coaxed hers.

When they parted, breathless, she whispered, "I love you," the words slipping out like a promise, and he echoed them back, his voice rough with emotion.

The movie played on, the plot thickening with misunderstandings and heartfelt confessions, but their attention waned in favor of each other. Rey shifted, straddling his lap under the blanket for a better angle, her dress hiking up to expose more of her tights-clad legs. Ben's hands settled on her waist, gripping just firmly enough to steady her as she leaned in, their foreheads touching.

"You're distracting me from the plot," he murmured, though his eyes sparkled with amusement, one hand sliding up her back to pull her closer. She rocked her hips subtly, feeling the growing hardness beneath his boxers, a flirtatious grind that drew a low groan from him.

"Good. Who needs plot when we have this?" she replied, nipping at his earlobe before trailing kisses down his neck.

He tilted his head back against the cushions, giving her access, his fingers digging into her hips as she explored. The TV droned on with a comedic scene involving a disastrous holiday party, but Ben's focus was solely on her—the way her breath ghosted over his collarbone, the soft press of her breasts against his chest through the red fabric.

"Rey," he breathed, his voice laced with desire, "you're going to make me forget the whole movie." She lifted her head, smirking as she captured his lips in a heated kiss, tongues tangling in a dance more passionate than anything on screen. His hands roamed, one slipping under her dress to caress the smooth nylon of her tights, tracing the edge where they met bare skin at her thigh.

They broke apart when the movie's romantic climax began—the billionaire confessing his love under the city tree—and Rey laughed softly, sliding off his lap to curl back into his side.

"Okay, fine, a little movie time," she conceded, though her hand remained on his chest, feeling his heartbeat race. Ben wrapped his arm around her, pulling the blanket higher, his lips brushing her temple.

"As long as I have you here, I don't care what we watch." They settled into a comfortable rhythm, the film providing a backdrop to their quiet intimacies—stolen glances, whispered endearments, fingers interlaced under the covers.

As the credits rolled, Ben queued up another, this one a heartwarming tale of family reunions and second chances. The snow outside had thickened, blanketing the world in white silence, but inside, their day unfolded in languid stretches. Rey fed him a piece of peppermint bark from the coffee table, her fingers lingering on his lips as he sucked them clean, his eyes locking onto hers with playful intent.

"Tastes better from you," he said, pulling her hand down to kiss her palm. She shivered at the gesture, leaning in to whisper, "Wait till later. I have more surprises." The flirting wove through their conversation like tinsel, light and sparkling, building anticipation without rush.

Hours slipped by in this haze, the second movie giving way to a third—a nostalgic animated special with talking reindeer and magical mishaps. Rey's head rested in Ben's lap now, her Santa hat discarded on the floor, hair fanned out across his thighs. He ran his fingers through the strands, massaging her scalp in slow, soothing circles that made her hum with pleasure.

The day stretched on, filled with these moments: her giggling at a corny line on screen only to have him tickle her sides until she begged for mercy; him pulling her onto his chest during a sad scene, murmuring reassurances that had nothing to do with the plot; shared sips from a mug of hot cocoa she'd fetched mid-movie, the chocolate lingering on their kisses. Whispers of 'I love you' punctuated the dialogue, each one deeper than the last, weaving their bond tighter amid the festive glow.

By early afternoon, as the light outside began to wane into a soft twilight, they remained entwined, the remote forgotten beside them. The movies blurred into a comforting hum, but the real story was theirs—flirty touches escalating to lingering caresses, words of affection spoken against skin, a day devoted to rediscovering each other in the quiet magic of Christmas. Rey felt anchored in his arms, the earlier ache of longing replaced by a full, glowing warmth, and as Ben's hand slipped under the blanket to intertwine with hers, she knew this was the holiday she'd always needed.

 

As the afternoon light faded into the soft hush of early evening, the house wrapped itself in the golden glow of kitchen lamps and the twinkling persistence of the Christmas tree visible through the open doorway. The scent of roasting turkey mingled with the sharp tang of cranberry sauce and the earthy warmth of sage stuffing, filling the air with promises of indulgence. Ben stood at the counter, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a light sheen of sweat on his brow from the oven's heat. He basted the turkey one final time, the juices sizzling as they hit the hot skin, before sliding the pan back into the warmth. His focus was steady, but every so often, his gaze flicked to Rey perched on the island counter, her legs swinging idly, the hem of her red dress riding up just enough to show the edge of her white tights.

Rey leaned back on her hands, the cool marble pressing into her palms, her Santa hat long discarded but the festive spirit still sparkling in her eyes. She'd spent the last hour there, content to watch him work—his strong hands wielding the carving knife with precision, the way his muscles flexed under his shirt as he reached for spices. It was mesmerizing, this domestic side of him, turning the holiday meal into an act of love. The movies had left them in a lazy, affectionate haze, but now hunger—both for food and each other—stirred the air. She bit her lip, glancing toward the living room where the small pile of wrapped gifts sat under the tree, one box in particular catching her eye with its elegant silver paper and a tag in Ben's neat handwriting.

"So, what do we do presents?" she asked, her voice light and curious, tilting her head as she swung her legs a bit faster, her foot accidentally brushing his hip as he passed by with a bowl of mashed potatoes.

Ben paused, setting the bowl down with a soft thud, his lips curving into an amused smile. He wiped his hands on a towel slung over his shoulder, stepping closer to stand between her knees, his presence warm and enveloping.

"The box is tormenting you?" he teased, his eyes locking onto hers, dark and playful, as he rested his hands on the counter on either side of her, caging her in without touching.

Rey laughed, a soft, bubbly sound that echoed in the cozy space, reaching out to trace a finger down his arm, feeling the faint prickle of goosebumps under her touch.

"It's whispering 'open me'," she said playfully, her tone mock-serious as she leaned forward, her breath ghosting over his jaw. She could smell the herbs on him, mixed with his clean, masculine scent, and it made her want to pull him closer, to forget dinner altogether. But she held back, savoring the build-up, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners with shared mirth.

He chuckled, low and rumbling, leaning in until their noses nearly brushed.

"Persistent little thing, isn't it? But patience, Rey. Good things come to those who wait." His voice dropped an octave on the last words, laced with a hint of promise that sent a flutter through her chest. He straightened then, reluctant to break the moment, and turned back to the stove, stirring the gravy with deliberate slowness, the wooden spoon scraping against the pan in a rhythmic whisper.

She watched him, her chin propped on her hand now, the island's edge digging slightly into her elbow but she didn't mind. The kitchen felt alive around them—the gentle bubble of vegetables simmering on the back burner, the tick of the oven timer winding down, the distant hush of snow tapping against the windowpanes.

Outside, the world was a blanket of white, pristine and quiet, but in here, it was all warmth and anticipation. Rey's mind wandered to the gift again, wondering what lay inside that silver wrapping. Ben had been secretive about it all day, his smiles turning enigmatic whenever she prodded. Was it jewelry? Something personal, like a locket with their initials? Or perhaps a promise, something to symbolize the future they'd whispered about that morning. The thought made her heart swell, a quiet ache of happiness.

Ben plated the food with care, the turkey slices fanned out beside heaps of stuffing and bright green beans, a dollop of cranberry adding a pop of color. Steam rose in lazy curls, carrying the savory aroma that made her stomach rumble audibly. He glanced over his shoulder, catching the sound, and grinned.

"After dinner, I figured we could go for a walk in the snow." His suggestion hung in the air, casual but thoughtful, painting a picture of bundled-up strolls under streetlights, their hands linked against the chill.

Rey tilted her head, considering, her ponytail slipping over her shoulder as she did. The idea appealed—the crisp bite of winter air, the crunch of fresh powder underfoot, sharing breaths that fogged in the cold. It would be romantic, an extension of their day, away from the house's cozy confines but still wrapped in each other's presence.

"Sounds good," she said, her voice soft with genuine pleasure, watching as he dished up their Christmas dinner. He portioned hers first, sliding the plate across the island toward her with a flourish, complete with a sprig of rosemary garnish he'd tucked in at the last second.

"For my favorite person," he said, his eyes meeting hers over the steaming meal, the words simple but weighted with the depth of what they meant. Rey's cheeks warmed, not from the kitchen heat, but from the way he looked at her—like she was the only thing that mattered in his world. She hopped down from the counter, her tights whispering against the stool as she settled beside him at the small table tucked in the corner. The chairs scraped softly on the tile, and they sat close, knees brushing under the tablecloth, the intimacy of the space drawing them nearer.

Ben poured them each a glass of red wine, the liquid glugging from the bottle in a deep, resonant pour, then clinked his glass against hers.

"To us," he toasted, his free hand finding hers across the table, thumb stroking the back in slow circles. "And to many more Christmases like this."

"To us," she echoed, sipping the wine, its tart richness bursting on her tongue, warming her from the inside out. They ate in companionable rhythm, forks tinkling against plates, occasional hums of appreciation breaking the quiet. The turkey was juicy, the stuffing perfectly seasoned with hints of onion and thyme, and Rey savored each bite, stealing glances at Ben between mouthfuls. He ate with the same focus he cooked with, but his attention was on her—asking if she liked the gravy, refilling her wine when it dipped low, his foot nudging hers playfully under the table.

Conversation flowed easily, weaving between lighthearted banter and deeper threads. She told him about her favorite childhood Christmases—the rare ones where her dad had time off, stringing lights on a scraggly tree in their apartment—and he shared stories of his family's chaotic gatherings, Leia's elaborate spreads clashing with Han's preference for takeout. Laughter punctuated the meal, her hand reaching for his midway through, fingers interlacing as they lingered over dessert—a simple apple pie he'd baked earlier, its crust flaky and golden, served with scoops of vanilla ice cream that melted into sweet pools.

By the time plates were cleared, the sky outside had deepened to a velvet indigo, stars pricking through the clouds like distant lights on the tree. Rey helped rinse the dishes, standing hip-to-hip with him at the sink, suds bubbling up as she passed him plates. Their shoulders bumped in the tight space, eliciting grins and stolen kisses—quick presses of lips that tasted of wine and pie.

"Walk?" he asked once the kitchen gleamed again, drying his hands and holding out his coat for her.

She nodded, slipping into it, the wool heavy and comforting, then bundled into a scarf and gloves he'd fetched from the hall closet. Ben layered up too, his jacket zipping with a decisive rasp, he grabbed the box and put it in his pocket before they stepped out into the biting cold. The snow had accumulated in soft drifts along the path, crunching under their boots as they linked arms and wandered down the quiet street. Streetlamps cast pools of amber light, illuminating falling flakes that danced like confetti. Rey leaned into him, her breath visible in puffs, the chill nipping at her cheeks but his warmth chasing it away.

 

As they turned the corner, the park unfolded before them like a scene from a holiday tale, transformed into a snowy wonderland under the moon's pale glow. Tall evergreens stood sentinel along the edges, their branches heavy with accumulated flakes that bent them into graceful arches, dusted white as if powdered with sugar. Benches, half-buried in drifts, invited no one but the wind, and the faint outline of a sledding hill loomed in the distance, untouched and pristine. The air carried the clean, sharp scent of pine and ice, mingling with the distant echo of a church bell tolling the hour, marking the deepening of Christmas evening.

Ben led her deeper into the park, his arm slipping around her waist to draw her closer, sharing his body heat as they navigated the winding trail.

"This way," he murmured, his voice low and intimate, lips brushing the shell of her ear. She nodded, leaning into him, her boots sinking slightly into the softer snow off the path. The world felt hushed, as if the snow had muffled every sound except their own—the soft scrape of soles on ice-rimed gravel, the occasional snap of a twig underfoot, and the steady thump of her heart, quickened by the magic of the moment.

They emerged at the edge of the pond, and Rey paused, her eyes widening in quiet awe. The water lay frozen solid, a vast mirror of glass stretching out beneath the night sky, reflecting the scattered stars and the faint aurora of city lights on the horizon. Edges of the ice glittered with frost, like veins of silver threading through crystal, and in places, delicate patterns of snow had settled into swirling designs, undisturbed by wind or wanderer. Bare willows arched over one side, their branches etched black against the white expanse, while on the far bank, a cluster of lanterns from a nearby gazebo glowed softly, casting warm halos that made the scene even more enchanting. It was magical, this frozen tableau—beautiful in its stillness, a secret world just for them, where time seemed to pause amid the holiday hush.

"Look at it," Rey whispered, squeezing Ben's hand as they began to circle the pond's perimeter, the path cleared just enough to walk without sinking too deep. Her cheeks flushed from the cold, but her smile was radiant, eyes tracing the icy surface as if searching for hidden fairies in the cracks. "It's like something out of a dream. No one's here—it's all ours."

Ben's gaze wasn't on the pond but on her, the way the moonlight caught the stray hairs escaping her scarf, turning them to threads of gold. He nodded, his thumb tracing slow circles on the back of her gloved hand.

"I come here sometimes when I need to think," he admitted, his breath fogging the air between them. "The quiet... it clears everything." They walked on, the crunch of snow under their feet the only sound, the pond's edge guiding them in a gentle loop. He pointed out small details—a cluster of evergreen boughs heavy with icicles that chimed faintly in the breeze, the way the ice had captured fallen leaves in mid-twirl, preserved like amber.

As they rounded the halfway mark, the conversation turned inward, drawn by the intimacy of the setting. Rey spoke first, her voice soft against the chill.

"Today has been perfect, Ben. Waking up with you, the movies, dinner... I didn't know Christmas could feel like this. Not after everything." She glanced at him, vulnerability flickering in her eyes, memories of past holidays—lonely ones in dorms or with strained family calls—lingering like shadows. But here, with him, those faded into the background, replaced by the solid warmth of his presence.

He stopped then, turning to face her fully, the pond at their backs like a silent witness.

"It hasn't always been easy for me either," he confessed, his free hand rising to cup her cheek, thumb brushing away a snowflake that had landed there. "Holidays were... complicated. But with you, it's different. Real. I want more of this—more mornings, more walks, more of us building something." His words hung in the air, earnest and unadorned, the cold sharpening their weight. Rey's heart swelled, leaning into his touch, the wool of his glove rough yet tender against her skin.

They resumed walking, slower now, arms linked as they shared stories in hushed tones. Nearing the pond's far side, where the lanterns glowed brighter, Ben halted again, this time reaching into his coat pocket with deliberate care. His expression shifted, a mix of nerves and resolve softening his features.

"Rey," he said, his voice steady but laced with emotion, pulling out a small velvet box that caught the light like a captured star. "I know we've talked about the future. But I want you to have something to hold onto, something that promises more."

Her breath caught, eyes dropping to the box as he opened it slowly, revealing a delicate ring nestled in black satin—a simple band of white gold with a single emerald-cut diamond that sparkled with quiet fire, flanked by tiny sapphires evoking winter skies. It wasn't ostentatious, but elegant, timeless, speaking of commitments yet to come.

"This isn't a full proposal—not yet," he continued, taking her hand and sliding the ring onto her finger with gentle precision, the metal cool against her skin before warming from her touch. "It's a promise. When you graduate, when we're ready to face whatever comes next without the weight of school or doubts... I'll ask you properly. To build that life together. Marry me, Rey—not today, but one day. After you walk that stage, with the world at our feet."

Tears welled in her eyes, not from the cold but from the depth of his words, the way the ring fit perfectly, as if always meant to be there. She stared at it, the diamond catching the lantern light in prisms that danced across the snow.

Notes:

*Sits in the corner*

Mwahahahahaha

Chapter 22

Rey's gaze dropped to the ring once more, the diamond catching the soft glow of the lanterns and scattering tiny rainbows across the snow at their feet. It was exquisite—simple yet profound, the white gold band hugging her finger as if it had been waiting there all along. Her breath hitched, a rush of emotions swelling in her chest: surprise, joy, and an overwhelming sense of certainty that this was right, that they were right. Slowly, she lifted her eyes to meet Ben's, finding his dark gaze filled with a vulnerability that mirrored her own, his expression a blend of hope and quiet intensity that made her heart ache in the best possible way.

"Oh my god, yes!" she exclaimed, her voice breaking with elation, the words tumbling out in a breathless whisper that echoed softly over the frozen pond. Tears shimmered in her eyes, not from sorrow but from the pure, unfiltered happiness bubbling up inside her. Ben's face lit up, a radiant smile spreading across his features, crinkling the corners of his eyes and softening the lines of his jaw. He looked utterly transformed in that moment—boyish and triumphant, his usual composed demeanor giving way to unbridled joy. With a gentle reverence, he took her hand in his, his fingers steady despite the faint tremble of emotion, and slid the ring fully into place if it had shifted in her awe. The metal warmed instantly against her skin, sealing the promise with a tactile intimacy that sent a shiver through her, unrelated to the winter chill.

Overcome, Rey couldn't hold back; she launched herself at him, jumping into his arms with a joyful laugh that cut through the hushed night. Her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, her hands framing his face as she captured his lips in a fervent kiss. It was deep and unhurried at first, her mouth moving against his with a tenderness that spoke of gratitude and love, then growing more urgent as the reality sank in. Ben caught her effortlessly, his strong arms encircling her back, holding her close as if she were the most precious thing in his world—which, to him, she was. He kissed her back with equal passion, his lips firm and warm, tasting faintly of the hot chocolate they'd shared earlier, a sweet reminder of the day's comforts.

He lifted her higher then, spinning her slowly in a gentle circle, their bodies pressed together in the crisp air. The motion made the snowflakes whirl around them like confetti, the frozen pond reflecting the scene in fractured, magical fragments. Rey's laughter mingled with his low chuckle, a harmonious sound that filled the empty park, chasing away any lingering doubts. She pulled back just enough to rest her forehead against his, their breaths syncing in visible puffs that danced between them. 'I can't believe this,' she murmured, her fingers tracing the stubble along his jaw, her eyes searching his with a depth of affection that made his heart swell.

"You... this... it's everything."

Ben's hands splayed across her back, supporting her weight with ease, his gaze never leaving hers.

"It is," he agreed softly, his voice rough with emotion, the words carrying the weight of all they'd built together—the stolen moments, the quiet understandings, the unwavering support through her studies and his own uncertainties. "And it's just the beginning, Rey. I see us—years from now. A home, days like today, every day."

He pressed another kiss to her lips, lighter this time, lingering as if savoring the taste of their future.

She unwrapped her legs slowly, sliding down until her boots touched the snow-packed path, but she didn't step away. Instead, she stayed nestled against him, her arms looped around his neck, the ring glinting as her hand rested on his shoulder. The world around them—the snowy wonderland, the icy pond's serene mirror, the distant twinkle of holiday lights—faded into a soft backdrop, leaving only the two of them in this bubble of romance. Ben tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his thumb brushing her cheek, wiping away a stray tear that had escaped.

"Merry Christmas, my love," he whispered, the endearment slipping out naturally, binding them closer.

Rey smiled up at him, her heart full, the cold forgotten in the warmth of his embrace.

"Merry Christmas," she echoed, rising on her toes for one more kiss, soft and promising, under the watchful stars. They stood there a while longer, wrapped in each other, the promise ring a tangible link to the life they were stepping toward, hand in hand through the snow.

 

Hand in hand, Rey and Ben lingered a moment longer by the frozen pond, the weight of the promise ring on her finger a constant, thrilling reminder of the path they were now on. The snow continued to fall in lazy spirals, blanketing the world in a hush that amplified the quiet rhythm of their breathing. Ben squeezed her hand gently, his thumb tracing small circles over her knuckles, a silent reassurance that this wasn't a dream.

"Shall we keep walking?" he murmured, his voice low and warm against the chill, eyes sparkling with the same joy that lit her from within.

Rey nodded, her smile radiant as she leaned into his side, the fur-lined hood of her coat brushing his shoulder.

"Yes, let's. I don't want this night to end." They turned from the pond, following the winding path that meandered through the park, the crunch of snow under their boots the only sound breaking the serenity. Streetlamps cast golden pools of light ahead, illuminating the way like scattered stars fallen to earth, while the distant hum of holiday music from nearby homes added a festive undercurrent to their stroll. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine from the evergreens lining the trail, and Rey felt a profound peace settle over her, the earlier conflicts of secrecy and distance seeming distant now, overshadowed by the certainty of their commitment.

As they walked, Ben drew her closer, his arm slipping around her waist to ward off the cold—or perhaps just to keep her near. She nestled against him, her head resting on his shoulder, the ring catching flecks of light with every step.

"Tell me what you're thinking," he prompted softly, his breath stirring the hair at her temple. Rey tilted her head up, meeting his gaze, her eyes reflecting the soft glow around them.

"About us. About how we got here. All those late nights in your office, pretending it was just study sessions... and now this." She lifted her hand, admiring the ring again, the diamond winking like a secret shared. "It feels like magic, Ben. Holiday magic, maybe."

He chuckled, a deep, resonant sound that vibrated through her.

"It is magic. But it's our magic—the kind we make together."

They paused at a wooden bench dusted with snow, and Ben brushed it off with his gloved hand before guiding her to sit. For a few minutes, they simply watched the snow dance, his arm around her shoulders, her fingers intertwined with his. He spoke then of dreams for their future: a small apartment near the university once she graduated, weekends exploring the city without fear of prying eyes, holidays like this one but open and shared with the world. Rey listened, her heart swelling with each word, occasionally interjecting with her own visions—lazy Sundays reading by the fire, trips to places they'd only talked about in whispers. The conversation flowed easily, laced with laughter and tender glances, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around them like the falling flakes.

Eventually, they rose and resumed their walk, the path curving toward a open clearing where the snow lay untouched, a pristine canvas under the moonlight. The playfulness that had always simmered beneath their seriousness bubbled up as Rey scooped a handful of snow, packing it loosely in her palm.

"You know," she said with a mischievous glint in her eye, "you promised me adventure tonight. A walk in the snow counts, but maybe we need a little more excitement." Ben raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking in amusement as he caught the intent in her tone.

"Oh? And what did you have in mind, Miss Mischief?"

Before he could react, Rey lobbed the snowball at him, the soft projectile bursting against his chest in a puff of white. It wasn't hard—just enough to startle him into a surprised laugh, his eyes widening in mock outrage.

"You little—" He bent quickly, gathering his own ammunition, the snow crunching under his gloves as he formed a perfect sphere. Rey squealed and darted away, her boots sinking into the fresh powder, the chase igniting a joyful energy between them. She glanced over her shoulder, her cheeks flushed from the cold and exertion, ponytail swinging as she ran a few steps ahead.

Ben's throw was gentle but accurate, the snowball grazing her arm and dissolving into icy crystals that made her gasp and spin around.

"Missed!" she teased, retaliating with another toss that sailed past his ear. He feigned a dodge, then closed the distance in two long strides, scooping her up from behind in a bear hug that lifted her off the ground. She wriggled playfully, laughing breathlessly as snowflakes clung to their lashes.

"Surrender!" he demanded, his voice muffled against her neck, but there was no real demand—only delight. Rey twisted in his arms, facing him, and smeared a handful of snow across his nose instead. "Never!"

The snowball fight devolved into a whirlwind of light-hearted chaos: snowballs flying in gentle arcs, misses turning into shared giggles, hits met with exaggerated groans and retaliatory tackles into the soft drifts. Ben let her land a few solid ones, his deep laughter echoing as he wiped powder from his coat, while Rey evaded with surprising agility, her earlier tension melting away in the pure, childlike fun. They collapsed eventually onto a snowbank, breathless and beaming, side by side with their hands clasped above their heads. The cold seeped through their clothes, but the warmth of their proximity chased it back, Rey's head on his chest as they caught their breath, staring up at the starry sky peeking through the clouds.

"You always know how to make me feel alive," she whispered, turning to press a soft kiss to his jaw. Ben tilted his head, capturing her lips in a lingering kiss that tasted of snow and sweetness, his free hand cupping her cheek.

"And you make every moment worth it," he replied, his voice husky with affection.

 

The snow beneath them was a soft, yielding bed, cool against their heated skin as Rey and Ben lay side by side in the untouched drift, their breaths mingling in visible puffs against the night air. The snowball fight had left them flushed and exhilarated, cheeks rosy from the cold and laughter, clothes dusted with white powder that melted slowly into damp patches. Rey turned toward him fully, her body pressing close, the promise ring glinting faintly as she reached up to trace the line of his jaw with her fingertips. Ben's eyes locked onto hers, dark and intense in the moonlight, and he leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that started slow—tender presses that deepened with each passing second, tongues brushing in a rhythm that echoed the pounding of her heart.

She felt the shift in herself first, that familiar spark igniting low in her belly, fueled by the intimacy of the moment and the raw joy of being here with him, unhidden and free. Her hand, gloved at first, slipped free of its constraint, and she trailed her fingers down his chest, over the wool of his coat, feeling the solid warmth of his body beneath. The kiss grew hungrier, her teeth grazing his lower lip as she shifted closer, one leg draping over his thigh. Ben responded in kind, his hand sliding to the small of her back, pulling her flush against him, but it was Rey who took the lead, her palm venturing lower, boldly cupping the growing bulge in his pants through the layers of fabric.

Ben groaned into her mouth, a low rumble that vibrated through her, but she didn't stop—couldn't stop. Her fingers rubbed along the length of his cock, feeling it harden under her touch, thick and insistent against her hand. She squeezed gently, stroking up and down in firm passes that made him buck his hips slightly, breaking the kiss to gasp against her neck.

"Rey," he murmured, voice rough with surprise and desire, his breath hot on her skin. But she silenced him with another kiss, her hand working faster now, the friction building heat that chased away the chill seeping through their clothes. The snow around them crunched softly as they shifted, her body arching toward him, need pooling hot and urgent between her thighs.

It was quick after that—frantic, driven by the exposure of the open park and the thrill of it all. Ben's hands moved with purpose, one gripping her hip to steady her as he rolled them slightly so she was half beneath him, the snow packing cold and wet against her back through her coat. His other hand hiked up the hem of her dress, the fabric bunching around her waist in a rush of silk and wool, exposing the sheer white tights clinging to her legs. Rey whimpered into his mouth, her own hands fumbling at his belt, but he was faster, undoing the buckle and zipper of his pants with practiced ease, shoving them down just enough to free his cock. It sprang out, hard and throbbing in the cold air, the tip already glistening as he positioned himself between her spread thighs.

The tights were in the way, a flimsy barrier that Ben didn't hesitate to tear. His fingers hooked into the crotch, yanking sharply, the fabric ripping with a satisfying tear that echoed in the quiet night. Rey gasped, the sound sharp and needy, her pussy exposed now to the icy kiss of the snow-dusted air, her arousal slick and warm in contrast. She was wet already, aching for him, and as Ben guided his cock to her entrance, rubbing the head along her folds to coat himself, she moaned loudly—too loudly, the sound carrying over the hushed park like a siren's call.

"Shh," Ben whispered urgently, his eyes flicking toward the distant path, though no one was near. He pressed his palm over her mouth, firm but gentle, muffling her as he thrust forward in one swift motion, burying himself deep inside her.

Rey cried out against his hand, the vibration of her moan humming into his skin as her walls clenched around his cock, stretching to take him fully. The cold bit at her bare ass and thighs where the snow touched, but the heat of him filling her overrode it all, a delicious burn that made her hips buck up to meet him. Ben groaned low, his forehead resting against hers, eyes squeezed shut for a moment as he savored the tight, wet grip of her pussy. Then he started moving—quick, hard thrusts that drove him in and out, the snow shifting beneath them with each snap of his hips. Her legs wrapped around his waist as best she could, heels digging into his back, pulling him deeper, her muffled moans growing desperate against his palm.

He fucked her relentlessly, the pace building fast, his free hand bracing beside her head to leverage his weight, cock slamming into her with wet, obscene sounds that blended with the soft patter of falling snow. Rey's body arched, her breasts heaving under her dress as pleasure coiled tight in her core, the contrast of the freezing ground and his scorching heat pushing her toward the edge. She sucked at his fingers instinctively, tongue swirling over his palm, her eyes locked on his—wild, pleading. Ben's breaths came ragged, his thrusts erratic now, hips grinding against her clit with every plunge.

"Come for me," he growled softly, his hand pressing just enough to quiet her building cries, and she did—shattering around him with a strangled scream into his skin, her pussy pulsing and squeezing his cock in rhythmic waves.

The sensation pulled him over too, Ben burying himself to the hilt one last time, his body tensing as he came hard, spilling hot cum deep inside her in thick spurts. He shuddered above her, palm still over her mouth until the aftershocks faded, then slowly withdrew his hand, replacing it with a deep, breathless kiss. They lay tangled for a moment longer, his cock softening inside her, snowflakes settling on their lashes and clothes, the world around them pristine and silent once more. Rey's chest heaved, a satisfied smile curving her lips as she nuzzled into his neck, the warmth of their release a secret shared in the winter night.

 

The snow cradled their bodies like a vast, frozen blanket, its chill seeping through the damp fabric of their clothes where it had melted against heated skin. Rey lay on her back, her dress still hiked up around her hips, the torn remnants of her tights dangling loosely from one thigh, exposing her to the crisp night air. Ben's pants were zipped but haphazard, his coat open as he propped himself on one elbow beside her, his other arm draped possessively across her waist. Their breaths came in slow, synchronized huffs, visible in the frigid air, mingling with the faint scent of pine from the nearby woods and the earthy tang of their shared release. The park was utterly still now, the distant city lights a hazy glow on the horizon, leaving the sky above them a canvas of infinite black pierced by a thousand twinkling stars. Snowflakes drifted lazily downward, catching the moonlight like tiny diamonds before dissolving on their lashes or cheeks.

Rey's chest rose and fell steadily, her body humming with the afterglow—a deep, satiated warmth that pooled in her limbs, chasing away the bite of the cold ground beneath her bare ass and legs. She felt his cum still inside her, a slick reminder of how he'd claimed her just moments ago, his cock pulsing as he filled her completely. Her pussy throbbed faintly with the echo of his thrusts, tender and full, and she shifted slightly, her thigh brushing against his, drawing a soft hum of contentment from her lips. The world felt suspended here, just the two of them in this hidden corner of the park, away from prying eyes, from the weight of school and secrets and futures uncertain. She stared up at the stars, tracing constellations she half-remembered from childhood books, her hand idly stroking the promise ring on her finger—the one he'd given her earlier by the frozen pond, its simple band a vow etched in silver.

Ben watched her for a long moment, his gaze tracing the curve of her profile, the way her lips curved in a lazy smile, her hair splayed out like a dark halo against the white snow. His heart swelled with something fierce and protective, a love that had rooted deep in him over stolen nights and whispered confessions. She was his—fiercely, irrevocably—and the thought of her leaving for auditions in LA, of empty mornings without her laugh echoing in his house, twisted like a knife. But tonight, under this endless sky, he couldn't hold it back anymore. He turned his head slowly, the snow crunching faintly under his cheek, and looked at her fully, his dark eyes soft with vulnerability.

"Rey," he said, his voice low and tender, barely above a whisper, laced with the raw emotion he'd been carrying since the ring.

She turned her head toward him at the sound, her eyes meeting his with that happy, unguarded glow—the one that made his chest ache with how deeply it undid him. Strands of her hair stuck to her damp forehead, and a flush still lingered on her cheeks from their frantic coupling.

"Mm?" she murmured, her tone light and content, a playful lilt underscoring the bliss of the moment. Her fingers intertwined with his where they rested on her waist, squeezing gently as if to say she was right here, always.

He swallowed, his thumb brushing slow circles over her knuckles, the cold making his skin prickle but his words burn hot. The stars reflected in her eyes, making them sparkle like the snow around them, and he felt the question rise unbidden, fueled by the intimacy of their bodies still tangled, the trust she'd shown by starting it all right here in the open.

"When you graduate," he began, his voice steady but soft, each word deliberate as if testing the air between them, "will you move in with me?"

The words hung there, simple yet monumental, wrapping around her like the warmth of his body against the chill. Rey's breath caught, her eyes widening slightly as she processed them, turning her head fully now to face him. The snow shifted beneath her as she propped herself up on one elbow, mirroring his position, her free hand coming up to cup his jaw. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, not from sorrow but from the overwhelming rush of it all—the love, the future he was offering, tangible and real after so many months of hiding. She'd dreamed of this, in quiet moments between classes or late nights in his bed, his cock buried deep as he held her close, whispering promises into her skin. But hearing it now, under the stars with his cum still leaking slowly from her pussy, made it feel like destiny unfolding.

"Yes," she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion, a tear slipping free to trace a warm path down her cheek before the cold turned it to ice. "Yes, I will."

She leaned in, closing the small distance between them, her lips brushing his in a kiss that was soft and lingering, tasting of salt and snow. Her hand slid into his hair, tugging gently as she deepened it, pouring all her yes into the press of her mouth against his. Ben's arm tightened around her waist, pulling her closer until she was half-draped over him, their bodies fitting together like pieces long separated. He kissed her back with equal fervor, his tongue tracing hers slowly, savoring the way she trembled—not from the cold, but from the joy blooming in her chest.

They broke apart only when breath demanded it, foreheads resting together, breaths mingling in warm puffs. Rey's tears flowed freer now, happy ones that she didn't bother to wipe away, her fingers tracing the line of his stubble, memorizing the feel of him.

"To wake up with you every morning, not just stolen weekends. To cook breakfast in your kitchen, argue over what movie to watch, feel you fuck me slow on the couch after a long day." She laughed lightly through the emotion, the sound breathy and real, her body shifting so her thigh pressed against his cock, still semi-hard beneath his pants, stirring faintly at her words.

Ben's hand moved up her back, under the edge of her coat, fingers splaying over the bare skin where her dress had ridden up. He felt the goosebumps there, the lingering warmth from their sex contrasting the snow's bite, and he rubbed slow, soothing circles to chase it away.

"I want that too," he murmured, his voice rough with feeling, eyes never leaving hers. "You in my space, making it ours." He kissed the tear on her cheek, his lips warm and gentle, then trailed down to her jaw, nipping softly as his hand ventured lower, cupping her ass and squeezing the firm flesh, pulling her flush against him.

Rey's breath hitched at the touch, a fresh wave of arousal flickering low in her belly despite the cold, her pussy clenching around the emptiness he'd left. She rocked her hips instinctively, grinding against his thigh, the snow packing beneath them as she did.

"Promise?" she asked, half-teasing, half-serious, her voice a whisper against his ear as she nuzzled into his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with sweat and sex.

"Promise," he replied, his hand sliding between her thighs now, fingers brushing the torn tights and the slick evidence of their earlier fuck. He stroked her gently there, over her swollen folds, feeling her wetness coat his fingertips as she moaned softly into his shoulder. The stars wheeled above them, indifferent witnesses to this quiet vow, the night wrapping them in its hush. They lay like that for what felt like hours, tangled and talking in murmurs—about the apartment he'd fix up, the bed they'd share, the life they'd build brick by brick. Rey's tears dried on her cheeks, replaced by smiles and kisses, her body warming under his touch as the snow continued to fall, blanketing their world in peaceful white.

Eventually, the cold won out, urging them to move. Ben helped her up first, steadying her as she tugged her dress down, the fabric sticking to her skin where it was damp. He zipped his pants fully, then shrugged off his coat to wrap it around her shoulders, enveloping her in his warmth.

"Come on," he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead, "let's get you home before you freeze." Rey nodded, slipping her hand into his, their fingers lacing tight as they trudged through the snow back toward the path, the stars lighting their way. The promise lingered between them, heavier than the ring on her finger, a future no longer just dreamed but claimed.

Chapter 23

The week after Christmas had blurred into a haze of unbridled passion, each day melting into the next with Ben's hands on her body, sex in every corner of the house—from the kitchen counter where he'd bent her over mid-breakfast, to the shower. They'd barely left the bed some afternoons. Nights ended with her riding him. It was pure indulgence, their bodies insatiable, the holiday isolation allowing them to fuck without restraint, reaffirming their bond with every slick slide and heated release. But now, as the calendar flipped toward the new year, reality edged closer—the start of term looming in just a few days, pulling Ben back to his professor duties and Rey toward her final few months.

New Year's Eve arrived with a soft chill in the air, snow still blanketing the world outside Ben's windows, but inside, the house glowed warm from the fireplace's crackle and the string lights they'd left up from Christmas. Rey lounged on the plush sofa in the living room, legs tucked beneath her in soft leggings and an oversized sweater that swallowed her frame—his sweater, actually, the one she'd stolen from his closet because it smelled like him, woodsy and masculine. Her phone rested in her lap, screen lit with the ongoing text thread to Rose, her fingers flying over the keys as she caught her friend up on the whirlwind of the past week.

Rose's messages popped up rapidly, the jealousy seeping through even in pixels.

Wait, so your dad just bailed? And now you're shacked up with the hot professor for NYE? Rey, that's straight out of a romance novel. I'm dying here in my aunt's freezing cabin with barely any signal and my cousins fighting over board games.'

Rey smiled, biting her lower lip as she typed back, her heart swelling with the truth of it all.

'Yeah. He said work came up or something—classic Dad. But Ben was amazing about it. Offered me to stay right away, no questions. We've been... yeah, it's been incredible. Like a dream I didn't know I needed.'

She hit send, leaning back into the cushions, the fire's warmth licking at her skin through the wool. It had been more than a dream; it was the life she craved, waking to his kisses, his fingers tracing her spine before slipping between her thighs to tease her awake with gentle strokes until she was wet and begging for him to fuck her properly.

Another buzz from her phone, Rose's response laced with envy.

'Incredible how? Spill. And jealous doesn't even cover it. My NYE is watching fireworks on TV while everyone else parties. You get the full fantasy—cuddles, champagne, probably mind-blowing sex. Lucky bitch.'

Rey's cheeks flushed at the directness, a soft laugh escaping her as she glanced sideways, unable to resist peeking at Ben. He sat in the armchair just beside the sofa, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his bare skin, his presence a magnetic pull even in this quiet moment. Shirtless, as he often was around the house now, his broad chest and defined abs on full display, the play of firelight casting shadows that accentuated every ridge and curve. Tattoos snaked up his arms—intricate black lines of patterns and subtle symbols that she'd traced with her tongue more times than she could count, following them from his wrists to where they disappeared over his shoulders. He wore his reading glasses, the thin frames perched on his nose, giving him that intellectual edge she adored, the kind that made her pulse quicken when he lectured in class but now, in private, it just amplified the raw sexiness of him. His laptop balanced on his thighs, covered only by loose sweatpants that hung low on his hips, the outline of his cock visible even at rest, stirring memories of how it hardened under her touch.

She bit her lip harder, the sting grounding her as heat pooled low in her belly, her pussy clenching involuntarily at the sight. God, she loved this look—the focused professor prepping for the semester ahead, notes scattered on the side table about syllabi and readings, yet utterly at ease in his skin, muscles flexing subtly as he typed. His dark hair was tousled from her fingers earlier that day, when she'd straddled him on this very sofa, grinding against his thigh until he'd flipped her onto her back and eaten her out, his tongue delving deep into her folds while she clutched at his hair. Now, he was oblivious to her stare, or maybe not—his lips quirked in that knowing half-smile, as if he sensed her gaze.

'Mind-blowing is an understatement,' Rey texted back to Rose, her free hand itching to reach out and touch him. 'He's been so attentive—cooking, talking about the future, making me feel... wanted. NYE with him feels right, you know? No drama, just us.' She paused, thumb hovering, before adding, 'Sorry you're stuck.'

Rose's reply came quick, a string of emojis—heart eyes mixed with a green monster. 'Happy NYE girl.'

Rey set her phone face-down, the conversation fading as her attention fully shifted to Ben. She shifted on the sofa, uncurling her legs to let one foot brush against his calf, a subtle invitation. He glanced up then, his eyes meeting hers over the rim of his glasses, dark and intense, seeing right through her.

"Everything okay?" he asked, voice low and smooth, closing the laptop with a soft click and setting it aside. His arm draped over the chair's edge, close enough for her to lean into if she wanted.

Rey nodded at Ben's question, her eyes locking onto his with a spark of mischief that made his breath hitch. The clock on the TV flickered in the corner of the room—11:50 PM, ten minutes until midnight, the countdown to the new year ticking away like a heartbeat. The fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows over their bodies, but the air between them thickened with anticipation, the remnants of her texting forgotten on the sofa cushion. She dropped to her knees on the soft rug in front of his armchair. The wool scratched lightly against her skin through her leggings, but she barely noticed, her focus narrowing to him—the shirtless expanse of his chest rising and falling, the tattoos curling like invitations up his arms, his glasses still perched on his nose, giving him that authoritative edge she craved.

Her hands reached out first, fingers trailing up the fabric of his jeans. Little moans escaped her lips, soft and needy, vibrating in her throat as she crawled closer, her knees parting slightly to steady herself, ass lifting just enough to sway enticingly. Ben shifted, his laptop already set aside on the side table. He stared down at her, dark eyes intense behind those frames, his cock twitching visibly against the confines of his pants as her fingers climbed higher, brushing the bulge that strained for her touch.

She fiddled with his belt, the metal buckle clinking softly as she tugged it open, her breaths coming quicker, eyes lifting to meet his with a desperate hunger that made his jaw clench. The room felt smaller, the outside world fading—the snow, the distant fireworks starting to pop in the neighborhood—nothing mattered but this, the playful edge of their student-professor game reigniting the fire that had simmered all week.

"Sorry about your work, it will have to wait Professor," she murmured, her voice husky and teasing, a wink flashing as her fingers hooked into the waistband. "Because I really need an A this term."

With a yank, she pulled his jeans down his hips, freeing his cock to spring out, thick and half-hard already, the head flushed and begging for her attention. Her hands wrapped around the base immediately, gripping firm, skin hot and velvety under her palms as she rubbed up and down the length, slow at first, teasing the underside with her thumb, circling the tip where a bead of pre-cum glistened.

Ben groaned low in his chest, the sound rumbling like thunder, his head tipping back against the chair for a split second before he forced himself to watch, one hand white-knuckling the armrest.

"An A... that's going to take some skill," he managed, voice roughened by desire, his hips shifting involuntarily as she stroked him harder, her grip tightening, twisting just enough to make his balls draw up tight. Rey's lips parted in a sly smile, her tongue darting out to wet them before she leaned in, taking him deep in one swift motion—swallowing his cock all the way down until her nose brushed his abdomen, the thick shaft stretching her mouth, filling her throat as she hollowed her cheeks and sucked.

"Fuck," he grunted, teeth gritting as pleasure shot through him like lightning, his free hand flying to her hair, fingers threading through the strands and gripping tight, not pulling yet but anchoring her there. The sensation of her throat constricting around him, hot and wet, her tongue pressing flat against the vein pulsing along his length—it was overwhelming, her moans humming vibrations straight to his core. He guided her then, a subtle push at first, his hips bucking up shallowly to fuck her mouth, the wet sounds of her sucking filling the room, saliva slicking his cock as she bobbed, taking him deeper with each pass.

"Let's see if you can get an A," he growled, the words edged with command, his protective affection twisting into this dominant role, eyes locked on her face—her lashes fluttering, cheeks hollowed, desperation in every eager swallow.

Rey's hands braced on his thighs, nails digging into the muscle as she worked him, her pussy throbbing with need, wetness soaking through her leggings from the sheer act of pleasing him. She pulled back just enough to swirl her tongue around the head, lapping at the slit before plunging down again, gagging slightly but pushing through, tears pricking her eyes from the depth. Ben's grip tightened in her hair, guiding her rhythm now—faster, shallower thrusts that made her lips stretch wide around him, his cock glistening with her spit. The clock ticked down—9 minutes, 8—the fire's warmth mirroring the heat building between them, his grunts growing louder, body tensing as she hollowed her cheeks harder, one hand slipping down to fondle his balls, rolling them gently while she sucked.

He watched her, mesmerized, the way her throat bulged with each deep take, her moans muffled but insistent, sending jolts up his spine.

"That's it, show me how bad you want it," he rasped, his voice breaking on a groan as she deepthroated him again, holding there, swallowing around his length until he couldn't hold back a sharp thrust, fucking her mouth with controlled power. Her eyes watered, but she met his gaze, playful desperation shining through, the roleplay fueling her as much as him—the good student earning her grade, the professor rewarding her effort. Pre-cum leaked steadily now, salty on her tongue, and she savored it, humming approval that made his thighs quake.

The minutes blurred, the TV murmuring some countdown show in the background, but Rey didn't care; her world was his cock, the way it throbbed against her tongue, the grip in her hair turning possessive. Ben's other hand joined the first, cupping her jaw to feel himself moving inside her mouth, thumb brushing her stretched lips.

"Good girl," he murmured, the praise slipping out amid the growls, his hips rolling up to meet her descent, the pace quickening as midnight loomed. She redoubled her efforts, sucking harder, one hand pumping the base in time with her mouth, twisting on the upstroke, determined to push him to the edge right as the year turned—her own arousal dripping down her thighs, clit aching for touch, but this was for him, for them, the ultimate celebration of their insatiable connection.

As the clock hit five minutes, Ben's breaths came ragged, his abs flexing under the tattoos, sweat beading on his skin from the restraint. He fucked her mouth deeper, guiding her head down fully, holding her there as she gagged and moaned, throat milking him until he pulled back, letting her gasp for air before she dove in again willingly.

"You're close to earning it," he panted, voice strained, the firelight dancing over his tensed body. Rey's hands roamed his thighs, then up to his chest, nails scraping over his nipples as she bobbed, the dual sensation making him arch. The room filled with the obscene slurp of her mouth on his cock, her whimpers of need, his grunts of pleasure—intimate, raw, building toward release just as the ball would drop outside.

Two minutes now, and Ben's control frayed, his hand fisting her hair tighter, fucking her mouth with short, sharp thrusts that had her choking softly, spit trailing down her chin onto her sweater. She loved it—the power dynamic, the way he took charge while she surrendered, her pussy clenching emptily, desperate for him later.

"Fuck, Rey—your mouth is perfect," he growled, eyes blazing down at her, glasses slipping slightly. She sucked harder in response, tongue flicking relentlessly, pushing him closer, the countdown on TV echoing faintly: Ten... nine...

Her free hand slipped between her own legs, rubbing her clit through the fabric for friction, but Ben noticed, his growl deepening.

"Focus on me—earn that A." He tugged her hand away, guiding it back to his balls, and she obeyed, massaging them as she took him deep once more, humming vibrations that nearly undid him. The world outside erupted in early cheers, but inside, it was their symphony: his cock pulsing in her throat, her moans urging him on, bodies synced in this erotic ritual.

As the clock struck midnight, fireworks boomed distantly, Ben came with a guttural

"Fuck!"—hot spurts of cum flooding her mouth, down her throat as she swallowed greedily, milking every drop with her sucking. He held her there, hips jerking, groaning through the waves, her name a broken chant on his lips. She pulled back slowly, licking him clean, eyes locked on his as confetti rained on TV, the new year dawning with his taste on her tongue.

Ben hauled her up then, kissing her fiercely, tasting himself on her lips, hands roaming to strip her leggings down.

"A+," he murmured against her mouth, flipping her onto the sofa, cock already hardening again as he positioned between her thighs. "Now, let's see how you handle the full lesson." He thrust into her pussy in one smooth stroke, filling her completely, her walls clenching around him as she cried out, legs wrapping his waist.

Rey's body moved with a wild, untamed rhythm atop Ben's lap in the armchair, her thighs clamped tight around his hips as she rode his cock hard, slamming down with a force that made the wooden frame creak beneath them. The room spun in a haze of heat and need for her—New Year's fireworks still popping faintly outside the window, but she was lost, feral, grinding her pussy onto him like survival depended on the friction, the stretch, the brutal pace she set. Her nails raked down his tattooed chest, leaving red trails over his skin, and she threw her head back, screams tearing from her throat—raw, animalistic cries that echoed off the walls, mixing with the wet slap of her ass against his thighs. Ben's hands gripped her waist, fingers digging into her flesh, but he could barely keep up; her ferocity drove him wild, his cock throbbing deep inside her clenching walls, every downward thrust milking him relentlessly.

He loved it—this side of her, untethered and demanding, her breasts bouncing free from the sweater she'd half-shoved up, nipples hard and begging for attention he couldn't quite reach with her moving so fast. Sweat slicked their bodies, her hair a tangled mess whipping around as she bucked, pussy soaking his length, dripping down his balls.

"Fuck, Rey," he groaned, voice strained, glasses fogged from the heat radiating between them. She was on another planet, eyes half-lidded and glassy, lips parted in a constant stream of moans and gasps, her clit grinding against his pubic bone with each savage drop, chasing her peak without mercy.

The chair rocked dangerously, his hips jerking up instinctively to meet her, but she dominated, pinning him with her weight, riding him rougher, faster, her inner muscles fluttering around his cock as she screamed again, the sound piercing and desperate. Ben's balls tightened, pressure building unbearably—he was losing it, the sensitivity from her earlier mouth work amplifying every squeeze, every grind.

"Rey, slow," he begged, panting hard, chest heaving as he tried to still her hips with his grip. "I can't..." His words broke into a ragged gasp, body tensing, but she didn't hear him, didn't stop—her rhythm only intensified, nails scraping his shoulders now, drawing blood as she fucked him harder, her pussy clamping down like a vice.

He came undone with a guttural curse, cock pulsing violently inside her, hot jets of cum flooding her depths, spilling out around his base as she kept slamming down.

"Shit—Rey!" Waves crashed through him, vision blurring, but she rode through it, uncaring, her own need overriding everything—his release just fuel for her fire, the slickness making her slides even smoother, deeper. Ben's hands trembled on her skin, oversensitive now, every thrust sending jolts through his spent cock, a mix of pleasure and torment that had him gritting his teeth, hips twitching involuntarily.

"Too much—fuck, you're killing me," he panted, but his voice held awe, addiction; he loved how she took what she wanted, how she pushed him past limits, her screams turning to whimpers as she chased her orgasm.

She leaned forward, capturing his mouth in a bruising kiss, tongue thrusting in time with her hips, biting his lip hard enough to taste copper. Ben's arms wrapped around her back, pulling her closer despite the sensitivity, his cock still hard inside her, twitching with aftershocks as she ground down, circling her hips to rub her clit against him. Cum leaked out with each movement, smearing between them, but Rey didn't care—her breaths came in sharp bursts against his neck, body trembling as she rode him relentlessly, pussy fluttering wildly.

"Ben—yes, fuck," she screamed, voice breaking, nails embedding in his scalp as she pulled his hair, arching back again to take him impossibly deeper.

The chair groaned under the assault, his thighs burning from the effort to hold her, but he thrust up weakly, meeting her halfway, the friction on his oversensitive tip making him hiss through clenched teeth. It drove him crazy—this endless hunger in her, the way she used him for her pleasure, her walls rippling around his cum-slicked cock, pulling him back toward the edge even as he begged for mercy.

"Rey, please—slow down," he gasped, but his hands roamed her ass, squeezing the flesh, spreading her cheeks as she bounced, thumb brushing her tight hole teasingly, adding to her frenzy.

She ignored him completely, lost in the haze, her screams peaking as her orgasm built—body seizing, pussy gushing around him, soaking his lap further. Ben watched her face, mesmerized by the raw ecstasy twisting her features, her eyes rolling back, mouth open in a silent cry before it shattered into another wail. He couldn't hold back the second build, the torment twisting into insane pleasure, his cock jerking inside her as she finally crested, clenching so hard it milked another weak spurt from him. Rey collapsed against his chest, still rocking slowly now, riding out the aftershocks, her breaths ragged sobs against his skin.

Ben held her tight, stroking her back, heart pounding as the world came back into focus—the TV droning on about the new year, snow falling softly outside.

"God, you're incredible," he murmured, kissing her temple, cock softening but still buried deep, their mingled fluids sticky between them. She hummed, sated at last, nuzzling into him, the feral storm passing into tender afterglow.

"Happy new year," she breathed, the words hot and intimate against his skin, her exhale stirring the damp strands of hair at his temple.

Ben's arms tightened around her waist, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of her head, fingers threading gently through her tousled locks. He turned his face toward hers, lips grazing her forehead in a tender press.

"Happy new year, baby," he whispered back, his voice rough from the strain of their passion, laced with a deep affection that made her chest ache in the best way. His other hand stroked down her spine in slow, soothing circles, tracing the curve of her back where sweat still clung to her skin.

She lifted her head slightly, meeting his gaze through the fogged lenses of his glasses, her eyes heavy-lidded and sparkling with satisfaction. A lazy smile curved her lips as she shifted, feeling his softening cock slip free from her with a wet sound, a fresh trickle of their fluids dripping onto his lap. Rey didn't pull away; instead, she pressed closer, her breasts flattening against his tattooed chest, nipples still pebbled from the cool air and lingering arousal.

"That was... intense," she murmured, her fingers tracing idle patterns over his collarbone, dipping into the faint scratches she'd left earlier.

Ben chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through her as his hand continued its gentle petting of her hair, tucking a stray lock behind her ear.

"You have no idea how much I love when you get like that," he admitted, his thumb brushing her cheekbone, wiping away a smudge of sweat. His cock twitched faintly against her inner thigh, oversensitive but stirring at the memory of her feral ride—the way she'd screamed, the relentless clench of her around him, pushing him over the edge twice before she'd finally shattered. He leaned in, capturing her mouth in a slow, deep kiss, tongues sliding lazily together, tasting the salt of their exertion. When he pulled back, his eyes held hers, dark and full of promise. "You're everything to me, Rey. This year... we're making it ours. No more hiding soon."

Her heart swelled at his words, the emotional tether between them pulling taut even in the afterglow. She nodded, pressing a kiss to his jaw, then his throat, feeling the pulse there jump under her lips.

"No more hiding soon," she echoed, her voice soft but resolute. Slowly, she eased off his lap, legs shaky as she stood, the cool air raising goosebumps on her flushed skin.

Rey extended a hand, helping him up from the chair, their bodies brushing in the process—her hip against his, his arm around her waist to steady them both. The TV flickered with replays of fireworks, but they ignored it, padding barefoot toward the bathroom, leaving a trail of damp footprints on the hardwood floor.

"Shower?" she suggested, her tone playful. He nodded, stealing another kiss as they walked, his hand squeezing her ass possessively.

Chapter 24

Rey lingered at the grand stone archway of the schools front doors, her suitcase propped against her leg like a reluctant anchor. The late January air bit at her cheeks, carrying the crisp scent of melting snow and distant woodsmoke from the campus heating vents. Students bustled past her in clusters—backpacks slung over shoulders, laughter echoing off the ivy-cloaked walls, their faces flushed from the cold or the thrill of reunions. Some dragged rolling suitcases like hers, wheels clattering over the uneven pavement; others hurried with coffee cups steaming in their gloved hands, already chattering about classes and crushes. Rey barely registered them, her gaze fixed on the heavy oak doors ahead, etched with the school's crest and half-obscured by frost. The holidays felt like a dream now, vivid and warm, but slipping away with each passing hour. Ben's arms around her that morning, his whispered promises of weekend visits, the way he'd kissed her goodbye in the dim light of his car—it all tugged at her chest, leaving a hollow ache. She was back, suitcase in tow, but part of her wanted to turn around, hail a cab, and drive straight back to him.

The weight of the break pressed on her: the stolen bliss with Ben, the tentative family moments that had softened her edges, and now this—returning to the grind of lectures, assignments, and the careful dance of keeping their secret. Her fingers tightened around the handle of her bag, the leather strap biting into her palm. She missed the quiet intimacy of his house already, the way the snow had muffled the world outside while they tangled in sheets. Here, everything felt exposed, noisy, ordinary.

"REY!!!!!" The shout pierced the hum of voices like a firecracker, yanking her from her reverie. She blinked, turning sharply toward the sound, her ponytail whipping against her coat collar. There, weaving through the crowd with her signature bounce, was Rose—arms flailing dramatically, a massive duffel bag slung over one shoulder and a wheeled suitcase bouncing behind her like an overexcited puppy. Rose's dark curls were windswept, her cheeks rosy under a knit beanie dotted with pom-poms, and she wore that familiar oversized scarf wrapped twice around her neck, trailing behind her like a banner.

Rey's lips curved into an involuntary smile, the sadness fracturing just a bit at the sight of her best friend.

"Rose," she breathed, stepping forward as the other girl closed the distance in a flurry of steps.

"Ahhh, I missed you!" Rose squealed, dumping her bags unceremoniously onto the slushy ground with a thud that splashed a nearby student's boots. Without hesitation, she launched herself at Rey, wrapping her in a bear hug that squeezed the air from her lungs. Rose's embrace was all enthusiasm—arms tight around Rey's waist, chin hooked over her shoulder, the faint scent of vanilla body spray and travel-worn clothes enveloping her. Rey hugged back fiercely, her own arms circling Rose's back, fingers pressing into the soft wool of her coat. For a moment, the world narrowed to this: the solid warmth of friendship amid the chaos of returning students.

Rose pulled back just enough to scan Rey's face, her brown eyes wide and searching, a grin splitting her features.

"Come on, let's get inside before we freeze our asses off. You owe me every juicy detail about whatever kept you from texting me back half the time."

Rey laughed softly, the sound easing the knot in her throat as she let Rose pull her along. The doors creaked open under their push, spilling them into the heated lobby where the air hummed with chatter and the faint echo of footsteps on marble floors. Lockers lined the walls, some plastered with faded holiday cards, and a bulletin board overflowed with flyers for spring clubs and study groups. Rey's boots left wet tracks, mirroring the subtle dampness in her mood.

"It was great," she said finally, her voice muffled against Rose's shoulder as they navigated the throng. "I missed you though, though. How was your family's chaos? Your mom still on that health kick?"

Rose snorted, steering them toward the stairs leading to the upper floors.

"Oh, you know—kale smoothies for breakfast, yoga marathons, and Aunt Linda trying to set me up with her yoga instructor's son. Total nightmare. But hey, I survived, and now I'm back." She paused at the landing, turning to face Rey fully, her expression softening. "Seriously, though—you okay? You had that faraway look out there. Like you left half your soul in whatever winter wonderland you vanished to."

Rey's gaze dropped to the floor, her fingers twisting the strap of her bag. The truth bubbled up—thoughts of Ben's tattoos under her fingertips, the ring he'd slipped into her palm with promises of forever, the way their bodies had fit like puzzle pieces during those snowbound nights. But she couldn't say it all, not yet.

"Yeah, just the post-holiday blues," she admitted, forcing a brighter smile. "But seeing you? That's the fix I needed."

Rose eyed her skeptically but nodded, squeezing her arm.

"Good. Because we've got two weeks of catch-up to cram into tonight. Pizza, face masks, and zero mercy on holding out details." They continued up the stairs, suitcases rumbling behind, the weight of the break lifting slightly with each step. Outside, the snow began to fall again in lazy flakes, blanketing the campus in white, but inside, with Rose's arm linked through hers, Rey felt a spark of normalcy reignite.

 

The cafeteria hummed with the midday rush, a cacophony of trays clattering against tables, silverware scraping plates, and voices overlapping in excited bursts—stories of holiday mishaps, complaints about upcoming midterms, and the occasional burst of laughter that cut through the din like sunlight. Steam rose from the serving stations, carrying the mingled scents of greasy fries, overcooked pasta, and the faint tang of cafeteria pizza that somehow always tasted better than it should. Rey and Rose had claimed their usual spot by the wide windows overlooking the quad, where the January sun filtered through bare tree branches, casting elongated shadows on the patchy snow below. Their trays sat between them: Rey's half-eaten turkey club sandwich and a side of apple slices, Rose's loaded nachos piled high with cheese and jalapeños, a soda fizzing beside it.

Rey picked at her food, her mind drifting back to the morning's quiet goodbye with Ben—his hand lingering on her hip as he dropped her off, the promise of seeing him that weekend hanging in the air like unspoken words. The gold chain around her neck felt heavier today, the small diamond ring tucked safely beneath her sweater, a secret talisman against the pull of routine. She hadn't taken it off since he'd slipped it onto the chain during their snowy walk, his voice rough with emotion as he asked her to wear it close, hidden until the world was ready. It grounded her now, a subtle weight against her collarbone, even as the chatter around them reminded her of the life she was slipping back into.

Rose, ever the whirlwind, shoveled a forkful of nachos into her mouth, her eyes sparkling with gossip she'd been saving since they sat down.

"Okay, but seriously, did you hear about Finn and that girl from bio lab? Total trainwreck. He ghosted her after New Year's, and now she's keying his locker or something." She leaned forward, wiping salsa from her chin with the back of her hand, her curls escaping the loose bun she'd thrown them into that morning. The fluorescent lights overhead caught the silver hoops in her ears, making them glint as she gestured animatedly.

Rey chuckled, forcing herself to take a bite of her sandwich to match Rose's energy.

"Sounds like Finn. He's got the commitment span of a goldfish." But her attention wandered, her fingers absently tracing the edge of her tray. The chain shifted slightly with the movement, the ring catching on the fabric of her sweater just enough to peek out—a flash of gold and sparkle that went unnoticed at first.

Rose paused mid-chew, her gaze dropping to Rey's neck as she reached for her soda. The ring dangled there for a split second, catching the light before Rey tucked it back in instinctively. But it was too late. Rose's eyes widened, her fork hovering in the air, a string of cheese stretching comically from it to her plate. She swallowed hard, nearly choking, and set the fork down with a clatter that drew a sideways glance from the table next to them.

"Oh my fucking god," Rose hissed, her voice dropping to a urgent whisper that still carried an edge of disbelief. She leaned across the table, her elbows knocking into her tray, eyes locked on Rey's neck like she'd just spotted buried treasure. "What is that?"

Rey's heart stuttered, her hand flying up to cover the chain, but the damage was done. Heat crept up her cheeks, a mix of thrill and nerves bubbling in her chest. She glanced around quickly—the cafeteria was packed, but their corner felt isolated enough, shielded by the potted plants and the flow of students rushing to grab seconds. No one was paying them any mind; Poe was across the room, animatedly arguing with a group over some sports score, and the line at the dessert counter snaked long enough to block any prying eyes.

"It's nothing," Rey murmured at first, but Rose's stare was unrelenting, her brows arched in that way that said she wouldn't drop it until Rey spilled. With a resigned sigh, Rey shifted closer, her chair scraping softly against the linoleum floor. She hooked a finger under the chain, pulling it free from her sweater with deliberate care, letting the ring dangle between them like a shared secret. The diamond was modest but elegant—a single stone set in a simple gold band, catching the light in tiny prisms that danced across the table. It wasn't flashy, but it meant everything: Ben's promise under the stars, his knees in the snow as he slid it into her palm, the way his eyes had searched hers for certainty.

Rose's mouth fell open, her hand shooting out to gently touch the chain, not quite grabbing it but close enough to feel its warmth from Rey's skin.

"Holy shit, Rey. Is that... an engagement ring? When? How?" Her voice was a rapid-fire whisper, laced with excitement and a hint of envy that she couldn't quite mask. She scooted her chair even nearer, their knees bumping under the table, the nachos forgotten as her full attention zeroed in.

Rey leaned in too, their heads nearly touching, the scent of Rose's citrus shampoo mingling with the cafeteria's food smells. She kept her voice low, a conspiratorial hush that made the moment feel intimate amid the noise.

"Yeah," she breathed, her fingers curling protectively around the ring as she held it up for Rose to see better. "Ben gave it to me on Christmas. Asked me to marry him after I graduate." The words tumbled out softly, her eyes shining with the memory.

Rose's eyes darted from the ring to Rey's face, then back again, her expression cycling through shock, joy, and a flicker of something deeper—maybe the ache of her own single status, or just the surprise of Rey keeping such a bombshell under wraps.

"Oh my god"

Rey's smile faltered just a touch at the mention of her family, but she shook her head, tucking the ring back under her sweater with a practiced motion. "Promise you won't freak out and tell the whole table?"

Rose mimed zipping her lips, her grin breaking wide despite the seriousness.

"My lips are sealed. But oh my god, Rey—this is huge. You're getting married?" She pulled back slightly, appraising Rey with fresh eyes, as if seeing the future Mrs. Solo already etched in her features. "I need details. Like, all of them. Tonight."

Rey laughed, the tension easing from her shoulders as she released the chain, the ring settling back against her skin like a heartbeat. The double doors at the far end swung open with a whoosh, letting in a draft of cooler air from the hallway that carried the faint scent of chalk dust and old books.

Rey's gaze flicked up instinctively, drawn by the movement, and her fork paused halfway to her mouth. There, striding through the entrance with his broad shoulders cutting a purposeful path, was Ben—his dark coat slung over one arm, hair tousled as if he'd run a hand through it in frustration moments before. He moved with that quiet intensity she knew so well, his steps measured but quick, eyes scanning the room briefly before settling ahead. But he wasn't alone. Trailing just a step behind, her heels clicking sharply against the tiled floor, was Miss Potts—the history teacher whose reputation preceded her like a shadow. Her auburn hair was pinned up in a neat chignon, but a few strands had escaped, framing her flushed cheeks. She clutched a small, wrapped package in her hands, the paper a festive red with a gold ribbon that looked out of place in the stark cafeteria light.

Rey's stomach tightened, a flicker of unease cutting through the warmth of their earlier secret-sharing. She set her fork down softly, her eyes darting between Ben and Miss Potts as they wove through the clusters of tables. From across the room—maybe twenty feet away, near the beverage station—the distance felt both too far and invasively close. Rose noticed the shift in Rey's posture immediately, her own head turning with a casual swivel that belied the curiosity sharpening her features.

"There," Rose murmured, her voice pitched low enough to blend with the surrounding chatter, a conspiratorial edge to it as she leaned in closer.

"Your man and the horniest teacher in the school, deep in conversation." She didn't bother hiding the smirk tugging at her lips, but her eyes were alert, tracking the pair with the same intensity Rey felt coiling in her chest.

Ben's expression was neutral, almost closed off, as he sidestepped a group of freshmen huddled over their phones. Miss Potts quickened her pace, her free hand reaching out tentatively as if to bridge the gap between them. The package bobbed in her grip, the ribbon catching the overhead lights and glinting like a warning. Rey's fingers curled around the edge of her tray, the cool metal grounding her as she watched Miss Potts extend the gift toward Ben's back, her lips moving in what looked like a hurried explanation—too far to hear, but the body language screamed insistence.

Ben stopped abruptly near an empty table, turning halfway to face her. Even from this angle, Rey could see the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders squared as he shook his head once, firmly. No words were needed to convey the rejection; it was etched in the sharp angle of his denial. He reached out, not taking the package but pushing it back toward her with a gentle but unyielding pressure on her wrist, his palm flat against the air between them as if drawing an invisible line. Miss Potts's face fell, her mouth opening in a silent protest, but Ben was already pivoting away, his strides lengthening as he headed toward the exit on the opposite side, coat flapping slightly with the motion.

Rey and Rose sat frozen in their observation, the moment stretching taut like a pulled string. Rey's breath caught, her mind racing through possibilities—the what and the why of that little red-wrapped secret—but Ben's rejection was clear, a quiet dismissal that eased the knot in her gut just enough to let her exhale. Rose's foot nudged hers under the table, a silent check-in, as they both watched Ben disappear through the doors, the cafeteria swallowing him up without a ripple.

Their eyes drifted back to Miss Potts then, lingering on the woman left standing there amid the flow of students grabbing sodas and napkins. She looked stunned, the package now clutched to her chest like a shield, her cheeks blooming with a deeper red that could have been embarrassment or anger. Her gaze swept the room, perhaps searching for an ally or just a place to retreat, and that's when it landed—straight on Rey and Rose, locked in their not-so-subtle stare.

Time seemed to slow for a beat, the air between them charged with unspoken awareness. Miss Potts's eyes narrowed fractionally, a flicker of recognition passing over her features as she straightened her blouse with her free hand. Rey's heart skipped, heat flooding her face, and she whipped her head back to her tray in one fluid motion, stabbing at an apple slice with unnecessary force. Rose followed suit a split second later, ducking her chin and popping a nacho into her mouth with feigned nonchalance, chewing as if the jalapeños demanded her full concentration.

The moment passed without confrontation—Miss Potts turned on her heel, heels clicking a rapid retreat toward the faculty lounge door—but the tension lingered, a subtle undercurrent in the air between Rey and Rose. Rey glanced sideways at her friend, their eyes meeting in a shared, wide-eyed glance that burst into suppressed giggles once the coast was clear.

"Well, that was awkward," Rose whispered, wiping her mouth with a napkin to cover her grin. "Think she saw us spying?"

Rey shrugged, forcing a light laugh even as her fingers brushed the hidden ring under her sweater, drawing comfort from its secret weight.

"God I hope not. He shut that down fast."

Rose nodded, her expression turning thoughtful as she pushed her tray aside.

"Yeah, he did. Your guy's got boundaries. Good thing, with her around." The conversation eased back into safer waters—class schedules—but Rey's mind wandered to Ben, wondering what that gift had been and why it mattered enough for Miss Potts to chase him down. The cafeteria's noise filled the space again, but the encounter left a faint echo, a reminder that their hidden world wasn't as sealed as the chain around her neck.

 

Rose and Rey gathered their trays from the cafeteria table, the remnants of their lunch—crumbs from nachos and a half-eaten apple—pushed aside as they slung their backpacks over their shoulders. The air still hummed with the earlier tension from Miss Potts's awkward advance on Ben, but they pushed it down, chatting lightly about weekend plans to mask the undercurrent of unease. Rey's fingers absently traced the hidden chain beneath her sweater, the cool metal of the ring a secret anchor amid the bustle.

They stepped into the corridor, the fluorescent lights casting long shadows on the linoleum floor, scuffed from countless sneakers. Students streamed past, laughing and jostling, coats zipped against the chill seeping in from the outside world where snow flurries danced lazily.

"Come on, let's veg out before homework hits," Rose said, nudging Rey with her elbow, her ponytail swinging as she walked.

Rey nodded, but as they approached the row of lockers, she paused, glancing at the dented metal door with her combination etched faintly into the paint from years of use.

"I'm just gonna clear it out before tomorrow," she said to Rose, forcing a casual smile. "I'll catch up."

Rose rolled her eyes but grinned, waving her off.

"Okay" She turned and headed down the hall, her footsteps fading into the murmur of voices, leaving Rey alone in the thinning crowd.

Rey twisted the dial on her locker. The door swung wide, revealing a jumble of forgotten semester relics: dog-eared textbooks stacked haphazardly, spiral notebooks with frayed edges filled with half-finished notes, a crumpled gym sock she'd been meaning to toss since October. She reached in, pulling out the top book—a worn copy of organic chemistry that smelled faintly of coffee stains—and set it on the floor beside her feet. One by one, she cleared the shelves, stacking items into her backpack or a makeshift pile, her mind already drifting to the quiet evening ahead, perhaps a stolen text to Ben under the guise of class questions.

A flicker of movement caught her eye in the small mirror taped to the inside of the door, its surface smudged from hasty glances between classes. She froze, heart stuttering as a face materialized behind her reflection—sharp features, auburn hair pulled tight, eyes narrowed with a predatory gleam. Rey jumped, her hands jerking back, and the stack of books and notepads tumbled from her grasp, pages fluttering open like startled birds as they hit the ground with soft thuds.

She whipped around, backpack slipping from her shoulder, to face Miss Potts standing there, arms crossed over her chest, her blouse still crisp but her expression twisted into something feral. The hallway had emptied further, leaving an oppressive quiet broken only by the distant ring of a bell signaling the end of after-school clubs.

"Are you fucking him?" Miss Potts snapped, her voice low and venomous, slicing through the air like a whip.

Rey's mouth went dry, her pulse thundering in her ears as she straightened up.

"Excuse me?" she stuttered, playing dumb, her voice pitching higher than intended, hands clenching at her sides.

"Don't play dumb, you are a smart girl" Miss Potts hissed, stepping closer, her heels scraping the floor. The scent of her perfume—something floral and overpowering—invaded Rey's space. "Both you and Professor Solo. Something isn't adding up." Her eyes raked over Rey, accusatory, as if searching for evidence in the flush creeping up her neck.

Rey's thoughts whirled—Ben's firm rejection in the cafeteria, the way he'd pushed the gift away, the stunned look on this woman's face. She swallowed hard, channeling every ounce of innocence she could muster, widening her eyes and letting her lower lip tremble just a fraction.

"Miss, not to be rude, but you are talking nonsense. He is my professor? Why would I screw a teacher?" She played the victim, voice quivering with feigned outrage, glancing around as if expecting someone to overhear and come to her defense.

Miss Potts's lips curled into a sneer, her cheeks still holding a faint red from earlier humiliation.

"Oh, you want to play games?" she snapped at Rey, leaning in until their faces were inches apart, breath hot and laced with mint. "How about we tell the headmaster."

Rey's laugh bubbled up then, sharp and disbelieving, cutting through the tension like a blade. She bent down quickly, scooping up the scattered books and notepads, shoving them into her bag with jerky movements to buy time, her hands shaking slightly.

"Tell the headmaster what? That you got denied in the cafe and we all watched? And now you think I'm fucking the professor?" She straightened, slamming the locker shut with a resounding clang that echoed down the empty hall, the sound satisfying in its finality. "Rose was watching too—if you wanna accuse her as well."

Miss Potts recoiled fractionally, her eyes flashing with fury, but Rey didn't give her a chance to retort. She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a fierce whisper, eyes locked on the teacher's with unyielding steel.

"Just so you know," Rey said, her breath steady despite the storm inside, "come near me again, and I'll have you fired."

With that, she turned on her heel, backpack bouncing against her back as she strode away, heart racing like a drum in her chest. The corridor blurred at the edges, her footsteps quick and urgent, propelling her toward the dorms. Every shadow seemed to hold a threat, every distant voice a potential echo of the confrontation, but she didn't look back. The weight of the ring against her skin burned hotter now, a reminder of what was at stake—Ben, their future, the life they were building in stolen moments.

Rey burst through the dorm room door, the wood frame rattling against the wall as she shoved it open with more force than intended. Her backpack slipped from her shoulder and hit the floor with a heavy thud, spilling a few stray notebooks that skidded across the worn carpet. The room was a cozy mess of holiday aftermath—tinsel strands dangling from the bedposts like forgotten garlands, a half-empty mug of cocoa on the nightstand, and Rose sprawled on the lower bunk, scrolling through her phone with earbuds in, oblivious to the storm about to break.

Rose yanked out one earbud, sitting up with a jolt as Rey's pale face came into view, eyes wide and chest heaving from the sprint down the hall.

"Whoa, Rey, you look like you just outran a pack of wolves. What's up?"

Rey slammed the door shut behind her, twisting the lock with trembling fingers before leaning against it, sliding down until her knees buckled. She dropped her bag fully now, the zipper popping open to reveal the chaos inside—books tumbling out like confessions she couldn't contain.

"I think Miss Potts is on to me and Ben sleeping together," she whispered, the words barely audible, laced with a raw edge of panic that clawed at her throat. She pressed a hand to her mouth, as if saying it louder might make it real. "She just approached me and accused me of sleeping with Ben. Cornered me at my locker, Rose. Right there in the hall."

Rose's phone clattered to the mattress as she swung her legs over the edge of the bunk, her face draining of color. She hopped down, bare feet padding across the carpet to kneel in front of Rey, grabbing her shoulders with urgent hands.

"No... no, Rey. Fuck! What if she goes to the headmaster? You could get expelled, he could get fired. Rey, this isn't good. This is so not good." Her voice cracked, eyes darting as if the walls themselves might be listening, the room suddenly feeling too small, too exposed despite the locked door.

Rey's snap came sharp and defensive, her frustration boiling over like steam from a kettle pushed too far.

"Rose, you don't think I don't know that?" She pulled away, scrambling to her feet and pacing the narrow space between the bunks, her sneakers scuffing the floor. The air in the dorm hung heavy with the faint scent of vanilla candles from their earlier chill session, now cloying against the rising tension. She yanked her phone from the side pocket of her bag, hands shaking so badly that the screen blurred under her thumb as she unlocked it. Her fingers flew across the keys, heart pounding a frantic rhythm that echoed in her ears.

We're in trouble. Miss Potts knows.

She hit send before she could second-guess it, the whoosh of the message slicing through the silence like a warning shot. The phone felt hot in her palm, a lifeline to Ben that now carried the weight of their unraveling secret. She glanced up at Rose, who had risen too, arms wrapped around herself, biting her lower lip hard enough to leave marks. Worry etched deep lines into Rose's usually carefree expression, her dark eyes shadowed with the gravity of what this could mean—not just for Rey, but for the fragile web of friendships and futures tangled around them.

Rose paced now too, mirroring Rey's agitation, her hands twisting the hem of her oversized sweater.

"Okay, breathe. What exactly did she say? Did she have proof? Or was it just... suspicion?" Her voice was a mix of lawyerly probing and desperate hope, clinging to any thread that might unravel the threat.

Rey sank onto the edge of her bed, the mattress dipping under her weight as she clutched the phone like a talisman.

"She straight-up asked if I was fucking him. Said something isn't adding up, about both of us. I played it off, denied everything, even threw her rejection from the cafe back in her face. Told her to stay away or I'd get her fired." The memory replayed in flashes—the venom in Miss Potts's eyes, the slam of the locker, the burn of adrenaline propelling her escape. "But Rose, she looked serious. Like she might actually do it. Go to the headmaster, stir up shit."

The dorm window rattled faintly as a gust of wind whipped snow against the glass, the outside world a swirling white blur that matched the chaos in Rey's mind. She stared at her phone screen, willing it to light up with Ben's reply, each passing second stretching into eternity. Rose hovered nearby, alternating between wringing her hands and checking her own phone, as if news of scandal might already be rippling through the school's gossip channels.

Finally, the device buzzed in Rey's grip, vibrating against her skin like a jolt of electricity. She snatched it up, thumb swiping to open the message from Ben:

What? Tell me everything. Meet me at the usual spot in 10. We'll talk.

She exhaled sharply, the knot in her chest loosening just a fraction at the command wrapped in concern. The usual spot—a quiet side street a few blocks from campus, where his car blended into the shadows of overhanging trees, far from prying eyes. It was their escape hatch, the place where stolen moments turned into hurried breaths and tangled limbs, but tonight it felt like a war room.

Rose hovered by the window. "What'd he say? Is he freaking out too?"

Rey stood, shoving the phone into her jeans pocket, the denim rough against her fingers. She grabbed her coat from the hook by the door, shrugging it on with quick, jerky motions that rustled the fabric.

"He's telling me to meet him. Usual spot. We need to hash this out face-to-face." Her voice steadied as she spoke, the plan snapping into focus amid the chaos. She zipped the coat up to her chin, the metal teeth clicking like a resolve locking in.

Rose spun from the window, her ponytail whipping around as she grabbed Rey's arm, nails digging in just enough to sting.

"Now? Rey, it's a blizzard out there. And if Miss Potts is watching... or someone sees you leaving... this could make it worse." Worry creased her brow, turning her usual spark into a flicker of fear, but she didn't let go, her grip a silent plea to think twice.

Rey pulled her into a quick hug, the warmth of Rose's sweater pressing against her cheek for a beat before she stepped back.

"I know, but sitting here waiting for the axe to fall? That's worse. I'll be careful—side exit." She forced a grin, though it wobbled at the edges, and squeezed Rose's hand one last time.

Rose nodded reluctantly, her eyes tracking Rey's every move as she twisted the lock and eased the door open a crack. The hallway beyond stretched empty, the fluorescent hum the only sound, but Rey's pulse thrummed in her ears like a drumbeat urging her on. She slipped out, the door clicking shut behind her with a soft finality, Rose's muffled

"Be safe" echoing in her mind.

The stairwell swallowed her footsteps as she descended, boots padding lightly on the concrete steps to avoid any echo that might carry. Cold air rushed up from the ground floor, carrying the faint tang of wet snow tracked in by earlier students. She pushed through the side exit door, the hinges creaking faintly, and burst into the night. Flakes swirled around her like frantic whispers, stinging her cheeks as she tugged her hood up, ponytail tucked inside. The campus paths were slick underfoot, her boots crunching through a thin layer of ice that cracked like fragile secrets.

She kept to the edges, weaving past the glow of lampposts that cast long, wavering shadows across the lawns. The dorm lights winked out one by one behind her, the building shrinking into the whiteout as she put distance between it and herself. Her breath fogged in front of her face, each exhale a visible puff of anxiety, and she shoved her hands deep into her pockets, fingers brushing the phone for reassurance. The side street loomed ahead, tucked away from the main drag, where Ben's car waited like a dark sentinel under the bare branches.

Rey quickened her pace, the wind whipping at her coat tails, until she spotted the familiar outline: his card, engine idling low with a soft rumble that cut through the storm's hush. Relief hit her like a warm front, propelling her forward. She yanked the passenger door open, sliding inside with a gust of cold air that fogged the windows further. Ben sat rigid in the driver's seat, his jaw set tight, glasses fogged slightly at the edges from the heat blasting through the vents. His dark hair was tousled, as if he'd raked fingers through it in frustration, and his coat hung open over a rumpled shirt that hinted at a day stretched too long.

"Rey," he breathed, reaching over to pull her door shut with a firm thunk, his hand lingering on her knee as the lock engaged. The interior smelled of leather and his cologne, a grounding mix that clashed with the adrenaline still buzzing in her veins. "Tell me everything. From the start." His eyes locked on hers, intense and searching, the dashboard glow casting blue highlights across his face as snow tapped insistently against the glass.

Rey's eyes locked onto Ben's, wide with terror, the dim light of the car's interior casting shadows that deepened the worry lines on her face.

"She cornered me after you shot her down in the cafe hall," she blurted out, her voice trembling as the words spilled forth like a dam breaking. "She said something was off between me and you, and she thinks we're fucking. She threatened to go to the headmaster. Ben... you could get fired, I could get expelled. No graduation. What do we do?" The panic hit her full force then, her chest tightening as sobs wracked her body, tears streaming unchecked down her flushed cheeks. She clutched at the edge of the seat, her knuckles whitening, breaths coming in short, ragged gasps that filled the confined space with her distress.

Ben's expression hardened, a storm brewing in his dark eyes, but he moved swiftly, pulling her into his arms across the console. His strong hands wrapped around her shoulders, drawing her against his chest where she could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath his shirt.

"Shh, Rey, easy now," he murmured, his voice a low rumble as he stroked her back in slow, soothing circles, one hand cradling the back of her head to press her face gently into the crook of his neck. The warmth of his body enveloped her, his cologne—a mix of pine and spice—mingling with the faint scent of snow clinging to their clothes. He rocked her slightly, hushing her with soft whispers against her hair, his lips brushing her temple as he held her tight, absorbing the tremors shaking her frame.

"Leave it with me, Rey. I'll sort it," he said, his tone laced with quiet authority, the kind that had always made her feel anchored amid chaos.

"How?" Rey sobbed, her words muffled against his collar, fresh tears soaking into the fabric as she pulled back just enough to search his face, desperation etching her features. Her hands fisted in his shirt, clinging like a lifeline, her body still quivering with the aftershocks of fear.

"Don't worry about how, just leave it with me," Ben replied firmly, his gaze unwavering as he cupped her chin, tilting her face up to meet his. His thumb traced her jawline, wiping away a stray tear with a tenderness that belied the steel in his voice. He leaned in, pressing a reassuring kiss to her forehead, then her lips—soft at first, a promise of protection, before deepening it just enough to remind her of the fire they shared. "I've got this. Trust me. We're not losing everything we've fought for."

She nodded shakily, her sobs easing into hiccuping breaths as she melted into his embrace, the weight of his words settling over her like a shield.

Notes:

Whoa what a first day back huh....

What is Ben going to do to keep them safe. To keep their secret. How far is he willing to go for Rey?

Chapter 25

Rey's eyelids drooped heavily as she slumped over her desk in the biology classroom, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead like a distant swarm of insects. The night before had been a torment—hours spent wide-eyed, staring at the cracked ceiling of her dorm room, her mind replaying Miss Potts' venomous words over and over. Sleep had evaded her, chased away by the gnawing fear of expulsion, of Ben losing his job, of their fragile world crumbling under scrutiny. Now, on the first day back from break, exhaustion clawed at her bones, making every blink feel like a battle against the pull of unconsciousness.

The professor's voice droned on at the front of the room, dissecting cell structures on the whiteboard with precise strokes of the marker, but the words blurred into white noise for Rey. Her head nodded forward, chin dipping toward her notebook where she'd scrawled half-hearted notes earlier. The chair creaked under her as she shifted, fighting the fog, but her body betrayed her, shoulders sagging as her eyes fluttered shut.

A sharp nudge to her ribs jolted her upright. Rose, seated beside her with a conspiratorial grin masking her own concern, leaned in close, her elbow digging just enough to sting without drawing attention.

"Hey, sleepyhead," Rose whispered, her voice a hushed thread amid the lecture's hum. She glanced at the professor, then back at Rey, her eyes narrowing with worry. "You look like you got hit by a truck. Still freaking out about yesterday?"

Rey rubbed her eyes, stifling a yawn that threatened to escape, her fingers trembling slightly from the lack of rest. The classroom smelled of chalk dust and stale coffee from someone's thermos, and the heater rattled in the corner, pumping out lukewarm air that did little to chase the chill of anxiety from her skin. She shot Rose a weak smile, nodding subtly.

"Couldn't sleep." Her voice cracked, low enough that only Rose could hear, as she glanced around at the other students scribbling notes, oblivious to the storm raging inside her.

Another nudge came, gentler this time, Rose's hand brushing Rey's arm under the desk.

"Breathe, okay? You're gonna pass out if you don't. Here, take a sip." She slid a water bottle across discreetly, the plastic cool against Rey's palm. Rose's foot tapped lightly against Rey's under the table, a silent rhythm of solidarity, her ponytail swinging as she pretended to focus on the board. But her gaze kept flicking back, protective and insistent, urging Rey to stay present.

Rey sipped the water, the cool liquid grounding her for a moment, but her mind wandered back to Ben's firm promise in the car, his arms around her, the snow falling like a veil outside. The memory brought a flicker of warmth, but it warred with the dread pooling in her stomach. She straightened up, forcing her pen to move across the page, jotting down fragments of the lecture—mitochondria, ATP, anything to anchor herself. Rose watched, her nudges easing into occasional pats on the knee, a quiet anchor in the sea of fatigue and fear.

As the class dragged on, the clock on the wall ticking mercilessly slow, Rey felt the weight of the day ahead pressing down. Biology was just the start; there were more classes, more chances for prying eyes like Miss Potts' to linger.

The professor called for questions then, and Rey blinked hard, willing herself to engage, to push through the haze until she could see Ben again, until his reassurances turned into action. The nudges from Rose continued sporadically, each one a reminder that she wasn't facing this alone, even as the shadows under her eyes deepened with every passing minute.

 

Rey pushed back from her desk as the biology professor dismissed the class with a curt wave, the scrape of chairs and rustle of backpacks filling the room like a sudden awakening. Her legs felt leaden, each step toward the door a deliberate effort against the tide of fatigue pulling at her. Rose fell into step beside her, slinging her bag over one shoulder, her sneakers squeaking softly on the linoleum floor. The hallway buzzed with the midday rush—students chattering about weekend hangovers or last-minute cram sessions, lockers slamming in rhythmic bursts. Rey kept her head down, weaving through the crowd, her ponytail swinging limply against her neck, the faint scent of cafeteria food already wafting from down the corridor.

The lunch hall loomed ahead, a cavernous space alive with the clatter of trays and the hum of voices echoing off tiled walls. Steam rose from the serving line, carrying the greasy aroma of fried chicken and overcooked vegetables. Rey and Rose joined the queue, shuffling forward amid the press of bodies. Rose grabbed a tray first, loading it with a burger and fries, her movements quick and decisive.

"God, I need this caffeine hit," she muttered, snagging a soda from the cooler. Rey followed suit more mechanically, piling on a salad she had no appetite for and a bottle of water, her fingers fumbling the plastic fork.

They found a table near the windows, away from the noisiest clusters of athletes and study groups. Sunlight filtered through the grimy panes, dappling the Formica surface with pale spots. Rose dropped into a seat with a sigh, unwrapping her burger and taking a massive bite, ketchup smearing the corner of her mouth.

Rey sank down opposite her, poking at her greens with the fork, the lettuce wilting under her disinterested gaze. The hall thrummed around them—laughter from a nearby table, the scrape of chairs, a group of freshmen arguing over seating. But Rey's focus blurred, her eyes drifting to the far wall. She could barely register the words.

Rose wiped her mouth with a napkin, leaning forward.

"Earth to Rey. Seriously, that history exam? First period, on the first freaking day back? It's criminal. I mean, who schedules that? I've got notes from last semester buried somewhere, but my brain's still on holiday mode. Napoleon's battles or whatever—it's all a blur."

She ranted on, gesturing with her fry, her words tumbling out in a rush of frustration. "And don't get me started on the professor. If he pulls that pop quiz vibe, I'm done. You'd think after break they'd ease us in, not hit us with a hammer."

Rey hummed in vague agreement, her fork tracing patterns in the dressing, but her mind wandered further, replaying the drive home the night before. Rey forked another limp leaf of lettuce, twisting it absently between the tines as her gaze lingered on the skeletal branches outside the window. The gray sky pressed low, threatening more snow, and she let her mind drift to Ben's face in the dim light of his car last night—his jaw set, eyes fierce with that quiet determination that always made her heart stutter. The cafeteria's clamor faded to a dull roar: forks clinking against trays, bursts of laughter from the jocks' table, the hiss of the soda machine in the corner. Rose was still mid-rant about the history exam, her voice a steady drone about timelines and forgotten dates, but Rey barely registered it, her fingers now tracing the hidden chain under her sweater, the cool metal of the ring a secret anchor.

Then, like a spark in dry grass, the energy in the room shifted. A low murmur rippled through the hall, heads turning toward the entrance as chairs scraped back in hurried unison. Whispers escalated into excited chatter—"Did you hear?" "No way, police?"—and trays clattered as students abandoned half-eaten meals, surging toward the doors in a wave of curiosity. Rey blinked, pulled from her reverie, her fork pausing mid-air. Rose's fry hovered forgotten near her mouth, her brows knitting in confusion.

Before either could react, Poe burst through the double doors like a storm front, his backpack thumping against his side, dark curls disheveled from the run. His eyes were wide, cheeks flushed, and he zeroed in on their table with laser focus. He slammed both palms down on the Formica surface, the impact rattling Rey's water bottle and sending a few stray fries skittering.

"Miss Potts is being escorted off campus—as we speak—by police!" he blurted, his voice pitched high with urgency, breath coming in short bursts. The words hung in the air, electric, and Rey's stomach dropped, a cold rush flooding her veins. Police? Potts? Her mind reeled, fragments of yesterday's confrontation flashing: the woman's venomous accusations, the threat of exposure twisting like a knife.

Rose shot to her feet first, her chair tipping back with a screech.

"What? Like, right now? Come on!" She grabbed Rey's arm, yanking her up, and Rey stumbled to her feet, salad tray forgotten as her heart hammered against her ribs. Poe was already pivoting, leading the charge back into the fray, and they plunged after him, weaving through the thickening crowd. Bodies jostled them—elbows sharp, backpacks swinging like pendulums—and the air thickened with the scent of spilled soda and overheated excitement.

"Out of the way!" Rose barked at a cluster of gawking freshmen blocking the path, shoving past with Rey in tow. Rey's sneakers squeaked on the sticky floor, her pulse roaring in her ears, questions piling up unspoken: How? Why? And Ben—where was Ben in all this?

They burst out of the lunch hall into the main corridor, the throng of students spilling ahead like a river breaking its banks. Lockers blurred by in a metallic haze, voices overlapping in a cacophony of speculation—"She was always shady," "Something about theft?" "No, I heard harassment!"—and Rey's breath came shallow, her hand clutching Rose's sleeve for stability. Poe elbowed forward relentlessly, muttering under his breath, and they finally shoved through the front doors into the crisp bite of winter air. The quad stretched before them, dusted in a thin layer of snow that crunched underfoot, the bare oaks framing the scene like silent witnesses. A ring of students had already formed at the edge of the path leading to the parking lot, phones held high, capturing the spectacle.

There, in the center of it all, two uniformed officers flanked Miss Potts, their grips firm on her elbows as they guided her toward a waiting squad car. Her face was a mask of flushed indignation, lips pressed into a thin line, her usual severe bun unraveling slightly in the wind. Handcuffs glinted silver against her wrists, catching the weak sunlight, and she twisted her head to glare at the onlookers, her voice carrying sharp and defiant:

"This is outrageous! You'll all regret this!" The officers didn't flinch, one murmuring something low into his radio as they maneuvered her past the crowd, her heels digging futile furrows in the snow-dusted gravel.

Rey's eyes scanned the periphery, drawn inexorably to the figures standing just off to the side, near the headmaster's office entrance. The headmaster, stood ramrod straight in his wool overcoat, arms crossed over his chest, his expression a granite slab of authority. And beside him—Ben. Tall and composed, his dark coat buttoned against the chill, hands clasped loosely in front of him as he watched the procession with a neutral gaze. But Rey knew that look: the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw ticked ever so slightly. He hadn't noticed her yet, his focus locked on Potts until the car door clicked shut behind her, the engine rumbling to life.

Their eyes met then, across the fifteen feet of trampled snow and murmuring students—a fleeting lock that sent a jolt through Rey, electric and loaded. His expression flickered, just for her: a softening around his eyes, a ghost of reassurance that no one else would catch. But in that instant, her mind raced, piecing together the impossible. What did he do? The question burned in her chest, hot and accusing, even as gratitude twisted through it. Had he gone to Grayson? Dug up dirt on Potts to turn the tables? Risked everything—their everything—just to shield her? The squad car pulled away with a crunch of tires, red and blue lights flickering briefly before vanishing down the drive, and the crowd erupted into a buzz of aftermath chatter.

Rose tugged at Rey's arm, her voice hushed and awed.

"Holy shit, did that just happen? Poe, what the hell went down?" Poe shrugged, still catching his breath, eyes glued to the retreating vehicle.

Rey barely heard them, her stare still fixed on Ben as he turned to murmur something to Grayson, the two men nodding gravely before the headmaster clapped him on the shoulder and headed inside. Ben lingered a beat longer, his gaze sweeping the crowd until it found hers again, holding it with that unspoken promise. She swallowed hard, the weight of it all crashing down: relief warring with fresh fear, love tangled with suspicion. What had he done to make this happen? And at what cost? The bell rang distantly, signaling the end of lunch, but the world felt suspended, the snowflakes starting to swirl once more as if the storm was just beginning.

The squad car's taillights faded into the swirling snow, red and blue pulses swallowed by the gray veil of the afternoon as it crunched down the winding drive toward the campus gates. Rey stood rooted in the thin layer of slush, her breath fogging the air in shallow bursts, the cold seeping through her thin sweater and jeans like icy fingers. Around her, the crowd of students buzzed like a disturbed hive—phones thrust high, capturing every last glimpse of the drama, their voices a chaotic symphony of speculation and glee. 'Did you see her face?' one girl squealed to her friend, while a cluster of sophomores replayed the video on a screen, zooming in on Potts' defiant scowl. Laughter mixed with shocked gasps, the energy electric and infectious, but Rey felt detached from it all, her gaze lingering on the empty spot where the car had been, her mind a whirlwind of questions about Ben's role in this sudden unraveling.

Rose's hand clamped around Rey's wrist, tugging insistently.

"Come on, Rey, it's freezing out here." Her voice cut through the din, urgent and laced with that familiar edge of practicality. Rey resisted for a heartbeat, her eyes flicking back toward the headmaster's office door where Ben had disappeared moments ago, his broad shoulders vanishing into the warmth of the building. Just one more glance—that subtle nod he'd given her, the one that said trust me without words—replayed in her mind, stirring a knot of warmth amid the chill. But Rose pulled harder, and Rey relented, letting herself be dragged backward through the throng, her sneakers slipping slightly on the slick path.

They pushed back inside the main doors, the sudden blast of heated air hitting them like a wall, carrying the mingled scents of cafeteria leftovers and damp wool coats. The corridor was a bottleneck of retreating students, lockers slamming shut in hasty rhythm, backpacks zipping as everyone scrambled to classes. Poe and Finn had waited just inside, leaning against the wall with arms crossed, their faces alight with the thrill of the gossip. Rose released Rey's arm but kept close, her cheeks still pink from the cold, and the four of them fell into step together, weaving through the flow toward the biology wing.

"Oh my god," Rose whispered, her eyes wide as she glanced back toward the doors, as if expecting the police to burst in after them. She leaned in closer to the group, voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush. "That was insane. Like, actual handcuffs. What do you think she even did?"

Poe shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets, his breath still coming a bit ragged from the sprint.

"Do you think she was fucking a student? I mean, explain the whole vibe she had going on."

Finn snorted, falling into pace beside him, his hoodie zipped up against the draft from an open window.

"Shit, lucky motherfucker," he added, shaking his head with exaggerated envy. "Miss Potts is fineeee—those legs in those skirts? Come on." He caught Rey's sharp look then, her brows furrowing as she shot him a glare that could curdle milk. "What? She is? Any guy turning down that woman is gay or insane." He held up his hands in mock defense, chuckling as they navigated past a group of giggling underclassmen huddled over their phones.

Rose rolled her eyes so hard it was audible, her arm looping through Rey's again for solidarity.

"Oh, shut up and go look at Poe's feet pics," she snapped back, her tone dripping with sarcasm, though a mischievous spark lit her eyes. The words landed like a grenade in the middle of their little pack, and the corridor seemed to narrow around them, the chatter of other students fading into white noise.

"What?" Poe yelped, caught completely off guard, his steps faltering as he whipped his head toward Rose. His face flushed a deep crimson, matching the emergency exit sign at the end of the hall, and he stumbled over his next words. "Where the hell did that come from?"

"Rose!" Finn muttered, half-laughing, half-scandalized, clapping a hand over his mouth as he glanced around to see if anyone else had overheard. But the hallway was too chaotic for their banter to draw much attention—a teacher barked at a dawdling kid to hurry up, and the distant ring of the bell echoed like a warning.

Rey blinked, processing the pivot in conversation, her earlier distraction fracturing under the absurdity. She squeezed Rose's arm lightly, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the lingering knot in her chest about Ben.

"Wait, it's true?" she questioned Finn, her voice pitched low but curious, arching a brow at him as they reached the Maths classroom door.

"Ew, dude," Poe groaned, visibly grossed out, rubbing a hand over his face as if to wipe away the implication. He shot Rose a betrayed look, quickening his pace to push ahead into the room. "Why would you even say that? Now it's out there forever."

"Okay, what just happened? How is this on me suddenly?" Rose shot back at Poe, her whisper turning indignant as she followed him inside, dragging Rey along. The classroom was already half-full, students settling into seats with rustling papers and last-minute whispers about Potts. Finn trailed behind, still chuckling under his breath, while Rey slid into her usual spot by the window, her mind drifting once more to Ben's steady presence outside. The arrest, the rumors—it all swirled together, a precarious shield around their hidden world, but for now, amid the group's flustered laughter, she let herself breathe, the snow outside tapping softly against the glass like a secret shared.

 

Maths class blurred into a haze for Rey, the teacher's droning lecture. The arrest of Miss Potts still lingered like a shadow in her mind, the whispers from the hallway echoing faintly as the bell finally pierced the air, sharp and liberating. She gathered her notebook with mechanical precision, her fingers brushing the hidden chain around her neck where the engagement ring dangled, a secret talisman against the chaos. Rose nudged her elbow as they shuffled out, linking arms with that effortless camaraderie that always grounded Rey.

"That was brutal," Rose muttered, her voice low amid the stampede of students spilling into the corridor. Poe and Finn trailed behind, still chuckling over some inside joke from the previous period, their footsteps echoing off the linoleum floors slick with melting snow tracked in from outside.

English was next, just down the hall in the familiar room with its walls lined in faded posters of literary giants and a chalkboard scarred from years of annotations. The group stumbled inside together, the door creaking on its hinges as they claimed their usual cluster of desks near the back—close enough to engage but far enough for discreet notes and glances. Rey's heart stuttered the moment she spotted him: Ben Solo, perched casually at his desk, his dark hair slightly tousled as if he'd run a hand through it in quiet frustration. The wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose caught the fluorescent light, giving him that scholarly intensity she adored, but it was the rolled-up sleeves of his crisp white shirt that hit her like a gut punch. The fabric strained just enough against his forearms, revealing the corded muscles beneath—veins tracing subtle paths from wrist to elbow, a testament to the strength she knew intimately from stolen nights. His biceps flexed subtly as he adjusted a stack of papers, the shirt hugging his broad chest in a way that made her mouth go dry. Just what she needed adding to her day: this raw, unfiltered sexual desire coiling low in her belly, heat blooming despite the draft seeping through the cracked window. She slid into her seat, crossing her legs to quell the sudden ache, her eyes tracing the line of his jaw as he scanned the room, oblivious—or was he?—to the way her gaze lingered.

The class settled with the rustle of bags and the scrape of chairs, a low hum of chatter filling the space until Ben cleared his throat, commanding attention without raising his voice. He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, those piercing eyes sweeping over them all.

"Alright, everyone. Before we dive in, I hope you all took the time over the holidays to work on those short stories about forbidden love. I'd like to hear what you came up with—pass them forward if you've got them ready."

The room stiffened instantly, a collective intake of breath that Rey felt ripple through the air like a chill wind. Her pulse quickened. Whispers erupted: a girl in the front row fidgeted with her pen, while Poe shot Finn a wide-eyed look, mouthing what the hell? Rey's cheeks warmed, her mind flashing to the nights tangled in Ben's sheets, his hands mapping her body with reverent hunger, whispering promises that defied every rule.

Rose, ever the bold one, shot her hand up before anyone else could recover, her brow furrowed in genuine confusion.

"Sir, you did not give us any work," she questioned him, her tone polite but firm, leaning forward as if ready to debate.

Ben's lips quirked in a half-smile, but he held her gaze steadily. "I did indeed. It was in the assignment sheet from before break—clear as day."

"No, you didn't," Rose argued, undeterred, yanking her planner from her bag with a flourish. She flipped back through the weeks, pages crinkling under her fingers, her voice gaining steam. "See? No mention here. You told us to read Wuthering Heights and let's face it, none of us did that. But no homework." She snapped the planner shut with a decisive thud, crossing her arms. "I'm graduating this year, sir. You think I'd skip chances at extra credit?"

A murmur of agreement swept the class, heads nodding as students exchanged glances—Poe smirking triumphantly, Finn stifling a laugh. Ben paused, his eyes twinkling with amusement behind the glasses, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. He pushed back from the desk, standing to his full height, the movement drawing Rey's eyes inexorably to the way his shirt pulled taut across his torso.

"Well, it seems my joke has gone stale," he chuckled, the sound rich and warm, sending a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold. "You are correct, Miss Tico. I was merely... joking. But since you've admitted you didn't in fact read Wuthering Heights, I guess we can today, right? Open your books, ladies and gentlemen."

The sighs and groans were immediate, a wave of theatrical dismay rolling through the room—books thumping open with reluctance, pencils tapping in protest. Students mumbled under their breaths, shooting Rose dirty looks as if she'd personally orchestrated the punishment. A balled-up piece of paper sailed from the back row, bouncing off her shoulder, followed by another that unfurled to reveal a crude doodle of a book with devil horns. Poe snorted, whispering something to Finn that made him bark a laugh, quickly muffled behind a cough when Ben's gaze sharpened.

"Hey, chill... my bad," Rose surrendered, slumping back in her seat with an apologetic shrug, though her eyes sparkled with the victory of calling his bluff.

Rey raised her hand slowly, her voice steady despite the flutter in her chest.

"What if you did actually read it?" The question slipped out, laced with a challenge she couldn't quite suppress, her eyes locking onto his for a beat too long.

Ben met her stare, a flicker of something unreadable passing between them—heat, perhaps, or the ghost of their shared secrets. He pointed to a kid in the front row, a lanky boy with messy hair who straightened like he'd been caught napping.

"We read it again," he said simply, his tone brooking no argument, before nodding at the student. "Jack, why don't you start us off? Let's see if familiarity breeds anything new."

The boy grumbled but complied, his voice monotone as he began reading Heathcliff's brooding declarations, the words painting a world of wild moors and unbridled passion that mirrored Rey's own turmoil. She opened her book, pretending to follow along, but her mind wandered to Ben—how his muscles would tense under her touch, the way he'd groan her name in the dark, their love a storm no societal barrier could contain. The class dragged on, the reading punctuated by Ben's insightful interjections, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her. Rose doodled in the margins of her notes, occasionally glancing at Rey with a knowing smirk, while the paper balls ceased, replaced by the scratch of pens and the occasional yawn. Outside, snow flurried against the window, a soft counterpoint to the building tension in Rey's veins, her desire for Ben simmering just beneath the surface, waiting for the bell to release them both.

 

The bell shattered the monotony of the reading like a gunshot, its shrill peal slicing through the heavy air of the classroom. Desks scraped in a frenzy as students bolted upright, bags slung over shoulders in a chaotic exodus—Poe shoving Finn playfully toward the door, the lanky reader in the front row slamming his book shut with exaggerated relief. Rey's pulse thrummed in her ears, the words of Wuthering Heights still echoing in her mind like a forbidden echo of her own life.

She packed her things slowly, deliberately, stealing a glance toward the front where Ben stood, erasing the board with broad strokes of the eraser. His rolled sleeves rode up further with the motion, exposing more of those sinewy forearms that made her thighs clench involuntarily. Their eyes met for the briefest instant—his dark gaze holding hers with a heat that promised retribution later, a silent wait for me that sent a jolt straight to her core. But before she could savor it, Rose's hand clamped around her wrist like a vice.

"Library—we gotta study for Biology tomorrow," Rose declared, her voice a whirlwind of determination as she yanked Rey from her seat. The drag was relentless, Rose's enthusiasm a force of nature, pulling her through the throng of bodies bottlenecking at the door. Rey stumbled after her, the moment with Ben severed like a thread snapped too soon, leaving her body humming with unspent energy. The hallway blurred into a river of chatter and slamming lockers, the scent of damp coats and cafeteria grease mingling with the faint, crisp bite of snow from outside. Rose didn't let up, her ponytail swinging like a metronome as she powered toward the library at the end of the east wing, her free hand gesturing wildly.

"That exam's gonna kill us if we don't cram. You were zoning out in English—don't think I didn't notice."

Rey managed a half-laugh, her mind still tangled in the classroom's tension, the way Ben's chuckle had rumbled low and intimate, stirring memories of his breath hot against her ear in the dark.

"Yeah, sorry. Just... crazy day."

The library doors swung open with a hush of aged wood and polished floors, the space a sanctuary of towering shelves and long oak tables bathed in the soft glow of overhead lamps. It was quieter here, the muffled roar of the hallway fading to a distant hum, broken only by the occasional page-turn or keyboard clack from the few dedicated souls scattered about. They claimed a corner table near the biology section, spines of textbooks looming like judgmental sentinels. Rose dumped her bag with a thud, flipping open her notebook to diagrams of cell structures and mitosis cycles, her pen already flying.

"Okay, start with the organelles—I've got the basics, but that punnett square stuff is frying my brain."

They dove in, the study session a rhythm of whispered explanations and shared notes. Rey forced focus, sketching Punnett grids while Rose quizzed her on dominant alleles, their heads bent close over the pages. The words blurred at the edges, though—Rey's thoughts drifting. She shifted in her seat, the wooden chair creaking under her, heat pooling despite the library's chill. Rose didn't notice, rattling off facts about meiosis like a lifeline, her energy infectious enough to keep Rey anchored for the first half-hour. Pencils scratched, highlighters squeaked across paper, and for a moment, normalcy reigned—no arrests, no accusations, just two friends battling academia.

But halfway through, Rose's stomach let out a traitorous growl that echoed off the shelves, loud enough to earn a glare from a nearby freshman buried in a novel. She pressed a hand to her midsection, wincing.

"Ugh. Cafeteria's still open—wanna grab fries? My treat if you come."

Rey shook her head, stifling a yawn that betrayed her exhaustion. The day's toll crashed over her like a wave: the early wake-up tangled in Ben's arms, the hallway drama, classes dragging like molasses. Her eyelids felt leaden, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead.

"Go ahead. I'll finish this section"

Rose eyed her skeptically, packing her things with reluctance.

"You sure? You look wrecked. Don't pull an all-nighter; Bio's tomorrow, not the apocalypse." She squeezed Rey's shoulder, a quick hug of solidarity, before vanishing through the doors, her footsteps fading into the hallway's din.

Alone now, the library's quiet amplified Rey's fatigue, wrapping around her like a heavy blanket. She hunched over the textbook, tracing the lines of DNA helices with a finger, but the words swam, merging into nonsense. Her head dipped lower, chin resting on her folded arms, the cool wood of the table a stark contrast to the warmth building in her dreams. Rey's eyes fluttered shut, her breaths evening out as the library's hush claimed her, the open book her unwitting pillow. Outside, the snow continued to fall, blanketing the world in silence, while her mind wandered to the man who held her heart—and her secrets—in the palm of his hand.

 

The insistent buzz of Rey's phone rattled against the wooden desk, vibrating the table with a persistent hum that dragged her from the depths of exhaustion. Her eyelids fluttered open, heavy and reluctant, the library's dim emergency lights casting long shadows across the rows of bookshelves. She groaned low in her throat, the sound muffled against the textbook that had served as her makeshift pillow, her cheek imprinted with the faint ridges of text about cellular respiration. The air felt stale, cooler now in the dead of night, carrying the faint musty scent of old paper and forgotten studies. Rey's hand fumbled blindly, knocking over a pencil that clattered to the floor, before she finally grasped the device. Her vision blurred as she squinted at the screen, thumb swiping to answer without fully registering her surroundings—the empty chairs, the clock on the wall ticking past midnight, the utter stillness that screamed she wasn't in her dorm bed.

"Hello?" Her voice emerged rough and parched, like gravel scraping from a dry well, her tongue thick with sleep.

"Rey? Where the fuck are you? I've been trying to call you for hours, I've been texting." Ben's voice burst through, sharp with worry laced in frustration, the background hum of wind suggesting he was already outside, bundled against the chill.

Rey pushed herself upright, her neck crickling in protest as she yawned wide, the stretch pulling at her muscles. Reality crashed in then—the library, the scattered notes, the half-finished Punnett square staring back at her accusingly. She'd dozed off, hard, the weight of the day pulling her under like quicksand.

"I'm in the library," she mumbled mid-yawn, arching her back in a lazy stretch that did little to shake the fog from her brain. "Must have dozed off."

"Rey, it's two a.m."

"What!" The word snapped out, adrenaline flooding her veins like ice water. She bolted fully awake, heart pounding as she glanced at her phone's clock, the digital numbers confirming the nightmare. Six hours? The study session with Rose felt like minutes ago, not an entire evening lost to slumber.

"Yeah, you see my worry? You've been dead to the world for about six hours. I'm on my way." The line clicked dead before Rey could protest, Ben's determination cutting through like always.

Rey stared at the blank screen, sarcasm bubbling up through her lingering grogginess.

"Okay, byeee," she muttered to the empty air, her voice dripping with mock exasperation as she set the phone down.

The library felt even more oppressive now, the silence pressing in, broken only by the distant creak of the building settling in the cold. She rubbed her eyes, willing the drowsiness away, but her body betrayed her—eyelids drooping, head nodding forward despite her efforts. She paced a tight circle around the table, arms hugging herself against the chill seeping through the windows, the snow outside swirling lazily under the streetlamps. Twenty minutes ticked by in a haze of half-formed thoughts. She pinched her arm, the sharp sting a temporary jolt, but sleep clawed at her edges, relentless.

The library doors creaked open with a soft whoosh, pulling her from another near-drowse. Footsteps echoed across the polished floor—heavy, purposeful—and there he was, Ben, silhouetted against the faint glow from the hallway. His coat was dusted with fresh snowflakes, melting into dark spots on the wool, and in his hands, he balanced a paper bag greasy with the promise of fries and a chilled bottle of cola that sweated condensation. He moved with quiet efficiency, scanning the empty space before his eyes locked on her, softening with a mix of relief and that ever-present hunger.

He set the offerings on the desk with a gentle thud, the scent of hot, salted potatoes wafting up, cutting through the library's staleness.

"Eat. You look like you need it."

Rey's stomach twisted, not just from hunger but from the sight of him here, in this forbidden space, so close to disaster. She glanced toward the doors, half-expecting a janitor or security to burst in.

"Ben, we shouldn't... we need to be careful." Her whisper was urgent, laced with the fear that never fully left her, not after Miss Potts' accusations, not with the headmaster's shadow looming over them both.

"No one is here, Rey. It's two a.m." His tone was low, reassuring, as he shrugged off his coat and draped it over the chair, revealing the fitted sweater that hugged his broad shoulders. He pulled out the chair across from her, sitting with that easy confidence that always made her pulse quicken.

She sank back into her seat, fingers trembling as she uncapped the cola, the fizz a sharp contrast to her unease. The first sip was cold and sweet, grounding her, but questions burned hotter. She set the bottle down, eyes searching his face in the low light.

"What did you do? Why did Miss Potts get arrested?"

Ben's expression hardened, his jaw tightening as he leaned forward, elbows on the table.

"I told the headmaster that she hides coke in her desk drawer." The words came out straight-faced, matter-of-fact, no room for doubt.

"What?" Rey's voice cracked, shock rippling through her like a stone in still water. She leaned back, the chair creaking under the sudden shift, her mind reeling.

"It's true." Ben's gaze held steady, firm, unyielding. "I also know she's been supplying it to the kids here when you all go to parties."

Rey's breath hitched, her whisper barely audible over the hum of the vents. "Wait... she's a drug dealer?"

He nodded, his voice dropping even lower, as if the walls might carry tales.

"I had proof. I was working late a few months back, marking papers, when she came to see me. It had been a faculty party for someone's birthday—she was a little tipsy, bold in that way people get after a few drinks. She came into my office, flirted heavy, tried to come on to me. She kissed me. I pushed her off immediately, said no, made it clear. Then she sat down, pulled out a baggie, and did lines right there on my desk. Offered me some, like it was nothing. It's unfortunate for her that I had a recorder going—I use it sometimes to take notes on student progress, dictate thoughts while grading. I got the whole thing: the kiss, the rejection, the drugs. Everything."

Rey sat frozen, the fries forgotten, the cola going flat beside her. It was a lot—a tidal wave crashing over the fragile dam of her composure. Miss Potts, exposed. Ben, entangled even peripherally. Her mind snagged on the details, the implications spinning like snow in a blizzard. Proof. Drugs. A kiss. She stared at him, the weight of it pressing on her chest, making each breath shallow.

"Wait... she kissed you?" The question slipped out, sharp and pointed, her voice trembling on the edge of something raw.

Ben sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, the stubble rasping under his palm. "Rey, I really think you're missing the big picture here."

"Yeah, yeah, Miss Potts sells coke to the kids. Got it." She waved a hand dismissively, but her eyes narrowed, fixation locking in. "You and her... you kissed? A few months back? When did you kiss?" The words tumbled out, laced with accusation, her heart twisting in her ribs.

"Rey, it's not important." He reached across the table, but she pulled back, the distance a chasm opening between them.

She stood abruptly, the chair scraping back with a harsh screech that echoed too loudly in the quiet. Stepping away from the desk, she put space between them, her back brushing against a bookshelf. Tears pricked at her eyes, hot and unwelcome, blurring his outline.

"You and her kissed, while we were dating?"

He rose too, stepping closer, his hands outstretched in placation, but she mirrored him, retreating further, the spines of books digging into her shoulder blades.

"Rey, come on." His voice softened, pleading, but it only fueled the storm inside her.

She shook her head, dark hair falling loose from its tie, strands sticking to her damp cheeks. "When did she kiss you?"

"Beginning of October, but it was nothing, Rey. I pushed her off and I said no." He closed the gap again, his presence overwhelming, the scent of snow and his cologne wrapping around her like a trap.

October. The word echoed, a dagger to the gut. While she'd been falling deeper, he'd been... what? Tempted? Even for a second? Silent tears traced paths down her face, dropping onto the floor in soft patters. She lowered her head, unable to meet his eyes, the betrayal—real or imagined—crushing her.

"I have to go." The words choked out through a sob, her voice breaking as she sidestepped him, grabbing her bag in a frantic clutch. She bolted for the door, the library's hush shattering under her hurried footsteps, the cold air from the hall rushing in like a slap.

"Rey, wait!" Ben's shout followed her, raw and desperate, but she didn't stop, pushing through the doors into the empty corridor, the echo of her sobs chasing her into the night.

The heavy library doors swung shut behind Rey with a muffled thud, sealing off the warmth and the man who had just cracked her world open. The hallway stretched out like an endless void, dimly lit by the fluorescent bulbs that buzzed faintly overhead, casting harsh shadows on the linoleum floor. Her footsteps echoed sharply—too loud, too frantic—as she bolted down the corridor, her bag slung haphazardly over one shoulder, bumping against her hip with each stride. Tears streamed unchecked down her face, hot and relentless, blurring the lockers that lined the walls into smeared metallic blurs. The air out here felt colder, sharper, biting at her exposed skin, but she barely registered it; the chill inside her chest was far worse, a vise squeezing her heart until it felt like it might splinter.

She didn't think, didn't plan—just veered toward the nearest refuge, the girls' bathroom door at the end of the hall. Her hand slammed against the push plate, the door flying open with a squeak of hinges, and she stumbled inside. The door clicked shut behind her, and in that instant, the dam broke fully. Rey's legs buckled, her body sliding down the cool metal door until she hit the tiled floor with a soft thump. She drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them as if she could hold herself together that way, but the sobs tore out anyway—deep, wrenching sounds that echoed off the porcelain and mirrors, filling the small room with her pain.

Her heart shattered in her chest, each beat a jagged edge cutting deeper. October. The word looped in her mind, a cruel refrain. While she'd been whispering secrets in the dark, stealing touches in hidden corners, building dreams around him, Ben had been kissed by someone else. Miss Potts—sleek, confident, everything Rey wasn't.

I pushed her away, he said.

It was nothing, he insisted.

But it had happened. Lips on lips, even for a second, while Rey's world revolved around him. Betrayal twisted in her gut, not just the act but the secrecy, the months he'd carried that without telling her. How many other shadows lurked in their light? The ring on the chain around her neck suddenly felt like a noose, the bracelet on her wrist a shackle. She loved him—god, she loved him so fiercely it terrified her—but love like this, laced with doubt, felt like drowning.

Her breaths came in short, ragged gasps now, the sobs morphing into something sharper, more desperate. Rey's eyes, red-rimmed and swollen, drifted downward, catching on the glint of diamonds at her wrist. The bracelet—Ben's gift, slipped on during that snowy night under the stars, a promise etched in sparkle. Her fingers, trembling violently, fumbled at the clasp. It took three tries, nails scraping against the cool metal, before it unlatched with a soft click. She yanked it free, the absence leaving her skin bare and strangely naked, and shoved it deep into the pocket of her jeans, where it landed with a faint jingle against her phone. But it wasn't enough. Her hand rose to her neck, tracing the chain that held the ring—the simple band he'd given her in the park, vowing forever after graduation. The metal warmed under her touch, but it burned now, a reminder of vows that might be built on sand.

With shaking hands, she unclasped the necklace, the chain slipping through her fingers like liquid silver. The ring dangled for a moment, catching the harsh bathroom light, before she balled it up in her fist and thrust it into the same pocket. The weight of it pressed against her thigh, heavy with what-ifs. Her chest tightened further, breaths hitching into hyperventilation. Anxiety flooded her like a tidal wave—hot, overwhelming, crashing over her senses. The room spun, the white tiles blurring into a nauseating swirl. She pressed her palms to her eyes, trying to block it out, but the panic clawed deeper: What if he didn't push her away? What if there were more? What if their whole secret world was just a lie? Her vision tunneled, black spots dancing at the edges, and she rocked forward, forehead to knees, whispering broken pleas to herself.

"Breathe, Rey, just breathe." But the air wouldn't come, trapped in her throat, and the sobs dissolved into whimpers that rattled her whole body.

Alone in the echoing bathroom, with the distant hum of the school settling into deeper night, Rey curled tighter into herself. The door at her back felt like a barrier against the world—against Ben's voice calling her name, against the life she'd dared to imagine. Her hands clutched at her arms, nails digging into skin, grounding herself in the pain as the panic attack peaked, leaving her exhausted, hollow, adrift in the wreckage of her trust.

Chapter 26

The fluorescent lights in the history classroom hummed like a distant swarm of bees, casting a sterile pallor over the rows of wooden desks scarred with years of idle carvings. It was Friday afternoon, the kind where the winter sun hung low and lazy outside the frost-laced windows, mocking the students trapped inside with its fleeting warmth. Four days had crawled by since Ben's confession in the library—four endless days of replaying that single, shattering detail in her mind like a looped nightmare. Rey sat rigid in her seat near the back, her history textbook splayed open to a chapter on the Industrial Revolution, but the words blurred into meaningless smudges. Machines and factories? They might as well have been diagrams of her fracturing heart.

Her pen tapped relentlessly against the edge of the book, the plastic tip clicking in a frantic rhythm that matched the storm raging inside her skull. Tap-tap-tap. Each strike echoed her pulse, erratic and unforgiving. Under the desk, her foot bounced against the table leg—thud-thud-thud—sending faint vibrations up her calf, the sole of her sneaker wearing a groove into the floor. She couldn't stop; it was the only thing keeping the images at bay, but they surged forward anyway, vivid and cruel. Ben's lips on Miss Potts'. Not a full kiss, he'd sworn—just a brush, a mistake in the heat of rejection—but Rey's imagination filled in the gaps with vicious clarity. His strong hands on her waist, pulling her close? His breath mingling with hers, warm and intimate? The thought twisted like a knife, jealousy coiling hot and tight in her chest, making her stomach churn. How could he have kept it from her for months? Was it really nothing, or the first crack in the foundation they'd built?

The teacher droned on at the front, dissecting labor unions and child workers, but Rey heard none of it. Her gaze drifted to the clock above the board—ten minutes until the bell. English was next. Ben's class. The anxiety clawed up her throat, a bitter taste that made her swallow hard. She didn't want to see him. Not today, not with these visions clawing at her insides, turning every memory sour. What if she cracked in front of him? What if her eyes betrayed the hurt, and he saw how deeply it had burrowed? Or worse—what if she lashed out, right there in the middle of a room full of students? The risk of exposure loomed larger than ever; Miss Potts was gone, arrested for dealing drugs to kids, but the echoes of her accusations lingered like smoke. One wrong look, one slip, and the headmaster's office would summon them both. No graduation. No future. Just ruins.

Beside her, Finn slouched in his chair, doodling absentmindedly on his notebook—a lopsided sketch of a spaceship that looked more like a potato with fins. He glanced over, his dark eyes narrowing at her fidgeting.

"Yo, Rey, you good? You've been tapping that pen like it's Morse code for 'save me from this boredom.'" His voice was low, teasing, but laced with genuine concern. Finn had that way about him—easygoing, the glue that held their little group together when things got weird. Without Rose there, her usual sharp commentary absent because of the flu that had knocked her flat in their dorm, the dynamic felt off-kilter. Poe, on Finn's other side, was half-heartedly taking notes, his pen scratching sporadically as he shot Finn a grin.

Rey forced a weak smile, her lips barely curving.

"Yeah, just... restless. History's killing me today." It was a lie, thin as the snow-dusted ground outside, but she couldn't unload this on them. Not the full truth—the secret boyfriend who was also her professor. Finn and Poe knew her as the steady one, the girl who juggled classes and crushes without blinking.

The bell rang then, shrill and abrupt, slicing through the room like a release valve. Chairs scraped as students surged to their feet, backpacks zipping and chatter erupting in a wave. Rey stayed put for a beat, heart hammering as the anxiety peaked. English was down the hall, just a short walk, but it felt like crossing a minefield. Finn slung his bag over his shoulder, waiting for her.

"Come on," he said with a smile.

Rey pushed herself up, slinging her bag across her body, the weight of her books a poor distraction from the heavier burden in her chest. The hallway swarmed with bodies—lockers slamming, laughter bouncing off the walls—as they wove through the crowd. Her mind raced ahead to the English room: Ben at the front, sleeves rolled up to reveal those forearms she used to trace in secret, his voice steady as he lectured on Heathcliff's obsessions. Obsessions. The irony burned. Would he notice her distance? The way she'd avoid his eyes, bury herself in her notebook? Or would he think it was just another bad day, like the ones after Miss Potts' arrest when rumors flew like confetti?

By the time they reached the English classroom door, her palms were damp, the tapping urge migrating to her fingers drumming against her thigh. Finn and Poe filed in ahead, claiming their usual spots in the middle row, but Rey hung back in the threshold, scanning the space. Ben wasn't there yet—his desk empty, the chalkboard still smeared with yesterday's quotes. Relief flickered, brief and fragile, before dread settled back in. He'd arrive any second, that commanding presence filling the room, and she'd have to pretend. Pretend the kiss didn't haunt her. Pretend their love wasn't fraying at the edges.

She slid into her seat at the back, textbook out as a shield, her foot resuming its anxious tap against the leg. Finn shot her another look, brow furrowed, but she waved it off with a shrug. The door swung open moments later, and there he was—Ben, striding in with his stack of papers, dark hair slightly tousled, jaw set in that focused line she knew so well. His eyes swept the room, pausing—imperceptibly to anyone else—on her. A flicker of warmth, of question, before he turned to the board.

Rey dropped her gaze to her page, pen gripped tight. Four days, and the madness hadn't eased. If anything, it had burrowed deeper, waiting for the moment she'd shatter.

Ben's voice filled the classroom like a low rumble of thunder rolling in from a distant storm, steady and commanding as he paced the front of the room. He had launched into the day's lesson with his usual precision, dissecting Wuthering Heights with a fervor that made the gothic moors come alive in the minds of attentive students.

"Heathcliff's obsession isn't just passion—it's a force of destruction, mirroring the wild landscape that shapes him. Who can tell me how the setting influences his descent into vengeance?" His dark eyes scanned the rows, lingering just a fraction longer on familiar faces, probing for engagement.

Rey kept her head buried in her notebook, the spiral binding digging into her forehead as she pretended to scribble notes. Her pen scratched aimlessly across the page—loops and swirls that bore no resemblance to Emily Brontë's prose—anything to anchor her gaze away from him. The air in the room felt thicker now, charged with the weight of unspoken words, and every time Ben's boots clicked against the linoleum floor as he moved, her heart stuttered. She couldn't look up. Not at those eyes that had once made her feel seen, cherished. Not when all she could summon was the phantom press of his mouth against Miss Potts', a betrayal painted in her mind's eye with strokes of fire and deceit.

Finn shifted beside her, his knee bumping hers under the desk in a subtle nudge. He raised his hand halfway, then dropped it, muttering under his breath,

"Come on, someone bite. This is prime participation points." Poe, ever the opportunist, shot his hand up from the middle row, his voice cutting through the murmurs.

"The moors are isolating, right? Like, they trap Heathcliff in this echo chamber of his own rage—no escape, just him and the wind howling his grudges." Ben nodded approvingly, his lips curving in that faint, intellectual smile that used to send secret thrills down Rey's spine. Now, it twisted the knife deeper.

"Exactly, Poe. Isolation amplifies the internal storm." Ben's gaze swept back toward the rear, and Rey felt it like a physical touch—brushing over her bowed head, pausing there. She hunched lower, her shoulders drawing up as if to make herself smaller, invisible. Her foot resumed its frantic tapping against the table leg, the rhythm a desperate Morse code of distress:

Don't see me.

Don't ask me.

He moved on, calling on a girl in the front row who stammered through an answer about Catherine's ghost haunting the narrative. Rey exhaled shakily, her breath fogging the edge of her textbook where it lay open but unread. The words swam before her: 'Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.' Ironic, cruel. Were theirs? Or had that brush of lips shattered the illusion? Her fingers trembled as she turned a page she hadn't needed to, the rustle loud in her ears. Finn leaned over slightly, his whisper barely audible.

"You zoning out hard today. Ben's on a roll—might quiz us next."

She nodded jerkily, not trusting her voice, her throat tight with the effort of holding it together. The classroom clock ticked mercilessly, each second stretching the tension taut. Ben circled back to the board, chalk dust puffing as he underlined a quote: 'I am Heathcliff.' His voice softened then, laced with that interpretive depth she used to adore. '"his declaration—it's not romance; it's possession. A blurring of self that leads to ruin. Thoughts?"

The room stirred, a few hands rising tentatively. Rey's pulse roared in her ears, drowning out the responses. She traced the edge of her notebook with her thumbnail, the repetitive motion a fragile barrier against crumbling. If she looked up, she'd see him—tall, composed, the man who'd whispered promises in the snow, who'd slid a ring onto her finger under starlit skies. The man who'd hidden this from her, letting it fester like an untreated wound. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, hot and unwelcome; she blinked them back fiercely, jaw clenched. Not here. Not now.

Poe jumped in again, his tone animated. "It's toxic, yeah? Like, Heathcliff's love eats everything—himself included. Kinda warns against letting obsession blind you."

The lesson dragged on, Ben weaving through themes of revenge and redemption, his presence an inescapable gravity. Every shift of his weight, every gesture of his hands as he gestured emphatically, pulled at her like a tide she was fighting not to drown in.

By the time the bell pierced the air—sharp and liberating—Rey's neck ached from the strain of avoidance, her notebook a battlefield of aborted notes and smudges. Students surged up, chatter exploding as bags zipped and chairs scraped. Ben called out a final reminder about the upcoming essay, his voice carrying over the din.

"Focus on the duality of love and hate—due Monday." His eyes found hers then, direct and searching, a question flickering in their depths that she couldn't bear to answer.

She bolted, grabbing her things in a flurry and weaving through the exodus without a backward glance. Finn and Poe caught up in the hallway, Finn's hand on her shoulder light but steadying.

"That was brutal. You okay? Looked like you were allergic to the whole class." Poe nodded, falling into step.

Rey forced a laugh, brittle and unconvincing, as they headed toward the cafeteria. "Just tired. Rose is really ill, coughing all night. Plus her being out throws me off." It was half-true; the exhaustion from sleepless nights replaying Ben's confession compounded everything.

The cafeteria buzzed with the midday rush, a chaotic symphony of trays clattering, laughter echoing off the high ceilings, and the distant hum of the serving line where steam rose from vats of pasta and soups. Rey, Finn, and Poe had claimed their usual spot at a corner table near the windows, the winter sun filtering through frosted panes to cast pale, watery light across the laminate surface. Snowflakes danced lazily outside, a reminder of the holidays that felt both distant and oppressively close now that school had dragged them back into its rigid rhythm. Rey's tray held a simple lunch— a turkey sandwich half-eaten, an apple core pushed aside, and a steaming cup of herbal tea that had gone lukewarm from neglect. She barely registered the food anymore; her focus was laser-sharp on the biology textbook splayed open before her, pages marked with colorful tabs and her notebook filled with hurried annotations on cellular respiration.

Finn shoveled fries into his mouth across from her, his eyes darting between his phone and the crowd, while Poe lounged with his elbows on the table, recounting some exaggerated tale from history class that morning. Rey nodded absently, her pen flying across the page as she sketched a quick diagram of mitochondria, the lines precise despite the tremor in her hand. She hadn't slept well—nights replaying Ben's confession in the library, the way his voice had cracked when he admitted to that kiss with Miss Potts months ago, a moment he'd buried to protect them both. It gnawed at her, a splinter under her skin, making every glance in his direction feel like risking a fresh cut.

She took a bite of her sandwich mechanically, chewing without tasting, her eyes scanning the dense text on glycolysis. Notes piled up: arrows connecting enzymes, shorthand reminders for the quiz tomorrow. Finn nudged her foot under the table.

"Earth to Rey. We've got, like, twenty minutes before bio."

"Mm-hmm," she murmured, underlining a key term with more force than necessary, the highlighter squeaking against the paper. Poe chuckled, popping a grape into his mouth.

"She's in study mode. Leave her be, buddy. Rose would approve—girl's probably buried in her own books back in the dorm, flu or no flu."

The double doors to the kitchen swung open periodically, staff weaving through with fresh trays, but it was the side entrance from the hallway that drew Rey's peripheral attention. Students streamed in, backpacks slung low, but then she sensed him before she saw him— that subtle shift in the air, like the atmosphere thickening with unspoken gravity. Ben entered the cafeteria, his tall frame cutting through the crowd with effortless authority. He carried a black coffee in one hand and a neatly folded napkin in the other, his button-down shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle, the faint outline of a tattoo peeking from beneath the fabric. His dark hair was slightly tousled, as if he'd run a hand through it during a break between classes, and his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, giving him that scholarly edge that always made Rey's pulse quicken— or used to, before the doubt crept in.

He scanned the room briefly, his gaze methodical, before landing on their table. Poe straightened a bit, exchanging a quick look with Finn, who paused mid-bite, fries forgotten. Rey kept her head down, forcing her eyes to trace the next paragraph, but her heart hammered against her ribs, each beat echoing the warning: Don't look. Don't let him see the fracture. Ben approached with measured steps, his boots soft on the tiled floor, weaving past a group of freshmen huddled over their phones. He stopped at the edge of their table, close enough that Rey caught the faint scent of his cologne— woodsy, familiar, a ghost of Christmas mornings tangled in sheets.

"Rey." His voice cut through the din, firm and unyielding, laced with that professorial timbre that demanded attention without raising in volume. She froze, pen hovering over the page, the ink blotting slightly from the pressure. Slowly, reluctantly, she lifted her head, her brown eyes meeting his for the briefest second— dark, searching, holding a depth of concern that twisted something deep in her chest. Poe and Finn went still, their casual chatter evaporating; Finn's eyebrows shot up, and Poe leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, watching the exchange like it was a live drama unfolding.

"Yeah?" Her response came out steadier than she felt, though her fingers tightened around the pen, knuckles whitening. She held his gaze just long enough to seem composed, then flicked her eyes back to her notes, a barrier of academia against the vulnerability threatening to spill over.

Ben shifted his weight, setting his coffee down on the table's edge with a soft clink.

"I didn't get a chance to catch you after class, but your paper from Christmas has some inconsistencies. I'd like to discuss them with you?" His tone was professional, pitched for the public ear, but Rey caught the undercurrent— the subtle plea woven into the words, a bid to bridge the chasm she'd built since his revelation.

She glanced sideways at Poe and Finn, their faces a mask of polite curiosity— Poe's lips quirked in amusement, Finn's expression neutral but alert. Then back to Ben, his posture straight, waiting, the lines around his eyes deepening with unspoken worry. Her mind raced: Inconsistencies? More like an excuse to talk, to fix this? She couldn't risk it, not when her emotions were a live wire, ready to spark at the slightest touch.

"Uh, just write me a note? And I'll look it over later tonight. I'm busy right now." She picked up her biology textbook again, flipping it open with deliberate focus, her voice clipped and distant. The words hung there, a polite dismissal wrapped in student deferentiality. She dove back into the reading, tracing the diagram with her finger, ignoring the way her sandwich sat abandoned, crumbs scattering as she adjusted her elbow.

But Ben lingered. She felt it in the periphery— his presence like a shadow that refused to fade, the faint rustle of his clothing as he hesitated, the subtle intake of breath as if weighing his next move. Poe cleared his throat softly, breaking the silence with a casual.

"Yeah, prof, she's knee-deep in bio. Big quiz, right?" Finn nodded along, spearing a fry to offer a distraction, but Ben didn't budge immediately. Rey's eyes darted back to him despite her resolve, finding him still there, jaw set, a flicker of frustration— or hurt?— crossing his features. She schooled her expression, keeping it firm, a wall of indifference to mask the storm inside.

Go. Please, just go.

Her chest tightened.

Finally, she tore her gaze away, turning to Finn and Poe with forced nonchalance.

"Think I'm gonna head and check on Rose before next class."

She began packing her books into her bag with quick, efficient movements— textbook first, then notebook, the pen slotted into a side pocket. Her lunch remained half-finished on the tray, the apple rolling slightly as she pushed back her chair. The scrape of metal on tile felt louder than it should, drawing a few idle glances from surrounding tables.

"See you later, boys." She slung the bag over her shoulder, the strap digging into her collarbone, and spared Ben one last look— cool, detached. "Have a good day, Professor." The title landed like a barrier, formal and final, underscoring the chasm between the man before her and the lover she'd danced with in the snow.

She turned on her heel and walked off, weaving through the throng of students with purposeful strides, her boots clicking against the floor. The cafeteria doors swung shut behind her with a whoosh, muffling the chatter and clatter, and she exhaled— a long, shuddering breath that released the knot in her lungs.

The hallway felt like a tunnel of echoes as Rey moved through it, her boots thudding softly against the worn linoleum, each step a deliberate push away from the cafeteria and the weight of Ben's gaze. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows that danced with the flicker of her resolve. She adjusted the strap of her bag, the heavy canvas digging into her shoulder, a physical anchor to keep her grounded amid the swirl of emotions churning inside—anger, hurt, a desperate ache for the simplicity they'd shared before Miss Potts' shadow crept in. The air grew cooler as she approached the exterior doors, the promise of snow seeping through the glass panels, frosting the edges with delicate crystals. Students milled about in clusters, bundled in scarves and coats, their laughter a distant hum that grated against her frayed nerves. She shoved the door open, the cold slamming into her like a wall, whipping her hair across her face and stealing her breath in a sharp gasp.

Outside, the campus sprawled under a blanket of fresh snow, the grass beneath transformed into a pristine white expanse that crunched underfoot. Flurries swirled in lazy eddies, carried by a brisk wind that tugged at her thin sweater, sending chills racing down her spine. The dorm building loomed ahead, its brick facade dusted with powder, windows glowing warmly against the gray afternoon sky. Rey quickened her pace, head down, breath fogging in quick puffs as she cut across the quad. The snow soaked through the hems of her jeans, numbing her ankles, but she welcomed the bite—it sharpened her focus, drowned out the echo of Ben's voice in her mind. Just get to Rose. Pretend everything's fine. Her dorm key jingled in her pocket, a small comfort, but even that felt tainted now, a reminder of the secrets she'd stashed away in her room: the folded notes from stolen nights, the faint scent of his cologne lingering on her pillow.

Behind her, the door banged open again, heavier footsteps crunching through the snow in pursuit. She didn't need to look back to know it was him—the rhythm of his gait, purposeful and unyielding, sent a jolt through her.

"Rey!" His call sliced through the wind, firm and laced with urgency, carrying over the muffled chatter of passersby who paused to stare, their curiosity a prickling awareness on her skin. She ignored it, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the dorm's entrance, now only a dozen yards away. The snowflakes clung to her lashes, melting into tiny rivulets that traced cold paths down her cheeks, blurring her vision just enough to make the world feel distant, unreal.

"Rey, stop!" The plea edged into frustration, his voice closer now, boots pounding harder against the frozen ground. A few students whispered, phones half-raised as if this were another scandal to capture, but Rey didn't care—let them talk, let the rumors swirl like the storm around her. She reached the steps, her hand grasping the icy railing, slick and unforgiving, as she hauled herself up. The door was right there, freedom in the form of four walls and Rose's sympathetic ear. But Ben was faster, his longer strides closing the gap. She felt his presence like a magnetic pull, the air shifting as he caught up, his gloved hand clamping onto her arm just as she pushed through the threshold.

The warmth of the lobby hit her like a slap, the heater humming in the corner battling the influx of cold air. Ben pulled her to the side, away from the main flow of students shuffling toward the elevators and stairs, his grip firm but not bruising—enough to halt her momentum, to force her into the shadowed alcove by the mailboxes. Mail slots lined the wall, stuffed with envelopes and flyers, their metallic gleam a stark contrast to the flush creeping up her neck. He released her arm but blocked her path, his broad shoulders filling the space, chest rising and falling from the chase. Snow dusted his dark coat, melting into dark spots on the wool, and his cheeks were ruddy from the wind, eyes intense behind the fogged lenses of his glasses. Up close, she could see the tension in his jaw, the faint stubble shadowing his skin, a vulnerability cracking through his composed facade.

"Talk to me, Rey." His words came low, urgent, pitched just for her ears amid the creak of the door and the distant slam of lockers upstairs. The lobby smelled of stale coffee from the vending machine and the faint, musty scent of wet boots, a mundane backdrop to the storm brewing between them.

She crossed her arms over her chest, hugging her bag closer like a shield, staring at the scuffed tile floor where puddles formed from tracked-in snow. Her heart thundered, a wild drumbeat echoing the fear that if she met his eyes, she'd shatter—spill everything, the jealousy over Potts, the terror of losing him to the school's iron grip.

"I don't want to," she murmured, her voice quiet, barely above the hum of voices filtering down from the upper floors. It was the truth, raw and simple; talking meant confronting the fracture, the way his past kiss with that woman lingered like a bruise she couldn't ignore.

Ben exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, dislodging flakes that fluttered to the ground. He stepped closer, invading her space without touching, his presence overwhelming in the confined nook.

"So what, we're done?" The question hung heavy, laced with a hurt that mirrored her own, his dark eyes searching her face, pleading for a denial. He leaned in slightly, the heat from his body cutting through the chill clinging to her clothes, a reminder of warmer nights pressed against him.

Rey finally lifted her gaze, meeting his—those deep, depths that had once been her safe harbor, now roiling with the same uncertainty she felt. The intensity there nearly undid her, a flicker of desperation that made her throat tighten. His eyes dropped then, tracing the line of her collarbone to the thin gold chain peeking from beneath her sweater. The air thickened, charged with the weight of their shared secrets. Slowly, tentatively, his fingers brushed the fabric aside, cool leather of his glove grazing her skin, sending an involuntary shiver through her. He hooked the chain gently, drawing it out into the light—the small ring dangling from it, catching the lobby's fluorescent glow, a symbol of promises, of futures they'd dared to dream.

"No... you haven't given up on us yet," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion, thumb tracing the ring's edge as if it were a talisman against the unraveling. The words wrapped around her like a lifeline, pulling at the frayed edges of her heart, reminding her of the proposal in the snow, the way he'd knelt and slid it onto the chain with vows of patience until graduation.

But the touch, the intimacy in this public space, ignited a spark of panic. Rey stepped back, the chain slipping from his fingers to fall cold against her chest once more. The alcove felt too small, the walls closing in with the murmur of students nearby—someone laughing at the mailboxes, the ding of the elevator arriving. She couldn't do this here, not with eyes everywhere, not when her emotions were a tangled mess of love and betrayal.

"Leave me alone," she said firmly, her voice gaining steel as she sidestepped him, bag bumping against the wall in her haste. She didn't wait for a response, didn't dare glance back at the hurt etching his features. Instead, she strode down the hall toward the stairs, the fluorescent strips overhead blurring as tears pricked her eyes.

The corridor stretched long and empty, lined with doors sporting whiteboards scrawled with messages and posters peeling at the edges—reminders of club meetings and exam schedules that felt worlds away from her turmoil. Her footsteps echoed, quick and resolute, the dorm's familiar creaks and distant chatter a hollow comfort. Her room was on the second floor, a sanctuary of shared secrets and late-night confessions, but even as she climbed the stairs two at a time, the ring burned against her skin, a constant pull back to him.

Rey lingered at the top of the stairs, her hand gripping the cold metal railing as if it could steady the storm raging inside her. The dorm hallway stretched behind her like a dimly lit corridor of regrets, the faint hum of voices from lower floors filtering up like distant echoes of normalcy she no longer felt part of. Her chest tightened with that familiar pull toward Ben, an invisible thread yanking at her heart, urging her to turn back, to bridge the chasm she'd just carved between them. She hated it—this magnetic draw that made her body ache even as her mind screamed to run. Slowly, she glanced over her shoulder, her eyes finding him in the alcove below. Ben stood motionless, his silhouette framed by the lobby's warm glow spilling from the overhead lights, snow still melting on his coat in dark rivulets that traced paths down the fabric. His face was a mask of quiet devastation, dark eyes locked on hers with an intensity that pierced straight through her defenses. No words, no pleas—just that unwavering gaze, heavy with unspoken apologies and the weight of months unspoken.

A single tear escaped, hot and traitorous, carving a warm trail down her chilled cheek before she could brush it away. It blurred her vision of him for a split second, and in that haze, she saw flashes of their stolen moments: his lips on hers in the dim light of his office, the way his hands had mapped her skin with reverence during those risky nights. But the betrayal soured it all—the secret about Miss Potts, the kiss he'd hidden, the lies that festered like an open wound. She couldn't forgive, not yet. With a sharp intake of breath, Rey tore her gaze away, her boot scuffing against the worn carpet as she rounded the corner and ascended the next flight of stairs. Each step echoed her resolve, but her body rebelled, muscles screaming to halt, to descend back into his arms. She wanted nothing more than to crash against him, to feel his strong embrace swallow her whole, his mouth claiming hers in a kiss that erased the pain. But she couldn't. He had kept this from her for months, letting the shadow of that woman loom over their love without a word. The betrayal burned deeper than the cold seeping through the building's thin walls, a fire that propelled her upward, away from temptation.

The second-floor hallway was quieter, lined with doors adorned with holiday garlands now wilted from the post-Christmas slump, fairy lights twinkling faintly from a few rooms like mocking reminders of joy she'd lost. Rey's key rattled in the lock of her door, the metallic click too loud in the silence, as if announcing her unraveling to the empty corridor. She pushed inside, the familiar scent of Rose's lavender diffuser and her own vanilla candle hitting her like a wave—comforting, yet suffocating in its reminder of the life she'd built here, now cracking at the seams. The room was dim, afternoon light filtering through half-drawn blinds, casting striped shadows across the twin beds piled with rumpled blankets. Posters of indie bands and study schedules taped to the walls seemed juvenile now, a stark contrast to the adult complexities tearing her apart.

Rose lay curled on her bed, bundled in a nest of quilts, her face pale and flushed from the flu that had kept her sidelined for days. Tissues littered the floor like fallen snow, and a half-empty mug of tea steamed on the nightstand, the herbal aroma mingling with the faint tang of sickness. She stirred at the door's creak, cracking one eye open, her voice a groggy rasp.

"Rey? That you?"

Rey didn't respond at first, dropping her bag with a thud and yanking open her closet. Clothes tumbled out in her haste—sweaters, jeans, the red dress from Christmas that still carried a faint trace of Ben's cologne. She grabbed a duffel, stuffing items in haphazardly: a change of underwear, her favorite hoodie, the charger for her phone. Her hands trembled, knuckles white as she zipped compartments, the ring on its chain swaying against her chest like a pendulum of indecision.

"I'm going home, I quit. I'm done. Fuck it all." She said finally, nodding to herself as if affirming it made it real, her voice steady despite the quiver threatening to break through.

"What?" Rose pushed herself up on one elbow, wincing as the movement sent a fresh wave of congestion through her sinuses. Her hair was a tangled mess, eyes bleary and red-rimmed, but concern sharpened her gaze. She looked like hell—sick as fuck.

Rey turned, the duffel slung over her shoulder, but the weight of it felt like the anchor dragging her down. The words tumbled out before she could stop them, her throat closing around a sob.

"I'm going to go home. I can't stay here, Rose. I can't." The dam broke then, tears spilling freely as she sank to her knees beside her bed, the rough carpet biting into her skin through her jeans. Her body shook with the force of it, shoulders heaving as she clutched the edge of the mattress. "I can't do it anymore."

The confession ripped from her, raw and jagged, echoing the scream building in her chest. She buried her face in the comforter, the fabric muffling her cries as she pounded a fist against it. Memories flooded her: the carefree nights before Ben, when life was a blur of parties in smoke-filled, shots of cheap vodka burning down her throat, bodies pressing close in the dark without strings attached. Hooking up with faceless guys under strobe lights, laughter spilling out as freely as the alcohol, no hearts entangled, no futures at stake. But now? Feelings crashed over her like relentless waves—love for Ben that consumed her, fear of exposure that clawed at her insides, the sting of his omission twisting the knife. She screamed into the mattress, a guttural release that vibrated through her core, her nails digging into the fabric until her fingers ached. It was all too much, the secrecy, the risk, the depth of emotion that left her exposed and vulnerable in a way those fleeting hookups never had.

Rose groaned, swinging her legs over the bed's edge despite the protest of her aching body. She shuffled closer, perching on the floor beside Rey, one arm draped weakly over her friend's back. The touch was tentative, fever-warm through the thin barrier of Rey's sweater, but grounding.

"Rey, you can't go home. You literally said your dad bailed at Christmas." Her voice was hoarse, strained from coughing, but laced with that no-nonsense edge Rose always wielded like a shield. She rubbed slow circles on Rey's shoulder, ignoring the way her own head throbbed."'I know it's hard. I know Ben lied, but you have to forgive him or talk to him, Rey. Running won't fix this."

Rey shook her head violently, tears soaking the comforter into dark patches. She lifted her face, eyes swollen and cheeks streaked, the vulnerability stripping her bare.

"I can't talk to him." The admission hung in the air, heavy with the truth she'd buried deep.

"Why?" Rose pressed gently, her hand stilling as she searched Rey's face, piecing together the fragments of pain.

"Because he'll start talking," Rey whispered, her voice cracking like thin ice, "and before he's even finished, I'll be kissing him." She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, smearing mascara in black streaks, but the words kept coming, spilling out like a confession in the confessional. "He's intoxicating, Rose. The way he looks at me, like I'm the only thing that matters... it pulls me under every time. One touch, one word, and I'd forget everything—the lie, the hurt, Miss Potts. But he hurt me and I can't forget that. How easily he hid something from me." Her voice rose on the last words, a mix of anguish and anger, her fists clenching in her lap. The room felt smaller, the walls pressing in with the weight of her turmoil, the distant slam of a door downstairs underscoring her isolation. She rocked slightly, knees drawn up, the duffel forgotten by the bed as the pull to Ben warred with the need to protect herself. Forgiveness flickered at the edges of her mind, tempting, but the betrayal anchored her in place, a storm she wasn't ready to weather alone.

"Rey, you love him," Rose murmured, her thumb brushing away a fresh tear with surprising tenderness. "Go talk to him. Really talk. Bottling it up like this... it's eating you alive."

Rey shook her head, the motion small but vehement, her damp hair clinging to her neck in unruly strands. The room's stale air pressed against her skin, thick with the scent of illness and unspoken grief, making her chest feel even tighter.

"I can't," she whispered, the words barely audible, laced with a desperation that clawed at her throat. Admitting it aloud only amplified the ache—the way Ben's presence lingered in her veins like a drug she couldn't quit, even as the hurt festered. She pulled back slightly, wrapping her arms around her knees as if to hold herself together, the duffel bag slumped nearby like a defeated companion.

With a sigh that rattled in her congested lungs, Rose scooted nearer, ignoring the twinge in her muscles from days of bedrest. She draped an arm around Rey's shoulders, drawing her into a loose embrace, the warmth of her body a faint anchor against the chill seeping from the window. Her fingers threaded gently through Rey's hair, stroking in slow, rhythmic passes that aimed to soothe the storm. The touch was familiar, reminiscent of late-night confessions during freshman year, when heartbreaks were fleeting and fixable with ice cream and bad movies.

"Rey, babes, come on," Rose urged, her voice a husky plea, lips brushing Rey's temple in a sisterly kiss. "He will tear you apart, until you break. You know that. But staying away? That's you doing it to yourself. Let him explain, fight for it—whatever it takes. You're stronger than this running away bullshit."

Rey shook her head again, burrowing deeper into Rose's side, the fabric of her friend's oversized sweatshirt soft against her cheek. The words resonated too deeply, stirring the conflict that had rooted in her gut since the revelation about Miss Potts. Ben's kiss with that woman, hidden for months, replayed in her mind like a looped nightmare—his lips on someone else, the secrecy that undermined every tender moment they'd shared. Yet beneath the anger, love pulsed stubbornly, a warmth that made the betrayal sting sharper. She wanted to believe Rose, to march downstairs and demand the truth from his mouth, but the fear of crumbling under his touch held her captive. Her body trembled with the effort of restraint, sobs quieting to shaky breaths as Rose's hand continued its calming path through her hair.

The silence stretched, broken only by the distant murmur of students in the hall and the occasional creak of the old building settling under the winter wind. Rey's mind raced, grasping for an escape that didn't involve facing him or the void of her fractured family. She straightened slightly, wiping her nose on her sleeve, and fumbled for her phone in the pocket of her jeans. The screen lit up her tear-streaked face, casting a blue glow that highlighted the shadows under her eyes.

"Maybe I can stay with my mother for the weekend," she said, more to herself than Rose, her voice tentative as she opened the messaging app. It had been four or five years since she'd last seen her mother—holidays blurred into arguments, visits dwindled to sporadic calls that always ended in disappointment. The woman who once baked lopsided cookies and sang lullabies had faded into a stranger, her life a series of relocations and new partners that left no room for the daughter she'd left behind. Still, desperation made long shots feel viable. Rey's thumbs hovered, then typed quickly:

Can I visit this weekend?

She hit send before doubt could swallow her, the whoosh of the message echoing her fragile hope. Rose watched, her stroking hand pausing as she leaned over to glimpse the screen.

"Your mom? Rey, that's... bold. But yeah, if it gets you out of your head, go for it." There was no judgment in her tone, just quiet support, her arm tightening around Rey's waist in solidarity.

The reply came faster than expected, the notification chime slicing through the tension like a cold blade. Rey's heart stuttered as she read the words:

Sorry, out of town. Try your father.

The screen blurred under a fresh wave of tears, the curt dismissal hitting like a punch to the gut. She knew it was coming—her mother's life had always prioritized everything but her, from work trips to fleeting romances—but the rejection landed heavier now, amplified by the isolation wrapping around her like the dorm's drafty walls. Her father? He was a ghost even more elusive, his phone number a relic from two Christmas's ago, unanswered texts, his absence a constant undercurrent in her life. No response, no effort—just silence that echoed the emptiness she felt without Ben, without family, without a safe harbor.

Rey's phone slipped from her fingers, clattering softly to the carpet as her resolve shattered. She dropped her head to her knees, curling into a tight ball, the sobs ripping from her chest in raw, heaving waves. Her body shook violently, the emotional dam breaking wide open, flooding her with the weight of abandonment layered atop the heartbreak. Rose pulled her closer, murmuring soft reassurances into her hair—"It's okay, I've got you, we'll figure it out"—but the words felt distant, muffled by the roar of Rey's grief. The room spun in her periphery, posters blurring into abstract colors, the duffel bag a mocking symbol of plans unraveling. In that moment, alone with her pain and Rose's unwavering presence, Rey felt the pull to Ben intensify, a treacherous whisper amid the despair: maybe talking to him was the only way forward, even if it meant risking everything all over again.

Chapter 27

The library on a Saturday morning carried a hushed reverence, its vast oak-paneled walls absorbing the faint echoes of turning pages and the occasional sigh from weary students. Sunlight filtered through the tall arched windows, casting elongated shadows across the worn wooden tables and the labyrinth of bookshelves that stretched toward the vaulted ceiling. The air smelled of aged paper, polished wood, and the faint, comforting bitterness of coffee from the nearby vending machine. It was a sanctuary for the academically inclined, but for Rey, it felt more like a self-imposed exile—a deliberate barricade against the pull of her thoughts toward Ben.

She had arrived early, just after the doors opened at nine, her backpack slung over one shoulder and a thermos of black tea clutched in her hand like a talisman. The first weekend without him stretched before her like an uncharted void, and she had filled it with the one thing she could control: her studies. Biology notes sprawled across the table in front of her, highlighters in shades of yellow and pink marking key sections on cellular respiration and mitosis. Her laptop hummed softly, open to a digital textbook with tabs for supplemental videos she hadn't yet clicked. Rey sat ramrod straight in the creaky wooden chair, her chin lifted in a show of defiance against the ache gnawing at her chest. Keep your head up high, she told herself, echoing Rose's words from the night before, when sobs had wracked her body in the dim light of the dorm. Distract yourself.

But distraction was a fickle ally. Her pen tapped rhythmically against the notepad, the sound a metronome to her racing mind. Every few minutes, her gaze drifted to the window, where bare branches scratched against the glass under a pale winter sky. Snow from the previous night dusted the quad outside, pristine and untouched, a stark contrast to the mess inside her. Ben's face flickered unbidden—his dark eyes softening in the morning light of their stolen moments, the way his hands had traced her skin with reverence during those secret nights.

Rey forced her eyes back to the page, underlining a sentence about ATP production with more force than necessary. The highlighter squeaked against the paper, a small rebellion. She had skipped breakfast, her stomach too knotted for food, but the tea helped—warm sips grounding her as she reviewed diagrams of cell membranes. Around her, the library populated slowly: a group of freshmen huddled in the corner, whispering over group project outlines; an upperclassman across the aisle dozed over an open economics text, his head nodding forward. No one paid her any mind, which was both a relief and a loneliness. She missed Rose's presence, but her friend was still bedridden with the flu, texts from earlier that morning limited to a weak

How's the grind? Miss you already.

Rey had replied with a thumbs-up emoji, unwilling to burden her with the truth.

Time blurred as she dove deeper into the material, copying flashcards onto index cards with meticulous care. Her handwriting, usually neat, veered toward scrawl when her focus wavered, and she erased lines more than once, the rubber smudging the paper. By noon, her thermos was empty, and a dull headache throbbed at her temples from the strain. She stretched her arms overhead, feeling the pull in her shoulders from hunching over the table, and glanced at her phone. No messages from Ben—she had blocked his number temporarily, a hasty decision after their last strained encounter in the snowy courtyard, but the silence echoed louder than any plea. Part of her waited for him to find a way through, to show up with that persistent warmth that always unraveled her defenses. The other part, the wounded one, hoped he wouldn't.

A librarian pushed a cart past her table, the wheels rumbling softly, and Rey seized the interruption to stand and wander the stacks. She needed a book on genetics to cross-reference her notes, or so she told herself; really, it was to move, to shake off the stagnation settling in her limbs. The aisles were narrow, lined with towering shelves that blocked the light, creating pockets of dim intimacy. Her fingers trailed along the spines—cool leather and cloth under her touch—as she searched the call numbers. Focus, she whispered internally, pulling a thick volume free and flipping through its pages. Diagrams of DNA helices stared back, complex and unyielding, mirroring the tangle of her emotions.

Settling back at her table with the new resource, Rey spread it open beside her notes, annotating furiously. She sketched a quick Punnett square in the margin, calculating probabilities that felt absurdly applicable to her life: what were the odds of exposure now that Miss Potts was gone, arrested and disgraced? What chance did their future hold, with graduation looming like a guillotine? The ring on its chain around her neck shifted against her collarbone, a hidden weight she hadn't removed despite everything. It caught the light as she leaned forward, a subtle sparkle that made her pause, fingers brushing it instinctively before she tucked it away.

Lunchtime came and went; she ignored the rumble in her stomach, nibbling instead on a granola bar from her bag while watching a short lecture video on her earbuds. The professor's voice droned about osmosis, but Rey's mind wandered to simpler times—dancing in the kitchen, Ben's shirtless form flipping pancakes, their laughter filling the cozy space. The memory warmed her briefly, then soured with the knowledge of his secrets. She paused the video, rubbing her eyes, and texted Rose again:

Library all day. This bio stuff is kicking my ass. You holding up?

The reply buzzed almost immediately:

Barely. Soup tastes like regret.

As afternoon light slanted golden through the windows, the library thinned out, students trickling away for weekend freedoms Rey denied herself. She powered through another chapter, her determination hardening with each completed section. Pride flickered amid the pain— she was surviving this, piecing together her academic armor even as her heart fractured. Yet, as the clock neared four, exhaustion crept in, her eyelids heavy from the emotional undercurrent. She packed slowly, stacking books with care, zipping her backpack with a finality that belied the unresolved storm within.

The library doors swung shut behind Rey with a soft whoosh, sealing away the musty hush of stacked tomes and flickering screens. The late afternoon sun hung low, painting the campus in hues of amber and shadow, the snow from the night before now a slushy patchwork underfoot. Her boots crunched through the melting mess as she adjusted the strap of her backpack, the weight of books pulling at her shoulder. The cold air nipped at her exposed cheeks, a sharp reminder of the world beyond her self-imposed study cocoon. She drew in a deep breath, the crispness clearing her head just a fraction, and started toward the path leading to the dorms. Her mind still buzzed with half-formed equations and cellular diagrams, but the ache for Ben lingered like a low-grade fever, impossible to ignore.

Before she could take more than a few steps, a familiar voice cut through the quiet bustle of students milling about the quad.

"Yo, Rey! Hold up!" Finn's call was laced with that easy enthusiasm he always carried, like he was perpetually on the verge of some grand adventure. She turned, spotting him and Poe jogging over from the direction of the student union, their breath puffing out in white clouds. Finn, with his broad grin and tousled curls peeking from under a beanie, led the charge, while Poe trailed with his lanky stride, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his parka.

They flanked her quickly, Poe slinging an arm around her shoulders in a casual collar that made her stumble a step before steadying.

"Big party tonight at the off-campus house— you know, the one with the killer sound system," Finn said, his eyes wide and pleading. "Rose is sick as a dog, stuck in bed with that flu. You're gonna come, right? We need a girl in the mix. Can't have it be all dudes turning it into a sausage fest."

Rey blinked, caught off guard by the sudden ambush. The invitation hung in the air, tempting and terrifying all at once. Part of her wanted to melt into the background, retreat to the dorm with a book or a mindless scroll through her phone, anything to avoid the noise and the people who might prod at her fragile composure. But Finn's earnest beg pulled at her, and Poe chimed in before she could muster a deflection.

"Please, Rey. You've been so down this week. Like, ghost-level moping. You need cheering up— loud music, cheap beer, and zero expectations. It'll be fun, I swear."

She paused, her gaze drifting past them toward the parking lot edging the quad. There, amid the rows of idling cars and bundled figures, was Ben. He moved with that purposeful stride she knew so well, his dark coat flapping slightly in the breeze as he headed to his sleek black sedan. The sight hit her like a punch— unbidden, unwelcome, stirring the storm she'd been trying to bury under flashcards and footnotes. His profile was sharp against the fading light, jaw set in that thoughtful way, and for a split second, she wondered if he felt the same hollow pull. Memories flooded back: the warmth of his arms in the snow, the press of his body against hers in the cabin's firelit glow, promises whispered like secrets in the dark. Betrayal soured it all, but the longing didn't fade.

Poe noticed her distraction, waving a gloved hand in front of her face with exaggerated flair.

"Earth to Rey? You zoning out on us already? Come on, say yes before we drag you there ourselves."

Her attention snapped back, cheeks flushing under their expectant stares. She thought about it for a minute, weighing the solitude of her room against the distraction of a crowd. Rose would want her to go— hell, she'd probably text her later with a string of emojis urging the same. And maybe, just maybe, a night out would drown out the echo of Ben's voice in her head, the one that still called her 'love' in the quiet hours.

"Yeah, sure," she said finally, forcing a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "What time?"

Poe's face lit up like he'd won the lottery, pulling her into a quick, bearish hug that smelled faintly of pine air freshener and gym socks.

"Pick you up at eight! Wear something fun— no study sweats." Finn clapped her on the back, grinning wider, before they both spun on their heels and jogged off toward the union, already chattering about playlist ideas and who was bringing the snacks.

Rey lingered for a moment, watching their retreating figures blend into the throng of students. Then her eyes drifted back to the parking lot. Ben had reached his car, keys jingling as he unlocked it with a beep that carried faintly on the wind. He paused, hand on the door, and she realized her path to the dorms would take her right past him— the lots were en route, no detours possible without looking like she was avoiding him. Which, of course, she was. Her heart thudded a traitorous rhythm, urging her to turn back, but she steeled herself and started walking, steps measured and deliberate.

The slush sucked at her boots as she approached, the distance closing with agonizing slowness. Ben slid into the driver's seat but didn't start the engine right away; instead, he glanced up, as if sensing her approach. Their eyes met through the tinted window— a brief, electric collision that stretched into a full minute, though it felt like hours. His gaze was dark, searching, laced with the same mix of regret and yearning she fought daily. Rey's breath caught, her fingers tightening on her backpack strap until her knuckles whitened. She wanted to look away, to keep walking without a word, but her feet slowed involuntarily, rooted by the invisible thread between them.

In that suspended moment, unspoken words hung heavy: the secrets he'd kept, the love she'd clung to despite the cracks, the future they'd sketched in stolen moments now shadowed by doubt. Ben's hand twitched on the steering wheel, as if debating whether to roll down the window, to call out her name and bridge the chasm. But he didn't. Rey forced her legs to move again, chin lifting in quiet defiance as she passed the car, the crunch of snow underfoot the only sound breaking the tension. She didn't glance back, though every nerve screamed to do so, and by the time she reached the dorm path, the roar of his engine finally sounded behind her— fading into the distance like an echo of what they'd lost.

 

The door to Rey's dorm room clicked shut behind her earlier, but the echo of that library encounter with Ben still reverberated in her chest like a distant drumbeat. She kicked off her boots in the entryway, the slush melting into dark puddles on the worn linoleum, and padded across the shared space to her side of the room. Rose was a lump under a fortress of blankets on her bed, the faint glow of her phone screen illuminating her flushed face every few seconds. The air hung heavy with the scent of menthol rub and chamomile tea, remnants of Rose's battle against the flu. Rey glanced at her friend, offering a weak smile that Rose returned with a thumbs-up before burrowing deeper into her cocoon.

Rey stripped out of her study clothes—a oversized sweater and jeans stiff with the day's chill—and stood before the full-length mirror propped against the wall. The room was a cozy chaos: textbooks piled on the desk, fairy lights strung along the headboard casting a soft amber haze, and a half-eaten bag of chips spilling over the edge of the nightstand. She rifled through her closet, fingers brushing past sensible cardigans and hoodies until they landed on the short red dress she'd bought on a whim last semester. It was bold, a splash of crimson silk that hugged her curves like a secret promise, the hemline daringly high, stopping mid-thigh to reveal the smooth expanse of her legs. She slipped it on, the fabric whispering against her skin, cool at first but warming quickly to her body heat. It dipped low in the back, exposing the gentle slope of her shoulders, and the neckline framed her collarbone just enough to tease.

Next came the heels—black stilettos with a slim strap that wrapped around her ankle, adding inches to her height and a sway to her step she hadn't felt in weeks. She tested them on the threadbare carpet, wobbling slightly before finding her balance. The mirror reflected a version of herself she barely recognized: fierce, almost defiant, as if the outfit could armor her against the night's uncertainties. Her hair, usually tied back in a practical ponytail, she let cascade in loose waves, brushing it out with deliberate strokes until it fell in soft, glossy layers past her shoulders. Makeup followed— a touch of foundation to even her pale skin, smoky shadow to deepen her hazel eyes, making them smolder with unspoken intensity. She lined her lids with precision, then swept on a bold red lipstick that matched the dress, pressing her lips together to set it. A spritz of perfume, something floral and sultry, completed the transformation. She looked ready for distraction, for forgetting, even if her heart still twisted at the thought of Ben's eyes on her earlier.

As she grabbed her clutch from the dresser—a sleek black number with a gold clasp—Rose's voice croaked from the bed.

"I put some courage in there," she groaned, her words muffled by the pillows but laced with that familiar wry humor.

Rey paused, glancing down at the bag in her hand. "Where do you buy it?"

Rose shifted under her sheets, propping herself up on one elbow with visible effort, her hair a wild tangle around her face. "My brother gets it for me from a dude he knows," she replied, groaning as she rubbed her temple. "Why?"

Rey hesitated, the words bubbling up before she could stop them. The revelation about Miss Potts had been gnawing at her all afternoon, a loose thread she couldn't leave dangling, especially not with Rose.

"Miss Potts was selling it to kids here," she said, her voice steady but edged with the lingering shock.

Rose blinked, sitting up straighter now, the blankets pooling around her waist like a deflated sail. She looked like a vampire rising from its coffin, pale and disheveled, eyes widening in disbelief. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah," Rey continued, her hand already on the door handle, the cool metal grounding her. "She apparently was dealing in the school. Ben reported her—that's why she got arrested."

Rose's mouth fell open, a stuttered

"Nah... Rey, you can't leave me with half the story" escaping as she swung her legs over the bed's edge, though she didn't stand. Her flu-ravaged body protested the movement, but curiosity burned brighter than her fever.

Rey chuckled, a light sound that masked the knot in her stomach. "Come with me then."

"I can't... I'm dying," Rose groaned dramatically, flopping back against the pillows with a theatrical sigh. "Please, Rey. Spill."

"Later," Rey teased, her fingers tightening on the clutch as she twisted the knob. "Something to look forward to." With that, she slipped out, the door latching softly behind her, sealing Rose's protests inside.

The hallway was a blur of fluorescent lights and distant chatter from other rooms, students gearing up for the weekend's revelry. Rey descended the stairs carefully, the heels clicking against the concrete steps, each one echoing her resolve. Outside, the cold hit her like a slap— the wind whipping through the campus paths, carrying flurries of snow that stung her bare legs. She regretted the dress immediately; no coat, no tights, just the thin red fabric doing little against the bite of winter. Her arms prickled with goosebumps, and she hugged the clutch to her chest as she hurried toward the parking lot, breath fogging in frantic clouds.

Poe's car idled at the curb, headlights cutting through the gathering dusk, exhaust curling lazily into the air. Finn leaned against the passenger door, bundled in a puffy jacket, his grin visible even from afar as he spotted her. Poe waved from the driver's seat, engine rumbling low. 'There she is! Looking fierce, Rey!' Finn called, pushing off the car to open the back door for her.

She quickened her pace, teeth chattering as she slid into the backseat, the vinyl cold against her thighs. "It's freezing out there. I should have dressed warmer," she admitted, rubbing her arms vigorously as the door shut with a thud. The car's interior was a welcome cocoon of warmth, heater blasting full force, mingled with the faint scent of fast food wrappers and Poe's cologne.

Poe glanced at her in the rearview mirror, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Worth it, though. That dress is gonna turn heads. Party's gonna be lit— you ready to forget whatever's been dragging you down?"

Finn twisted in his seat to face her, tossing her a spare blanket from the back.

"Here, wrap up. Can't have our star girl turning into an icicle before we even get there." He draped it over her lap, his easy concern warming her more than the fabric. Rey pulled the blanket tight, sinking into the seat as Poe pulled away from the dorms, tires crunching over the light snow. The campus lights blurred past the windows, a streak of normalcy she clung to.

 

The tires of Poe's car crunched over the snow-dusted gravel driveway as they pulled up to the party house, a sprawling two-story Victorian on the edge of campus that belonged to some senior with rich parents. Strings of multicolored lights dangled from the eaves, flickering erratically against the night sky, while bass-heavy music thumped from inside, vibrating the windows and spilling laughter and shouts into the frigid air. Cars lined the street like a haphazard parking lot, their headlights long since dimmed, and clusters of students milled about the porch, red cups in hand, breath clouding in the cold as they chatted and shivered. The scent of woodsmoke from a nearby fire pit mixed with the sharper tang of spilled beer and weed, creating a hazy veil that promised escape.

Rey shifted in the backseat, the blanket still draped over her lap like a makeshift shield against the chill that had seeped into her bones during the drive. Her legs ached from the exposure, the short red dress riding up her thighs, but the warmth of the car had thawed her enough to feel the buzz of anticipation—or was it nerves?—stirring in her gut. Poe killed the engine with a satisfied sigh, twisting around to flash her a grin.

"Home sweet chaos. You good back there?"

Finn nodded, already unbuckling his seatbelt. "Yeah, Rey, shake off that frostbite. Party's calling."

She managed a smile, her fingers delved into the clutch on the seat beside her, brushing past her phone and lipstick until they closed around the small, ornate powder box Rose had slipped inside. It was compact, silver-edged, with a faint floral engraving that hid its true purpose. She popped it open with a soft click, the interior revealing a neat mound of fine white powder, pristine and tempting under the dome light.

"Finn," Rey said, her voice steady despite the flutter in her chest, "got a dollar bill?"

He raised an eyebrow but fished one from his wallet without question, the crisp green paper crinkling as he passed it over the seat. "What's up?"

Rey didn't answer right away. She unfolded the bill carefully, laying it flat on her knee, then tapped out two generous lines of the powder onto its surface, the grains sparkling like fresh snow. The act felt ritualistic, a deliberate step away from the girl who'd been unraveling all day. She leaned down, one nostril pinched shut, and snorted the first line in a quick, sharp inhale. The burn hit instantly—fire racing up her sinus, blooming into a rush that tingled across her scalp and down her spine. She switched sides for the second, the powder vanishing in a blink, leaving a bitter drip at the back of her throat that she swallowed against. The world sharpened: colors brighter, sounds crisper, the edges of her anxiety blurring into something distant, manageable.

She exhaled slowly, a grin tugging at her lips as the high ignited, warm and electric, loosening the knots in her shoulders. Handing the bill back to Finn, she watched his eyes widen in understanding. "Your turn, boys. One each—don't hog it."

Finn took it first, rolling the bill into a tight tube with practiced ease before bending to snort his line off the dashboard. He jerked back with a hiss, rubbing his nose.

"Damn, Rose came through. That's the good stuff."

Poe followed suit, snorting his share with a whoop that echoed in the confined space, then passing the bill back to Rey empty and folded.

She watched them both, the rush amplifying every detail: Finn's easy laugh lines deepening as he blinked away the sting, Poe's dark curls falling into his eyes as he shook his head like a dog shedding water. For the first time that day, Rey felt untethered, the powder weaving through her veins like liquid freedom. No more Ben's gaze haunting her, no more dorm-room breakdowns. Tonight, she could be someone else—bold, untouchable, chasing highs instead of heartaches. She snapped the powder box shut, the click final, and tucked it deep into her clutch, zipping it away like a secret weapon.

"Let's go, boys," she said, her voice lighter, laced with a playful edge she hadn't felt in weeks. She shoved the blanket aside, the fabric pooling on the floorboard, and pushed open the car door. The cold rushed in again, nipping at her bare arms and legs, but it barely registered now—the high wrapped her in its own insulating glow. She stepped out onto the gravel, heels sinking slightly into the soft ground, the red dress swishing against her thighs as she straightened. Poe and Finn flanked her immediately, Poe locking the car with a beep while Finn offered his arm like a gentleman at a ball.

They walked up the path to the house together, Rey sandwiched between them, her steps gaining confidence with each crunch underfoot. The wind tugged at her hair, sending waves dancing across her shoulders, and she tilted her face into it, letting the flakes melt on her cheeks. Laughter bubbled up from her chest, unbidden, as a group on the porch cheered their arrival—Poe's crew, no doubt, already three drinks deep.

"Rey! Looking like trouble!" someone yelled, and she waved back, the compliment landing like fuel on her fire.

The front door loomed ahead, propped open with a cinder block, spilling golden light and the roar of a packed living room onto the stoop. Bodies pressed close inside, dancing to the pulsing beat, the air thick with sweat and spilled liquor. Rey paused at the threshold, glancing between Poe and Finn, her hazel eyes sparkling under the porch light.

The door swung shut behind them with a thud that blended into the cacophony of the party, the sudden blast of heat and noise hitting Rey like a wave crashing over her head. Bodies swayed in the dim glow of string lights looped around the staircase banister, the air thick with the mingle of cologne, perfume, and that unmistakable undercurrent of desperation-fueled fun. The living room had been cleared for dancing, furniture shoved against the walls to make space for the throng of students grinding to the relentless thump of hip-hop beats. Red cups littered every surface—coffee tables scarred with water rings, the sticky hardwood floor, even the arms of sagging couches where couples tangled in various states of undress.

Poe led the way, his broad shoulders cutting a path through the crowd like he owned the place, Finn close on his heels with a nod and a fist-bump to a guy nursing a beer by the makeshift bar in the kitchen doorway. Rey followed, the powder's initial rush still humming through her veins, making her skin prickle with heightened awareness. Every brush of fabric against her arms, every burst of laughter near her ear, felt amplified, pulling her deeper into the chaos. She scanned the room instinctively—old habit, looking for familiar faces that might drag her back to reality—but tonight, she shoved the thought away.

They hit the kitchen, where the real action brewed: a long counter lined with bottles of bottom-shelf vodka, tequila that looked murky even in the low light, and a punch bowl swirling with something neon and dubious. Ice clinked in buckets, and a girl with glitter-dusted cheeks poured shots for a giggling cluster of freshmen. Poe grabbed three cups from a stack, plastic crinkling under his fingers, and dipped the first into the punch bowl—a frothy mix of fruit juice, grain alcohol, and god-knows-what-else that sloshed over the rim as he filled it to the brim.

"Here, firecracker," he said, thrusting it toward Rey with a wink that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "This'll melt whatever's left of that snow off you."

She took the cup, the liquid inside sloshing dangerously close to the edge. Up close, the smell hit her—sharp and acrid, like paint thinner laced with artificial cherry, burning her nostrils even before she brought it to her lips. It screamed regret, the kind that promised a pounding headache by dawn, but that's exactly what she craved: something to drown out the ache in her chest, the phantom press of Ben's ring against her skin where she'd tucked the chain into her dress. Without a second thought, she tilted her head back and gulped it down, the burn scorching a path from her throat to her stomach, fiery and unrelenting. She didn't stop, didn't gasp for air until the last drop vanished, her throat working convulsively as she slammed the empty cup onto the counter.

Poe whooped, clapping her on the back hard enough to jolt her forward.

"That's my girl! Chug like you mean it—hell yeah, Rey!"

Finn laughed, shaking his head as he sipped his own more cautiously. "Damn, you're not messing around tonight."

The warmth spread fast, blooming in her belly and chasing away the last chill from the car ride. It mingled with the coke's electric edge, turning her limbs loose and her thoughts fuzzy at the corners. She felt invincible, or at least numb enough to pretend.

"Another," she demanded, her voice cutting through the din with a sharpness that surprised even her. She shoved her empty cup back at Poe, eyes locked on his, daring him to keep up.

He grinned wider, no hesitation, dipping the cup again and filling it even fuller this time, the punch glugging out in a steady stream.

'One for the road—or the floor, I guess." He passed it over, and she snatched it, downing the second just as ruthlessly. The alcohol hit harder now, coating her tongue with that cloying sweetness undercut by pure ethanol fire. She coughed once as it went down, but powered through, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, lips tingling and cheeks flushing hot.

Poe raised his cup in a mock toast.

"To forgetting whatever's got you twisted up. You're a beast."

Rey didn't respond with words. The buzz was cresting, a wild cocktail of substances urging her forward, away from the counter and into the fray. She grabbed Poe's wrist with one hand, Finn's with the other, her grip firm despite the slight tremble in her fingers.

"Come on," she said, already pulling them toward the living room, where the music pulsed like a heartbeat. "Dance floor. Now."

They didn't resist, letting her lead as she wove through the crowd, the red dress flaring around her thighs with each step. The bass vibrated up through her heels, syncing with the thrum in her chest, and she released their hands only to spin around and face them, hips already swaying to the rhythm. Poe jumped right in, his movements loose and exaggerated, hands in the air as he shouted lyrics over the noise. Finn hung back a beat, more reserved, but soon matched her pace, his smile easy and encouraging.

Rey threw herself into it, arms overhead, body twisting and rolling with abandon. The alcohol loosened her inhibitions further, the coke sharpening every sensation—the slide of sweat-slick skin against strangers brushing past, the strobe of phone flashlights cutting through the haze, the way her hair whipped across her face as she spun. She pressed closer to Poe, their bodies bumping in the crush, then pulled Finn in for a quick twirl, laughing breathlessly. For those minutes, she was lost in the motion, the world narrowing to the beat and the burn in her muscles.

But the high demanded more, always did. After two songs, her throat parched again and the edges of the rush starting to fray, she broke away, weaving back toward the kitchen.

"Need a refill," she called over her shoulder, not waiting to see if they followed. The counter was mobbed now, but she elbowed her way in, grabbing a fresh cup and pouring straight from the vodka bottle this time—no punch, just the clear bite of liquor mixed with flat soda from a warm two-liter. She chugged half before coming up for air, the liquid sloshing in her stomach like a storm, and handed the bottle to a random guy nearby with a sloppy grin.

"Your turn."

Poe caught up, slinging an arm around her shoulders. "Slow down, lightweight. You trying to set a record?"

"Lightweight?" She scoffed, shrugging him off playfully but already feeling the spin in her head, the room tilting just a fraction. "Watch me." She downed the rest of her cup, the vodka hitting like liquid fire, and tossed it aside, the plastic bouncing off the floor into the chaos.

Finn appeared at her other side, concern flickering in his eyes but masked by the party's energy.

"Hey, maybe grab some water?"

But Rey was already moving, the alcohol fueling her defiance. She needed to chase the high higher, to bury the loneliness deeper. Spotting the hallway leading to the bathrooms, she veered that way, the clutch bouncing against her hip.

"Be right back. Hold my spot."

The bathroom door was ajar, a line forming outside, but she slipped past with a murmured 'emergency' that no one questioned in the haze. Inside, the fluorescent light buzzed harshly over the sink, contrasting the party's dim allure. Two girls were reapplying lipstick at the mirror, chatting loudly about some hookup, but Rey ignored them, locking herself in the nearest stall. The door clicked shut, and she leaned against it, breathing hard, the tiled walls closing in.

Her hands shook as she unzipped the clutch, pulling out the powder box. The silver felt cool against her palm, a lifeline in the self-made storm. She didn't think—just unfolded another dollar from Finn's earlier bill, still tucked in her bag, and tapped out three lines this time, longer and thicker, the powder mounding like forbidden dunes. The girls' voices droned on outside, oblivious, as she rolled the bill tight and bent low. The first line burned fiercer than in the car, the coke rushing up like a lightning strike, exploding behind her eyes in sparks of white-hot clarity. She hissed through her teeth, the drip bitter and insistent, but she chased it with the second line immediately, nostrils flaring, body arching against the stall door.

The third went down smoother, her tolerance building, but the effect slammed into her all at once—heart racing, skin alive with pins and needles, thoughts scattering like confetti. She was flying now, untethered, the bathroom spinning in euphoric loops. Reckless. That's what she was. Lost in the spiral, the fear of everything crumbling. Why fight it? Let it burn out in one glorious, destructive night.

She snapped the box closed, slipping it away, and splashed water on her face at the sink, ignoring the girls' curious glances. Her reflection stared back—eyes wide and pupils blown, cheeks flushed, lips parted in a manic smile. Perfect. She pushed back into the hall, the party's roar welcoming her like thunder.

Back in the kitchen, she snagged another cup, this one tequila over ice that melted too fast, the salt-lime chaser forgotten as she slammed it back. The liquor twisted with the fresh coke, a volatile mix that had her laughing too loud, leaning into Poe as he poured her yet another.

The night blurred from there—more shots pressed into her hand by strangers, another quick line in a shadowed corner of the upstairs hallway when the bathroom line grew too long, her body moving on autopilot through the crowd. She grinded against Poe in a haze of sweat and strobe lights, whispered nonsense to Finn during a slow song that turned her teary for a split second before she chased it with vodka. Self-destruct mode, full throttle: every drink a middle finger to the pain, every bump a step further from the girl who'd cried in the bathroom stall at school. She was shattering, piece by glittering piece, and for now, in the party's unyielding grip, it felt like freedom.

 

The dance floor throbbed like a living thing, bodies packed tight in a sweaty, undulating mass that pressed in from all sides. Rey had lost Poe and Finn somewhere in the crush, their laughter fading into the relentless bass that rattled her ribs and made her teeth ache. She danced alone now, arms loose at her sides, hips rolling in lazy, erratic circles that didn't quite match the beat. The room spun in lazy loops, the string lights blurring into streaks of red and gold, the faces around her melting into anonymous smears of flushed skin and open mouths shouting lyrics she couldn't hear over the roar in her ears. Alcohol sloshed heavy in her gut, a churning sea that threatened to rise with every sway, but she kept moving, chasing the numbness that dulled the sharp edges of Ben's face in her mind, the glint of that ring hidden under her dress.

Sweat trickled down her spine, soaking the thin fabric of her red dress, which clung to her thighs like a second skin. Her heels wobbled on the sticky floor, toes cramping, but she didn't stop—couldn't stop. The coke from the bathroom still buzzed faintly under her skin, sharpening the chaos into something almost euphoric, until it wasn't. A fresh wave of nausea hit, hot and insistent, twisting her stomach into knots. She stumbled sideways, bumping into a girl's elbow, mumbling a slurred sorry that got lost in the noise.

That's when he appeared—tall, broad-shouldered, with a mop of dark hair falling over his forehead and a jawline shadowed by stubble. He didn't ask, just slid in front of her, matching her rhythm with easy confidence, his hands hovering near her waist like he owned the space between them. Up close, he smelled of cheap aftershave and beer, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar to show a chain glinting against tanned skin. Rey blinked up at him, the world tilting harder, but he grinned, teeth flashing white in the strobe, and leaned in to shout over the music.

"You move good. What's your name?"

She swayed closer without meaning to, the heat of his body cutting through the party's chill, but something soured in her chest—too much like Ben's touch, too invasive. Her hand shot out, palm flat against his chest, pushing him back with a force that surprised her.

"Back off," she muttered, voice thick and unsteady, already turning away. The push sent her off-balance, and she weaved through the crowd, elbows jostling strangers as she aimed for the door. The air grew thicker, the bass pounding in her skull like a migraine, and bile rose sharp in her throat. She needed out—now.

The front door banged open under her shove, cold night air slapping her face like a wake-up call she wasn't ready for. Snowflakes swirled in the glow of the porch light, the party spilling out onto the lawn where clusters of people huddled in coats, passing bottles and laughing in bursts of steam. Rey staggered down the steps, her heels sinking into the thin crust of ice on the grass, and made for the bushes lining the side of the house—dark, prickly shadows that promised privacy. The nausea crested, unstoppable, and she dropped to her knees just in time, retching into the frozen underbrush. Vomit splattered the snow-dusted leaves, hot and acidic, the taste of tequila and punch burning up her throat in heaving waves. She gripped the ground with one hand, nails digging into the cold earth, her body convulsing until there was nothing left but bitter saliva and shuddering breaths.

Footsteps crunched behind her, too close, and she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, smearing lipstick and bile across her skin. The guy from the dance floor emerged from the shadows, hands shoved in his pockets, that same grin plastered on his face like he hadn't just been shoved away.

"Hey, you're cute," he called, voice light and teasing as he closed the distance, stopping a few feet away to lean against a tree trunk. His eyes raked over her, lingering on the way her dress had ridden up her thighs from the fall.

Rey straightened slowly, knees protesting the cold, and fumbled in her clutch for Rose's compact. Her fingers trembled as she flipped it open, the silver case catching the faint light from the house. The powder inside was running low, a thin layer of white crystals that she tapped out onto the back of her hand with practiced recklessness—no bill this time, just the flat plane of her skin. She snorted it quick, the burn racing up her nose like fire ants, exploding into her sinuses and chasing away the fog with a jolt of clarity that made her gasp. It hit fast, steadying the spin in her head, turning the nausea to a dull throb.

He watched, eyebrows raised, stepping closer with that easy swagger. "Oh, can I have one?"

She glanced up, pupils wide and black in the dim light, the high already loosening her tongue.

"Sure," she slurred, holding out her hand with the remnants of the line smeared across it. He didn't hesitate, bending down to snort the rest right off her skin, his nose brushing her knuckles, warm breath ghosting over her wrist. He straightened with a sniff, passing the compact back, his fingers grazing hers in a way that sent an unwelcome spark up her arm.

"Nice," he said, rubbing his nose, then dove into his pocket, pulling out a slim joint, the ends uneven and fragrant even unlit. "Sharing is caring," he added with a wink, flicking a lighter from his other pocket. The flame danced orange in the cold, illuminating his face as he brought it to the tip and inhaled deep, the paper crackling softly. Smoke curled from his lips in a lazy plume, sharp and skunky, cutting through the night's crisp bite. He took another pull, holding it a beat before exhaling slow, then held it out to her.

"Your turn."

Rey took it, the paper warm between her fingers, and brought it to her lips. She inhaled tentatively at first, the smoke filling her lungs with a harsh, earthy burn that made her chest tighten. She held it, coughing lightly, but pushed for more—another puff, deeper this time, the weed hitting thick and heavy, coating her throat like velvet fire. The third pull did her in; she held it too long, lungs screaming, and dissolved into a fit of coughs that doubled her over, hacking into her elbow as tears pricked her eyes.

He burst out laughing, a deep, rumbling sound that echoed off the house, clapping her on the back lightly.

"Don't smoke much, huh? Easy there, lightweight—you'll hack up a lung."

Rey straightened, wiping her watering eyes with her sleeve, the coughs fading into hiccuping breaths. The spliff dangled from her fingers, smoke trailing up in wisps, and she managed a laugh of her own—breathless, genuine for the first time that night, bubbling up from the absurdity of it all. She shook her head, hair falling into her face.

"Nope," she admitted, voice rough from the smoke, passing it back to him. The high was creeping in already, a warm, fuzzy blanket wrapping around the coke's sharp edges, softening the world into something hazy and distant. The bushes rustled in the wind, the party's muffled thump leaking through the walls, but out here, with this stranger's laughter still hanging in the air, she felt a twisted kind of anchor—reckless, yes, but shared in the mess.

The spliff passed between them like a fragile truce, the ember glowing faintly in the chill air as Mark exhaled a slow stream of smoke, his eyes fixed on Rey with an intensity that cut through the haze. He held it out to her again, fingers brushing hers deliberately this time, the paper warm and slightly damp from his lips.

"I'm Mark," he said, voice low and casual, like they were old friends sharing secrets in the night.

Rey took the joint, her fingers trembling just a touch from the cocktail of substances swirling in her veins—the coke's sharp buzz clashing with the weed's heavy pull, making her limbs feel both light and leaden. She brought it to her mouth, inhaling deeply, the smoke filling her lungs with that thick, resinous burn that made her throat constrict. She held it for a beat, then released it in a cough-laced cloud, her eyes watering anew.

"I'm Rey," she replied, voice slurring around the edges, the name tumbling out softer than she intended, lost in the party's distant thrum leaking from the house behind them.

Mark leaned in closer, his shoulder brushing hers, the scent of his cologne mixing with the skunk of the weed—something musky and overpowering that made her head swim. He tilted his head, studying her face in the dim glow from the porch light, his grin widening to show a crooked tooth.

"You single?" he asked, the question blunt, hanging in the air like an invitation she hadn't asked for.

Rey laughed, a short, bitter sound that dissolved into the night, her body swaying as the world tilted on its axis. The heels dug into the soft snow at her feet, unstable anchors that betrayed her with every shift.

"It's complicated," she slurred, the words thick on her tongue, her hand waving vaguely as if to dismiss the mess of Ben's face flashing in her mind—the arguments, the secrets, the pull she couldn't shake.

She wobbled hard then, her ankle twisting in the heel's narrow grip, the ground rushing up to meet her. Mark's arm shot out quick, wrapping around her waist with a firmness that steadied her but lingered too long, his hand splaying across her lower back, fingers pressing into the curve of her spine through the thin dress.

"Oh, watch out there!" he exclaimed, his tone light, almost playful, as he pulled her upright, his body heat seeping into her side like an unwelcome blanket.

"Thanks," she muttered, tipsy haze making her lean into him for a split second before she caught herself, straightening with a flush creeping up her neck. The snow crunched under her feet, cold seeping through the soles, and she took another drag from the spliff to steady her nerves, the smoke curling inside her like a false comfort.

Mark didn't let go right away, his arm still loose around her, eyes searching her face with that same predatory curiosity.

"So, what makes it complicated?" he pressed, voice dropping lower, intimate in the shadowed yard, the bushes rustling softly around them like conspirators.

Rey shrugged, the motion pulling her away just enough to create space, though the high made everything feel blurred at the edges. She took a long pull from the joint, holding the smoke until her chest burned, then exhaled it in a rush that warmed her face.

"Many things," she said, words spilling out looser now, the weed unraveling her guards. "It's all dumb, really. Just dumb shit. Both of us are stubborn." She shrugged again, broader this time, the dress shifting against her skin, cold air nipping at her exposed shoulders. "Eh, it doesn't matter now," she mumbled, the defeat heavy in her voice, passing the spliff back to him with fingers that brushed his palm.

But the world spun again, sharper this time, her heel catching on a root hidden under the snow, and she tumbled forward, arms flailing for balance. Mark caught her once more, his grip tightening around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. The impact knocked the breath from her, his body solid and unyielding, and before she could push away, his mouth crashed down on hers—lips rough and insistent, tasting of smoke and stale beer, his stubble scraping her chin.

Rey's eyes widened in shock, the spliff dropping from her fingers to fizzle out in the snow. The kiss invaded, his tongue probing without permission, and panic surged through the fog like ice water. She shoved at his shoulders with both hands, palms flat against his chest, breaking the contact with a gasp.

"Get off me," she snapped, voice sharp and slicing through the night, her heart slamming against her ribs.

Mark pulled back just an inch, his breath hot on her face, eyes glazed with something darker than the high.

"Oh, come on. Have a bit of fun," he murmured, but there was no humor in it now—his hands moved fast, grabbing her wrists and yanking them up above her head, pinning them against the rough brick of the side garden wall. The stone bit into her back through the dress, cold and unyielding, snowflakes melting into damp patches on her skin as he pressed his body against hers, trapping her there.

She twisted her head side to side, wriggling her face away from his descending mouth, his lips grazing her cheek, her jaw, leaving wet trails that made her stomach churn.

"Stop," she hissed, legs kicking out, but he was heavier, his knee shoving between her thighs to hold her still, the weight of him smothering. His free hand roamed down her side, fingers digging into her hip, pulling her closer as he forced another kiss, mashing against her mouth despite her evasion.

Adrenaline spiked, cutting through the drugs' dulling veil, and Rey's mind raced—fight, flee, anything. She bucked against him, wrists straining in his grip, the burn of his hold bruising her skin. Then instinct took over: she drew her knee up hard, driving it straight into his groin with all the force she could muster. The impact connected solid, his balls crunching under the blow, and Mark yelped—a high, guttural sound that tore from his throat as he doubled over, releasing her wrists to clutch at himself.

He tumbled back a step, then two, face contorted in pain, knees buckling as he hit the snow with a thud. Rey didn't wait—her hands flew to her feet, kicking off the heels in frantic motions, the shoes flying into the bushes with muffled thumps. Barefoot now, the snow bit into her soles like needles, icy and unforgiving, but she bolted, feet pounding the frozen ground as she sprinted down the street. Her heart thumped wild in her chest, a frantic drum echoing the party's muffled bass fading behind her, breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts that fogged the air.

"You fucking slut!" Mark's scream ripped through the night, raw and furious, his voice cracking as he staggered to his feet, but she didn't look back. The snow packed under her toes, numbing her feet with each stride, the red dress whipping around her legs like a flag of escape. Streetlights blurred past, casting long shadows that danced with her panic, the cold air whipping her hair across her face. She ran until her lungs burned, the taste of his kiss sour on her lips, the echo of his shout chasing her into the dark.

Chapter 28

The snow crunched under Rey's bare feet with every unsteady step, each one sending fresh jolts of pain up her legs like shards of glass embedding deeper into her skin. She'd been walking for what felt like an eternity—maybe an hour, though time blurred in the haze of alcohol and lingering weed smoke that clouded her mind. The suburbs stretched out around her in a monotonous sprawl of quiet houses, their windows glowing with warm holiday lights that mocked her isolation, casting elongated shadows across the empty sidewalks. Streetlamps flickered overhead, buzzing faintly in the still night air, illuminating flurries that swirled down relentlessly, sticking to her damp hair and the thin fabric of her red dress, which clung to her body like a second, frozen skin.

Her breath came in ragged puffs, visible clouds that dissipated quickly into the biting cold. The alcohol still burned in her veins, a sloppy warmth that warred with the chill seeping into her bones, making her limbs heavy and uncoordinated. She stumbled forward, her right foot catching on an uneven crack in the pavement hidden under a thin layer of ice, and she pitched sideways, arms flailing wildly to catch her balance. Her palm scraped against a low brick wall bordering someone's front yard, the rough texture tearing at her skin, but she righted herself just enough to keep moving, a low whimper escaping her lips.

Tears had started trickling down her cheeks sometime after she'd put a few blocks between herself and Mark's furious shouts, hot at first against the numbness, but now they froze in salty trails on her face, stinging where the wind whipped across them. She didn't bother wiping them away; her hands were too numb, fingers curled into loose fists at her sides to preserve what little warmth they held. The high from the spliff lingered at the edges of her perception, softening the sharp edges of panic into a dull ache, but it couldn't dull the soreness throbbing in her soles. Each step ground the icy grit deeper into her flesh—pebbles and salt crystals embedding like needles, her arches cramping from the unyielding cold that had long since stolen sensation from her toes.

Rey's mind raced in fragmented bursts, the drugs and drink turning thoughts into a chaotic swirl. Why had she gone to that party? Why had she let Poe and Finn drag her out, snorting lines in the bathroom mirror, chasing oblivion from the mess of secrets and betrayals? It all piled up like the snowdrifts piling against the curbs, burying her under layers of doubt and hurt.

She hiccuped, the sound echoing oddly in the empty street, and paused to lean against a lamppost, her forehead pressing into the metal pole that radiated icy chill through her brow. Her legs trembled, knees buckling slightly under the strain, and she slid down a few inches before catching herself, bare feet slipping on the slick surface. The suburbs were dead at this hour—past midnight on a winter night, families tucked away in their heated homes, oblivious to the girl stumbling through their neighborhood like a ghost. A distant dog barked once, sharp and lonely, but no lights flicked on, no doors opened to offer shelter. She was utterly alone, the weight of it pressing down harder than the cold.

Pushing off the pole, Rey forced herself onward, her pace reduced to a shuffle now, heels dragging through the snow that had accumulated in patches along the sidewalk. Her dress, once vibrant and form-fitting for the party, now felt like a cruel joke—sleeveless and short, offering no barrier against the wind that howled down the avenue, slicing through the thin material to gooseflesh her arms and thighs. Shivers wracked her body in waves, teeth chattering uncontrollably, and she wrapped her arms around her middle, hugging herself tight as if that could hold in the escaping heat. The tears kept coming, unbidden and silent, blurring the neat rows of houses into watery smears. She thought of Rose, safe in the dorm with her flu, probably asleep under piles of blankets. Would she even notice Rey was gone until morning? The thought twisted in her gut, another layer of loneliness.

Another stumble—her left foot numbly missing the curb, sending her sprawling forward onto her hands and knees in a snowbank. The impact jarred her elbows, cold powder stuffing up her sleeves and melting against her palms, soaking through to chill her to the marrow. She gasped, the air freezing in her throat, and pushed herself up slowly, knees protesting with sharp aches from the fall. Snow clung to her dress, wet patches darkening the red fabric, and she brushed at it futilely with shaking hands, only succeeding in smearing it further. Her feet screamed now, fully awake to the abuse—blisters forming where the skin had rubbed raw against frozen ground, toes curled involuntarily against the pain. Blood tinged the snow where she'd knelt, a faint red streak from a cut she hadn't even felt.

Rey straightened, swaying like a tree in a gale, and glanced around. The street sign at the corner read Elmwood Lane, but it meant nothing to her; the school was miles away, the party house even farther in the opposite direction. She had no phone—left it in her clutch back at the bushes, probably—and no plan, just the blind urge to keep moving, to outrun the echo of Mark's voice calling her a slut, the phantom press of his body against hers. The high ebbed further, leaving her with the drunk's clumsy despair, emotions bubbling up unchecked. Sobs caught in her throat, muffled by the wind, and she wiped at her face with the back of her hand, only to feel the tears freeze anew.

The suburbs blurred into sameness: manicured lawns buried under white, parked cars frosted over like forgotten relics, porch swings creaking faintly in the breeze. She passed a park entrance, the gate locked for the night, swings swaying empty under sodium lights. For a moment, she imagined Ben there, waiting like he used to by the frozen pond, his coat open to pull her inside. But that was before—the before of proposals and dances in the snow, before the secrets cracked open like thin ice. Now, it was just her, stumbling alone, the ring's chain chafing her collarbone as a reminder of what she'd lost.

Her pace faltered again, breath hitching as exhaustion clawed at her edges. The cold had numbed her lips, made her nose run, and she sniffled, tasting salt on her upper lip. Another hour like this, and she wasn't sure she'd make it anywhere—hypothermia's whisper tickling the back of her mind, but too foggy to grasp fully. She leaned against a mailbox, the metal box frigid under her palms, and closed her eyes for a beat, willing the world to steady. When she opened them, the street stretched on, endless and unforgiving, pulling her forward into the night.

The suburbs seemed to stretch on forever, an endless ribbon of snow-dusted sidewalks and silent houses that blurred together in Rey's drunken haze. Her bare feet dragged through the accumulating powder, each step a numb protest against the cold that had seeped into every joint, turning her muscles into leaden weights. The wind bit at her exposed skin, whipping her hair across her tear-streaked face, and she hugged her arms tighter around her torso, the thin red dress offering no real protection against the subzero chill. Her mind wandered in disjointed fragments—flashes of the party, the sharp sting of Mark's unwanted mouth on hers, the satisfying thud of her knee connecting with his groin as she broke free. But mostly, it was the ache in her chest, the ring on its chain pressing cold against her collarbone like a accusation.

She stumbled onward, vision swimming from the tears that refused to stop, freezing in rivulets down her cheeks. The street curved slightly, and then—there it was. A familiar black sedan parked at the curb, its sleek lines unmistakable even under a light dusting of snow. Rey blinked hard, rubbing at her eyes with the heel of her hand, convinced it was a hallucination born of exhaustion and the fading high. But no, the license plate glinted under the streetlamp: Ben's car. Her gaze lifted, tracing the path to the front door of the house beyond—a modest two-story with shuttered windows and a porch light that hadn't been on. How? Miles from the party, through twisting residential streets she'd never navigated on foot, and yet here she was, standing outside his home as if some invisible thread had pulled her straight to him.

For a long minute, she just stood there, swaying slightly in the wind, her breath coming in shallow, chattering bursts. The house loomed dark and quiet, no signs of life within, but the sight of it cracked something open in her chest—a mix of longing and terror that made fresh sobs hitch in her throat. Her feet, raw and blistered, carried her forward almost on autopilot, up the shoveled path lined with dormant shrubs heavy with snow. She reached the door, fingers trembling as they pressed the doorbell, the chime echoing muffled through the wood. Then she waited, arms wrapped around herself, shivers racking her frame so violently that her teeth clacked together. Lights flickered on inside—one in the hallway, then spilling warmly through the frosted glass panel—casting her shadow long across the porch.

The door swung open, and there he was: Ben, shirtless, his broad chest rising and falling with the surprise of interrupted sleep, clad only in loose gray boxers that hung low on his hips. His dark hair was tousled, eyes widening as they took her in—the disheveled dress, the bare legs streaked with melting snow, the pallor of her skin that made her look like a specter in the doorway.

"Ben," Rey sobbed, the word breaking on a gasp as relief and shame flooded her. She was white as a ghost, lips tinged blue, body quaking uncontrollably.

"Rey? What the fuck—you're freezing. Look at how you're dressed," he said, voice rough with alarm.

Without hesitation, he reached out, his strong hands gripping her upper arms and pulling her inside, kicking the door shut behind them with his heel. The warmth of the house enveloped her like a shock, the sudden heat prickling her skin painfully as circulation rushed back. Ben didn't let go; instead, he wrapped his arms around her fully, pulling her chilled body against his bare torso, his skin hot against her icy one. She buried her face in his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of him—clean soap and faint musk—sobs muffled against his skin as he held her tight, one hand rubbing firm circles on her back.

"Come on," he murmured after a moment, guiding her toward the living room with gentle but insistent pressure. The space was dimly lit by a single lamp, the sofa piled with throw pillows and a knit blanket. He eased her down onto the cushions, then grabbed the blanket, draping it over her shoulders and tucking it around her legs. He sat beside her, close enough that their thighs pressed together, and pulled her into his side, his arm encircling her as he continued to chafe her arms through the fabric, trying to coax warmth back into her limbs. Rey curled into him instinctively, her head dropping to his shoulder, shivers still convulsing her body in waves that made the blanket rustle.

"Why are you out all this way, dressed like that, walking the streets at one a.m.?" Ben asked, his voice low and edged with worry, his hand moving to rub her upper arm more vigorously, then sliding down to her hands, enclosing her frozen fingers in his larger, warmer ones and blowing hot breath over them.

"Party," she stuttered, teeth chattering so hard the word came out fragmented. "Guy... he..." Her free hand rose shakily, fingers brushing her lips where the memory of Mark's kiss lingered like a bruise, and tears spilled anew from her eyes, hot tracks cutting through the frost on her cheeks.

Ben's grip tightened slightly, his dark eyes locking onto hers with intense concern.

"Did someone hurt you, Rey?" he asked, searching her face, his thumb stroking the back of her hand in a soothing rhythm.

"He kissed me," she chattered, the words tumbling out between clacks of her teeth. "I kicked him in the balls." Tears rolled freely now, splashing onto the blanket as she relived the moment—the revulsion, the surge of adrenaline that had propelled her away. "And ran."

Her head lowered, gaze dropping to her lap where her blistered feet peeked out, red and raw. "I'm sorry," she whispered, voice cracking as another sob wrenched from her chest. "I'm sorry." The apologies poured out like a dam breaking, her body slumping forward until her head fell into his lap, forehead pressing against the soft cotton of his boxers, right above his knee. She cried openly then, shoulders shaking, the blanket slipping slightly as she clutched at his thigh for anchor, the warmth of him seeping slowly into her core amidst the storm of her emotions.

Ben's hand, warm and steady on her shoulder, gently lifted Rey's chin, coaxing her tear-swollen face up from the safety of his lap. She resisted at first, her body heavy with exhaustion and sobs, but his touch was insistent yet tender, thumb brushing away a stray tear that clung to her lash. Her eyes, red-rimmed and glassy, met his—dark pools of concern that anchored her swirling thoughts. The blanket slipped further down her arms as she shifted, the heat from his bare skin radiating against her side, a stark contrast to the chill that still lingered in her bones.

"You need to focus for one minute," Ben said firmly, his voice cutting through the haze of her cries like a lifeline, low and commanding without being harsh. He cupped her cheek now, holding her gaze captive, his other hand still clasped around her icy fingers, squeezing rhythmically to ground her. "What was his name?" he asked her slowly, each word deliberate, giving her space to gather the fragments of her shattered night.

Rey's breath hitched, her chest convulsing with another sob that choked the words in her throat. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her free hand, smearing mascara in dark streaks across her pale skin, her lips trembling as she fought the stutter that gripped her tongue. The room around them felt too quiet, the distant hum of the heater the only sound besides her ragged breathing. Finally, after a painful pause, she forced it out:

"Mark," she stuttered, the name tasting bitter on her lips, like the residue of his unwanted touch.

Ben nodded once, his jaw tightening imperceptibly, but he kept his expression steady for her sake.

"Do you know him? Do you recognize him from school?" he pressed, his thumb tracing a soothing circle on her cheekbone, encouraging her to keep talking, to stay with him in the moment.

Rey shook her head slowly, the motion sending fresh tears cascading down her face. Strands of her disheveled hair stuck to her damp cheeks, and she tucked them away with a shaky hand. 'No,' she stuttered, her voice small and fractured.

"He was wearing a Daleport jersey. He's not from around here." The words came in fits, her teeth still chattering faintly despite the blanket and his warmth enveloping her. She pulled her knees up under the fabric, curling tighter into the sofa, seeking the security of his proximity.

"Can you describe him?" Ben urged, his tone patient but urgent, leaning in closer so his face filled her vision, blocking out the shadows of the room. He released her hand only to adjust the blanket higher around her shoulders, tucking it securely before returning his focus to her eyes.

She swallowed hard, her mind replaying the encounter in flashes—the dim light outside the party house, the haze of smoke curling from his lips, the way his grip had tightened on her waist.

"Just a little shorter than you," she tried, her voice gaining a sliver of strength as she concentrated, wiping her nose with the edge of the blanket. "Blonde hair." She paused, furrowing her brow, digging deeper into the memory for more. "He had blue eyes. They were cold," she said, a fresh shiver rippling through her—not from the temperature now, but from the recollection, her body remembering the violation even as she spoke. "He smokes weed." Rey shook her head again, frustration flickering in her expression as she realized how vague it all sounded. "He's got that fuck boy look about him," she added with a weak shrug, her shoulders hunching under the weight of inadequacy. "That doesn't help."

Ben's eyes softened, a ghost of a reassuring smile touching his lips as he squeezed her shoulder.

"Rey, you are doing great," he said, his voice warm with genuine pride, cutting through her self-doubt like sunlight piercing clouds. He shifted slightly on the sofa, reaching for his phone on the coffee table with his free hand, the device lighting up under his thumb. He scrolled through it methodically, his brow furrowing in concentration, the muscles in his arm flexing subtly as he navigated the screen. The soft glow illuminated his bare chest, casting shadows that danced across his skin, but Rey barely noticed, her focus narrowing on the hope that maybe, just maybe, he could make this right.

"If I was to show you a photo, could you tell me if it's him?" Ben asked, glancing up from the phone, his gaze locking onto hers again, firm and expectant.

Rey nodded without hesitation, a spark of determination cutting through her emotional fog. "Yes," she whispered, straightening her posture a fraction, the blanket rustling as she leaned toward him.

He turned the phone toward her then, holding it steady at eye level, the screen displaying a clear image—a snapshot of a young man with tousled blonde hair, smirking at the camera in what looked like a dimly lit bar, a Daleport jersey stretched across his shoulders.

"Is that him?" Ben asked firmly, his voice steady, watching her reaction closely, every line of his body tense with restrained protectiveness.

Rey leaned in, her breath catching as she scrutinized the photo, the details snapping into place like puzzle pieces: the sharp jawline, the cold glint in those blue eyes even through the pixels, the casual arrogance in his posture. Her heart pounded harder, a mix of revulsion and vindication surging through her.

"Yes, that's him," she said, nodding emphatically, her voice steadier now, though laced with a tremor. She pulled back slightly, searching Ben's face, the question bubbling up unbidden. "Why? What are you going to do?"

Ben's thumb hovered over the phone screen for a beat longer than necessary, the confirmation from Rey hitting him like a punch to the gut. His jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck cordoning tight as he set the device down on the coffee table with a deliberate thud, the sound echoing in the quiet living room. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, exhaling sharply through his nose, his bare chest rising and falling with the effort to keep his rage in check. The photo of Mark— that smug, entitled prick in his Daleport jersey—burned in his mind, fueling a fire he couldn't act on directly. Not without consequences that would drag them both under.

He turned back to Rey, his dark eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her shrink back slightly into the blanket.

"I'm calling the police," he said, his voice low and resolute, brooking no argument as he picked up the phone again, fingers already dialing. "He attacked you, Rey. If I was younger, and had nothing to lose, I'd be out there going to beat the shit out of him, but I can't do that. So the police will have to do."

The words hung heavy in the air, his protective instinct overriding everything else—the risk to his job, the complications of their relationship, the snow still piling up outside. He pressed the phone to his ear, waiting for the line to connect, his free hand reaching out to steady her, but Rey was already moving. Panic flashed across her face, raw and unfiltered, her eyes widening as she scrambled up from the sofa, the blanket pooling at her feet like discarded snow. She stumbled forward, her socked feet slipping on the hardwood floor, and grabbed at his arm, her fingers digging into his bicep with desperate strength.

"You can't," Rey begged, her voice cracking on the words, high-pitched and frantic as she tugged at him, trying to pull the phone away. Tears welled up again, spilling over her lashes in hot tracks down her cheeks, her body trembling not just from the cold but from the terror of what came next. "I've been drinking, I've taken coke and smoked a joint. Ben, I'll get into trouble. They'll just push it as another messy teen party and I'll get into trouble and probably expelled. Please, you can't call them." She begged him, her words tumbling out in a rush, her chest heaving as she pressed closer, her small frame colliding with his half-naked one. The scent of her—faint traces of party smoke and her own salty tears—filled his senses, grounding him even as her pleas tore at his resolve.

Ben lowered the phone slowly, the call not yet connected, his thumb pressing the end button with a reluctant sigh. He set it down again, turning fully to face her, his hands coming up to grip her shoulders gently but firmly, holding her in place as she shook. Her white tights were torn at the knee from her trek through the snow, her festive red dress rumpled and clinging to her curves from the earlier chaos, the Santa hat long since lost somewhere in the night. She looked so fragile, so broken, and it twisted something deep in his chest.

"Rey, what am I meant to do? Just let someone hurt you and do nothing?" he asked, his voice softening despite the frustration edging it, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles on her upper arms. He searched her face, taking in the smeared makeup, the way her lips quivered, the vulnerability that made him want to shield her from the world—even from himself if it came to that.

Rey shrugged, a helpless gesture that spoke volumes, her shoulders slumping under his hands. She wiped at her face with the sleeve of his oversized shirt she'd thrown on earlier, the fabric swallowing her frame.

"I don't know," she pleaded with him, her voice dropping to a whisper, thick with desperation. "But you can't involve the police." Her eyes, those wide, stormy hazel depths, pleaded up at him, begging for mercy, for understanding. She stepped closer still, her body flush against his now, seeking the solid wall of his warmth, her hands sliding up to clutch at his chest, fingers splaying over the steady thump of his heart. The contact sent a jolt through both of them, a reminder of the intimacy they'd shared just days ago, now overshadowed by this nightmare.

Ben's resolve cracked under her gaze, his arms wrapping around her instinctively, pulling her into his embrace. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling the faint vanilla scent that always lingered there, his body tense with the war between duty and love.

"Rey," he murmured against her temple, his voice rough with emotion, one hand stroking down her back in long, calming sweeps. "This guy... Mark... he can't just get away with putting his hands on you. You're not some disposable party girl to him. You're..." He trailed off, swallowing hard, the words 'mine' hanging unspoken between them. Instead, he held her tighter, feeling her sobs vibrate against his skin. The room felt smaller, the walls closing in with the weight of their secrets—the drugs, the assault, their forbidden connection that could unravel everything.

She clung to him, her face pressed into the crook of his neck, her breath hot and uneven against his collarbone.

"Please, Ben," she whispered again, her voice muffled, breaking on his name. "If they find out about the party, about what I did...the school... it'll all come crashing down." Her fingers curled into his skin, nails biting lightly, a mix of fear and need in the way she held on. The snow outside tapped insistently against the window, a soft counterpoint to the storm raging inside her.

He pulled back just enough to tilt her chin up again, his eyes searching hers, dark and stormy with conflict.

"Okay," he said finally, the word tasting like defeat, though his grip on her didn't loosen. "No police." He cupped her face in both hands, thumbs brushing away fresh tears, his touch tender yet possessive. "But we're not letting this go. I'll find another way—talk to someone discreet, handle it through channels that won't touch you. I promise." His voice dropped lower, laced with that firm protectiveness she both loved and feared. He leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers, their breaths mingling in the scant space between them. "You're safe here. With me. Always."

Rey nodded weakly, relief flooding her features even as guilt gnawed at the edges, her body sagging against his. She rose on her tiptoes, her lips brushing his in a feather-light kiss, seeking reassurance in the familiar press of his mouth. Ben responded immediately, his arms tightening around her waist, deepening the kiss just enough to taste the salt of her tears, a silent vow that he'd shield her from the fallout, no matter the cost. The phone lay forgotten on the table, the night stretching out before them, fraught with unspoken dangers but bound by their tangled love.

Rey's words tumbled out in a breathless rush, her lips brushing against Ben's as she spoke, the apology laced with the raw ache of the week they'd lost.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for this whole week," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion, tears still glistening on her lashes from the earlier storm. She pressed forward, capturing his mouth in a desperate kiss, her tongue slipping past his lips to taste him, to reclaim the connection that had frayed under the weight of secrets and misunderstandings. Her body molded to his, her knees bracketing his hips in a straddle that brought them flush together.

Ben's hands tightened on her waist, fingers digging into the soft fabric. He groaned into the kiss, the sound vibrating against her mouth, his control slipping as her words ignited the fire he'd banked down for days. She broke the kiss just enough to trail her lips lower, nipping at the stubble along his jaw before moving to his neck, her teeth grazing the pulse point there, sucking lightly to mark him in that possessive way she knew drove him wild. Her hands roamed his chest, palms sliding over the firm planes of muscle, nails scraping lightly down to his abs, tracing the ridges she'd memorized in stolen moments. The scent of him—clean soap and faint sweat from the day's tension—filled her senses, grounding her in the midst of her chaos.

"Rey, I'm so sorry," Ben's voice came out low and gravelly, roughened by regret and need, his breath hot against her ear as he hooked a hand behind her neck, gently but firmly turning her face back to his. Their eyes met, his dark gaze stormy with the same longing that mirrored hers, the weeks of distance etched in the shadows under them. He searched her face, thumb stroking her cheekbone, wiping away the last trace of a tear. "I've missed you so fucking much." The confession hung between them, heavy and honest, before he surged up, his arms banding around her to lift her effortlessly off the sofa. She wrapped her legs around his waist on instinct, her ankles locking at the small of his back as he stood, carrying her the few steps to the wall beside the window, the snow outside blurring into a white haze.

He pinned her there gently, her back against the cool surface, his body pressing into hers with urgent weight. His mouth crashed down on hers, the kiss rough and demanding, teeth clashing in their haste as tongues tangled in a fierce dance. Ben poured everything into it—the frustration of the arguments, the fear of losing her, the endless nights replaying her touch in his mind. One hand cradled the back of her head, fingers threading through her tousled hair to angle her just right, while the other gripped her thigh, hitching her higher against him, feeling the heat of her core through the thin barrier between her and his sweats. He devoured her lips, sucking on the bottom one before biting down softly, eliciting a gasp from her that he swallowed with another deep thrust of his tongue.

Rey arched into him, her hands fisting in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him growl against her mouth. She kissed him back with equal ferocity, her tongue battling his, exploring the familiar warmth as if mapping him anew. Her body rocked against his instinctively, seeking friction, the ache between her legs building from the simple press of his hips. She broke for air, panting, her lips swollen and red from the abrasion, but she dove back in immediately, trailing open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, down to the hollow of his throat where she licked a stripe over his Adam's apple, feeling it bob under her tongue.

"Ben," she whispered between kisses, her voice muffled against his skin, her fingers digging into his shoulders, leaving half-moon indents from her nails.

He responded by grinding against her once, hard and deliberate, the bulge in his sweats rubbing against her through the layers, drawing a moan from deep in her chest. But he pulled back slightly, just enough to meet her eyes again, his forehead resting against hers, breaths mingling in ragged bursts.

"God, Rey, every day without this... without you..." He didn't finish, instead claiming her mouth once more, slower this time but no less intense, his lips moving with a deliberate hunger that spoke of deprivation. His free hand slid up her side, to caress the bare skin of her ribcage, thumb brushing the underside of her breast, teasing but not venturing further, respecting the boundary they'd set in this moment of raw reconnection.

She whimpered into the kiss, her body trembling from the overload of sensation—the wall at her back, his solid frame trapping her, the way his stubble scraped her chin as he tilted his head to deepen the angle. Her hands explored lower, slipping under the waistband of his sweats to grip his ass, pulling him closer, urging him to press harder. They moved like that for what felt like hours, though it was mere minutes, lips bruising, breaths shared in gasps between clashes of teeth and swipes of tongue. Ben shifted her weight, turning them away from the wall to stumble back toward the sofa, lowering her onto it without breaking the kiss, his body covering hers in a protective drape. He braced on his elbows, caging her in, his mouth never leaving hers as he nipped at her lips, soothing each bite with a lick.

Rey's legs hooked around him again, heels digging into his lower back, her hips bucking up to meet the roll of his. The friction sent sparks through her, but it was the emotional undercurrent that made it all-consuming—the apologies unspoken now, replaced by this physical language of forgiveness and need. He groaned, the sound low and primal, his fingers tangling in her hair to hold her steady as he kissed her like he was drowning and she was air.

Finally, they slowed, the roughness giving way to something deeper, lazier, but no less passionate. Ben pulled back first, his lips hovering over hers, swollen and slick, his eyes half-lidded as he studied her flushed face.

"No more weeks like that," he murmured, voice hoarse, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth, then her cheek, trailing down to her jaw. Rey nodded, her chest heaving, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him down fully, their bodies entwining in a tangle of limbs and shared warmth. The snow continued to fall outside, muffling the world, but inside, in the cocoon of his living room, they held onto each other.

 

Ben's arms lingered around Rey for a moment longer after their kisses softened into shared breaths, his chest rising and falling in sync with hers as the intensity ebbed into a quiet ache. He pressed one final kiss to her forehead, his lips warm against her chilled skin, before easing back. She watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, her body still humming from the roughness of their reunion, lips tingling from the scrape of his stubble. Without a word, he reached for the thick wool blanket draped over the back of the sofa, shaking it out with a snap that sent a faint scent of pine and laundry detergent into the air. He wrapped it around her shoulders carefully, tucking the edges in at her sides, his fingers brushing her collarbone as he pulled it snug. The fabric enveloped her like a cocoon, heavy and soft, chasing away the lingering cold from her trek through the snow.

"Stay here," he murmured, his voice low and steady, though his eyes betrayed the worry etching lines around them. He stood, adjusting his sweats with a subtle shift, then headed toward the kitchen, his bare feet padding softly on the hardwood floor. The space opened up beyond the living room—a modest kitchen with warm oak cabinets, a granite island in the center, and the faint hum of the fridge underscoring the silence. Rey sat there for a beat, the blanket's weight grounding her, but the pull to be near him won out. She slid off the sofa, clutching the edges of the blanket around her like a shield, and followed him, her socked feet—still damp from the snow—leaving faint prints on the floor.

Ben was already at the stove, filling a kettle with water from the sink, the steam beginning to rise as he set it on the burner. He glanced over his shoulder, a small smile tugging at his lips when he saw her trailing after him, but it faded as he took in her expression—the way her shoulders hunched under the blanket, her steps hesitant.

"Come sit," he said gently, nodding toward the island. There were three stools lined up along the counter, their cushions worn from use. Rey chose the one in the middle, perching on it with her elbows on the granite, the cool surface a stark contrast to the warmth seeping back into her limbs. She pulled the blanket tighter, cocooning herself further, and stared down at her hands folded in her lap. Her fingers trembled faintly, the aftershocks of adrenaline and emotion making them twitch, nails bitten short from the week's stress. The ring on her thumb—the one he'd given her as a promise—caught the soft light from the overhead pendant, a quiet reminder amid the storm in her chest.

The kitchen filled with domestic sounds: the click of the gas stove igniting, the clink of mugs being pulled from a cabinet—two ceramic ones, mismatched, one chipped on the rim from some long-ago drop. Ben spooned cocoa powder into them, the rich chocolate scent blooming as he stirred in sugar and a dash of vanilla extract he'd grabbed from a drawer. He moved with practiced ease, his back to her, muscles shifting under his skin as he reached for the milk carton in the fridge. The door swung open with a suction pop, spilling cool light across the floor. While the kettle heated, he rummaged in the pantry for something simple—bread from a loaf on the counter, peanut butter and a jar of jam, the kind with chunks of fruit that she liked. He sliced the bread thick, spreading the spreads with a butter knife, the scrape of metal on crust echoing softly. It wasn't fancy, but it was thoughtful, the kind of care that spoke louder than words in moments like this.

Rey kept her gaze fixed on her hands, tracing the faint blue veins under her pale skin, the way her knuckles whitened when she clenched her fists to still the shaking. The events of the week replayed in fragments—the anger that had boiled over during their fight, the silence that followed, the betrayal she'd felt even if it was misplaced. Her throat tightened, a lump forming as she replayed the harsh words she'd thrown at him, the way she'd stormed out without looking back. The blanket's fibers scratched lightly against her cheek as she leaned her head on one hand, the other still fidgeting with the ring, twisting it around her thumb.

The kettle whistled, a sharp trill that cut through the quiet, and Ben turned it off quickly, pouring the steaming water into the mugs. He added splashes of milk, stirring until the liquid swirled to a creamy brown, then carried them over, setting one in front of her with a soft clunk. Steam curled up, carrying the comforting aroma that made her stomach twist with a mix of hunger and nausea from the night's excesses. He placed the plate of sandwiches next—two halves for her, golden with peanut butter oozing slightly at the edges—before sliding onto the stool beside her, his knee brushing hers under the island.

She didn't look up right away, just wrapped her hands around the mug, letting the heat seep into her palms, chasing away the chill that had settled deeper than her skin. The trembling eased a fraction, but her voice, when it came, was quiet, barely above a whisper, laced with the raw edge of regret.

"I'm sorry I got so mad."

Ben paused, his own mug halfway to his lips, the steam fogging his glasses for a second before he set it down. He turned toward her fully, his body angling in that protective way, one elbow on the counter as he studied her profile—the downcast eyes, the way her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks. His hand moved slowly, covering hers where it rested on the mug, his thumb stroking the back of her knuckles in slow circles, a silent reassurance.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice warm like the drink between them, "you don't have to apologize. Not for feeling what you felt." He squeezed her hand gently, not forcing her to meet his gaze, but inviting it. The sandwich sat untouched between them, the jam's sweetness scenting the air, a small anchor in the vulnerability hanging heavy.

Rey's fingers curled under his, seeking the solidity of his grip, the tremor transferring to where they touched. She lifted her eyes finally, meeting his—those dark, steady eyes that had pulled her through so many storms. Tears pricked at the corners, but she blinked them back, swallowing hard. The kitchen light cast a soft glow over them, highlighting the faint stubble on his jaw, the concern deepening the lines around his mouth.

"I just... I let it all build up," she continued, her words halting, voice still quiet as if speaking louder might shatter the fragile peace. "The secrets, the waiting, everything with Miss Potts... I took it out on you. And then this week, ignoring you, it made it worse." Her free hand picked at the edge of the blanket, fraying a loose thread, her gaze dropping again to the swirling cocoa.

Ben nodded, his thumb never stopping its soothing path over her skin. He picked up her sandwich half with his other hand, holding it out to her like an offering.

"Eat something first," he urged gently, waiting until she took a small bite before continuing. The crunch of the bread filled the brief silence, peanut butter sticking to the roof of her mouth, grounding her in the moment. "We both got mad, Rey. That's what happens when shit piles up. But we're here now. That's what matters."

He took a sip of his hot chocolate, the mug's warmth mirroring the one he offered in his words, then set it down to lean closer, his shoulder brushing hers. The island's edge dug slightly into his side, but he ignored it, focused on her—the way her breathing steadied with each passing second, the color returning to her cheeks.

She chewed slowly, the simple act of eating pulling her a little further from the edge, the sweetness of the jam cutting through the lingering bitterness in her throat. Swallowing, she set the sandwich down and turned her hand palm-up under his, lacing their fingers together.

"I missed this," she admitted, quieter still, her eyes flicking to their joined hands. "Just... being with you like this. No fighting, no hiding." The blanket slipped a bit from her shoulder, and Ben reached over to readjust it, his touch lingering on her arm, tracing the curve of her elbow.

'Me too,' he replied, his voice dropping to match hers, intimate in the cozy confines of the kitchen. He lifted their hands, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, his lips dry and warm against the coolness of her skin.

"And for the record, I'm sorry too. For not telling you everything sooner. We can talk about it—all of it—whenever you're ready. But right now, just rest. I've got you." He released her hand only to nudge the mug closer, encouraging another sip, the steam now thinning as the drink cooled to a drinkable warmth.

Rey nodded, taking the mug again, the ceramic steadying in her grasp as the trembling faded completely. She sipped, the chocolate coating her tongue, rich and comforting, while Ben mirrored her, their knees pressing together under the counter—a subtle connection in the quiet. The snow tapped against the window above the sink, a soft rhythm that underscored their words, the food half-eaten now as the weight of the apology lifted, leaving space for the tentative rebuilding of what the week had tried to break. They sat like that, side by side, the kitchen a sanctuary against the cold world outside, her quiet confession the first step back toward each other.

 

The remnants of the sandwiches sat on the plate between them, crumbs scattered like tiny confessions on the granite, and the mugs now held only dregs of cooling chocolate at the bottom. Rey pushed her half-eaten portion away, the peanut butter's stickiness lingering on her fingertips as she wiped them on the napkin Ben had provided. The warmth from the drink had spread through her chest, easing the knot there just enough to breathe steadily, but the exhaustion pulled at her eyelids, heavy as the blanket still draped over her shoulders. Ben watched her finish, his gaze soft but assessing, noting the way color had returned to her cheeks, the subtle relaxation in her posture. He slid off his stool first, extending a hand to her, his palm callused from years of handling books and chalk, now a lifeline she grasped without hesitation.

"Come on," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through their joined fingers. "Let's get you upstairs." He led her through the living room, past the sofa where their earlier heat had unfolded, up the narrow staircase that creaked under their weight. The air grew warmer as they ascended, the faint scent of cedar from the wood paneling. His bedroom door stood ajar at the end of the hall, spilling a soft glow from the bedside lamp onto the worn runner carpet. Ben pushed it open wider, guiding her inside—the space familiar yet achingly absent this past week: the unmade bed with its navy duvet rumpled from his restless nights, the dresser cluttered with student papers and a half-read novel, the window framing the swirling snow outside like a private snow globe.

He released her hand only to cross to the dresser, pulling open the bottom drawer with a soft scrape. From inside, he lifted a folded pair of pajamas—soft flannel ones she'd left behind during the holidays, pale blue with tiny white stars scattered across the fabric, the pants loose and the top button-up, worn soft from a few washes. He turned back to her, holding them out, his eyes tracing her form under the blanket as she let it slip to the floor in a woolen heap.

"These should keep you warm," he murmured, a faint smile ghosting his lips, though it didn't reach his eyes, shadowed with the weight of unspoken worries.

Rey took the pajamas from him, her fingers brushing his in the exchange, the simple touch sending a spark up her arm. She didn't retreat to the bathroom or turn away; instead, she stood there in the lamplight, meeting his gaze steadily as she began to undress.

She stood in just her underwear, simple black cotton that clung slightly from the night's sweat and snow. Ben's breath caught audibly, his hands flexing at his sides as he leaned against the dresser, unable to look away. God, he'd missed her—every inch, the way her body moved with that quiet grace, the vulnerability in her stance that made his chest ache. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties, sliding them down her legs, exposing the soft thatch of hair between her thighs, the long lines of her legs still smudged with faint dirt from her walk. Naked now, she felt his stare like a caress, heating her skin despite the chill, and she didn't rush, letting him drink her in as she shook out the pajamas.

Slipping into the top first, she buttoned it slowly, the flannel brushing her sensitized skin, then stepped into the pants, pulling them up over her hips, the drawstring cinching loose at her waist. The fabric enveloped her like a hug, familiar and safe, chasing away the night's grime. Ben pushed off the dresser, his sweats tenting slightly at the front from the sight of her, but he reined it in, crossing to the bed and sinking onto the edge, the mattress dipping under his weight. He patted the space beside him, but first, his voice broke the quiet, soft and edged with hurt.

"Why did you go, Rey?"

Her eyes met his as she approached, the blue flannel hanging loose on her frame, her bare feet padding silently on the rug. The question hung between them, pulling at the raw edges of her heart. He clarified, quieter still, his hands clasping together in his lap to keep from reaching for her too soon.

"To the party. I've warned you so many times—the drinking, the drugs, Rey. I told you it would get you into trouble."

She lowered her head, the weight of his disappointment settling over her like a shroud, heavier than any blanket. It stung, that quiet judgment in his tone, not angry but laced with fear for her, and she felt small under it, her freshly changed body suddenly exposed in a different way. Her toes curled into the carpet, and she wrapped her arms around her middle, the flannel bunching under her elbows.

"I thought... it might distract..."

He cut her off gently but firmly, shaking his head, his dark hair falling across his forehead.

"Rey, let's be truthful." He patted the bed again, more insistently this time, his palm flat against the duvet, the invitation clear. She stepped closer slowly, each movement deliberate, the floorboards cool beneath her feet, until she reached the edge and lowered herself beside him. The mattress shifted, their thighs brushing through the fabric, a spark of contact that grounded her even as her pulse raced.

"I just didn't care anymore," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper, eyes fixed on the pattern of the duvet to avoid the intensity of his gaze. The words tumbled out, heavy with the truth she'd buried all week. |Yesterday, I was going to quit... the school."

She looked back at him then, searching his face—the sharp line of his jaw, the concern etching deeper into his brow. "Was going to go home. I tried my mother..." Her voice cracked on the word, and she looked down again, fingers twisting the hem of her pajama top. "She was out of town. Told me to ask my dad. He wouldn't care. We haven't spoken in over a year." Tears welled up, hot and unbidden, spilling over her lashes as she blinked rapidly. "She didn't even care to ask why I wanted to see her for the first time in four years." She shook her head, a small, defeated motion, her hair falling forward to curtain her face. "Billions of people on this planet, and I had never felt so alone, Ben." Her heart fractured in her chest, the ache radiating outward, making her breath hitch. "I'm all alone..."

It broke Ben's heart to see her like this—so shattered, her usual fire dimmed to embers, tears tracking silent paths down her cheeks. He reached for her instinctively, his hand cupping her jaw. Her skin was soft under his touch, warm now from the pajamas and the proximity, but she trembled like the snow against the windowpane. He'd seen her vulnerable before, in stolen moments and heated confessions, but this— this raw unraveling—tore at him, a visceral pain that made his throat tighten.

She lifted her eyes to his again, the tears making them shimmer, and her voice came out steadier, laced with that fierce honesty he both loved and feared.

"Do you know how hard it is to be angry at you?" She searched his face, her hand coming up to cover his where it rested on her cheek. "It's so fucking hard, Ben. One look, and I'm addicted." Her gaze dropped to her hands, now clasped in her lap, knuckles white from the pressure. "I went tonight... because I didn't care anymore. That's the truth." She nodded, a small affirmation to herself, the motion pulling a fresh tear free that he caught with his thumb.

Ben's other arm wrapped around her shoulders, drawing her into his side, her head tucking under his chin as he held her close. The flannel of her top was soft against his bare chest, her body fitting against his like it belonged there, the scent of chocolate and her skin filling his senses.

"You're not alone," he whispered into her hair, his lips pressing to the crown of her head, voice rough with emotion. "Not while I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere, Rey. We figure this out—together." His hand stroked down her back in slow, soothing lines, feeling the tension ease from her muscles bit by bit, her sobs quieting into shaky breaths. The room enveloped them in its hush, the snow muffling the world outside, leaving only the beat of their hearts syncing in the dim light, a fragile bridge over the chasm of her pain.

Ben's arm tightened around Rey's shoulders, pulling her closer into the solid warmth of his chest, the flannel of her pajamas rasping softly against his bare skin. His breath stirred the strands of her hair as he spoke, his voice dropping to a low murmur that resonated through her like a confession.

"Rey," he said, the single word heavy with the ache he'd been carrying. He buried his face against the top of her head, inhaling the faint scent of shampoo and the lingering trace of chocolate from downstairs. "It's hard when you're angry with me." The words came out quietly, muffled into her hair, each syllable laced with raw vulnerability. "It tears me apart because I know I fucked up. I know I should have told you." His lips pressed a gentle kiss to her crown, lingering there as if to seal the apology, his hand stroking slow circles on her upper arm, feeling the subtle tremor in her body subside under his touch.

She shifted slightly in his embrace, her cheek pressing against the steady thump of his heartbeat, but he wasn't done.

"But honestly, Rey..." He drew back just enough to tilt her chin up with his fingers, his thumb grazing the damp trail of her tears on her jawline. Her eyes met his, wide and glistening in the soft lamplight, and he held her gaze, unflinching. "After yesterday... when you told me to leave you alone." His eyes watered then, the dark lashes clumping slightly as emotion welled up, mirroring the storm in her own chest. "Seeing you so hurt. So angry with me. I was ready to quit. Quit and leave the school. Because honestly..." He leaned in, his forehead pressing firmly against hers, their breaths mingling in the narrow space between them, warm and ragged. "I couldn't go every day for the next five months being tormented by your smile. How your eyes scar my skin. How you bite your pencil in class, knowing damn well you're thinking about me shirtless."

The admission hung in the air, intimate and exposing, and Rey felt a bubble of emotion rise in her throat. Despite the tears still blurring her vision, a tearful giggle escaped her lips, light and unexpected, cutting through the heaviness like a crack of sunlight. She nodded, her forehead bumping gently against his.

"It's true," she managed, her voice wobbling but gaining strength. "You wear very tight shirts." Another chuckle followed, softer this time, her hand coming up to rest on his chest, fingers splaying over the firm planes of muscle beneath, feeling the rapid beat echoing her own.

Ben's lips curved into a faint smile at her words, but it faded quickly, replaced by a seriousness that etched lines around his mouth. He pulled back slightly, his hand still cupping her face, thumb tracing the curve of her lower lip.

"Rey, if you want, I will quit first thing Monday, and that's it. No more secrets." His eyes locked onto hers, deadly serious, the weight of his promise settling between them like an unbreakable vow. The room seemed to shrink around them, the snow outside tapping insistently against the window, but in that moment, nothing else existed—just the intensity of his stare, the sincerity burning in his gaze.

She sat there, frozen in his hold, staring at him as the words sank in. Her mind raced, replaying the past months: the stolen glances in class, the late-night drives, the way his presence had anchored her when everything else crumbled. Slowly, she shook her head, her hair brushing his shoulder.

"You're the only thing I look forward to each day, Ben. The only thing that's gotten me through the past four months." Her voice steadied as she spoke, wiping away the fresh tears with the back of her hand, the flannel sleeve absorbing the moisture. "I was a mess when you started. No cares, partying every weekend. Me and Rose used to joke around, saying we were hoping to be kidnapped by one of those masked men you see online." She chuckled again, the sound watery but genuine, her fingers twisting in the fabric of his sweats where her hand rested on his thigh.

His brow furrowed, curiosity sparking in his eyes even amid the emotion.

"Masked men on the internet?" He tilted his head, his hand sliding from her face to intertwine with hers, squeezing gently as if to coax more from her.

Rey let out another chuckle, ducking her head briefly, but he wasn't letting it go.

"No, no. You have to tell me now," he said, staring at her with that insistent gaze, his thumb rubbing soothing patterns over her knuckles. The intrigue was evident now, a flicker of playfulness breaking through the seriousness, drawing her in further.

"Oh my gosh, Ben, it's nothing," she protested, shaking her head, but a shy smile tugged at her lips. "It's just a dark romance trend." She paused, gauging his reaction, the warmth of his hand grounding her as she delved into the explanation.

"Those viral stories where masked men kidnap women, stalk them relentlessly, become utterly obsessed. It's all fantasy, you know? Intense, possessive love that borders on the edge of danger. Rose and I would scroll through them during study breaks, laughing about how dramatic it all was, but... it was kind of an escape. From the real mess of everything." Her voice trailed off, the chuckle fading into a thoughtful quiet, her eyes drifting to the window where snowflakes clung to the glass like frozen secrets.

Ben's interest deepened, his body shifting closer on the bed, the mattress dipping as he turned to face her more fully. He didn't interrupt, just listened, his free hand coming up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on the shell of it. The idea intrigued him more than he'd admit—those shadowy figures from online tales, weaving obsession into something intoxicating. It mirrored the pull he felt toward her, the way she'd infiltrated his thoughts, his days, until he couldn't imagine a world without her in it.

"Sounds intense," he murmured finally, his voice low and thoughtful, eyes searching hers. "Like something out of those old gothic novels we read in class. But real enough to joke about kidnapping?" He raised an eyebrow, a teasing edge creeping in, though his grip on her hand remained firm, protective.

Rey nodded, leaning into his touch, the tension in her shoulders easing further as the conversation lightened the air between them.

"Yeah, exactly. All that stalking and obsession—it's just more twisted, but in the stories, it turns into this all-consuming passion. We were just being silly, wishing for some excitement to shake up the boredom." She trailed off, her gaze flicking up to meet his, a spark of heat igniting in the shared look. The room felt warmer now, the emotional rawness giving way to something deeper, more electric, as his intrigue lingered, unspoken possibilities hanging in the quiet.

Ben eased away from her slowly, the warmth of his body lingering like a ghost on her skin as he swung his legs off the edge of the bed. The mattress shifted under his weight, springs creaking softly in the quiet room, and he stood, stretching his arms overhead for a moment, the muscles in his back flexing beneath the thin fabric of his t-shirt. Rey watched him from her spot against the pillows, her heart still pounding from their earlier confessions, the air thick with the scent of his cologne and the faint vanilla from the candle flickering on the nightstand. He crossed to the dresser in three long strides, his bare feet padding silently on the hardwood floor, and picked up his iPad from where it charged beside his wallet and keys. The screen lit up under his thumb, casting a cool blue glow across his face as he turned back to her, holding it out like an offering—or a challenge.

"Show me," he said, his voice steady but laced with that teasing edge she knew so well, handing the device to her across the rumpled sheets. "Find your favorite book on Kindle and let me read."

Rey's cheeks burned instantly, a flush creeping up her neck and flooding her face until she felt like she might combust right there. She pulled the covers higher over her chest, clutching them with fingers that trembled just a little, her eyes darting away from his insistent gaze.

"Absolutely not," she muttered, the words tumbling out in a rush, her voice higher than usual, betraying the mix of embarrassment and thrill bubbling inside her.

Ben paused, the iPad still extended in his hand, and a slow, knowing smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He set it down on the bed between them for a second, then lowered himself to his knees right in front of her, the floorboards creaking faintly under his weight. His hands came to rest on her thighs over the blanket, thumbs pressing gently into the fabric, warm and grounding. He leaned in close, his face inches from hers, breath fanning across her lips as he searched her eyes.

"Oh, is it fucked up?" he questioned, his tone low and probing, like he was peeling back layers she hadn't meant to expose.

She swallowed hard, her breath catching in her throat, but he didn't back off. Instead, he dipped his head lower, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he whispered,

"I can see you having a dark taste for desire." The words sent a shiver racing down her spine, her skin prickling with goosebumps despite the heat pooling low in her belly. Rey's breath shuddered out, ragged and uneven, her hands fisting the sheets as his proximity made every nerve ending spark. He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze again, his eyes dark and intense, holding hers captive. "Show me those desires, Rey," he whispered, the command soft but unyielding, like velvet wrapped around steel.

He picked up the iPad once more and placed it directly in her lap, his fingers lingering on hers for a beat longer than necessary, a silent encouragement. Rey hesitated, her pulse thundering in her ears, but the weight of his stare, the curiosity and hunger in it, chipped away at her resistance. She looked down at the screen, the glow illuminating her flushed features, and her thumbs hovered over the keyboard before she began typing. The search bar filled with the title she knew by heart—a twisted tale she'd devoured in secret late at night, the kind that left her breathless and aching. It started rough, no sugarcoating: a girl snatched from her ordinary life, dumped in the heart of dense woods with nothing but her wits and the clothes on her back. Her captor gave her a head start, a cruel game of survival—run, hide, evade him through the underbrush and shadows. But if he caught her, he'd pin her down, fuck her hard against the earth, claim her body and soul, and keep her as his forever. No escape, no mercy, just raw, primal possession that blurred the line between terror and ecstasy.

She handed the iPad back to him without a word, her eyes wide and unblinking, a storm of nerves and anticipation swirling in their depths. Ben took it from her, his fingers brushing hers in a spark of contact that made her jolt slightly. He straightened up, moving to his side of the bed with deliberate slowness, the mattress dipping as he settled against the headboard. He patted the spot beside him once, an invitation she didn't take just yet, then reached into the nightstand drawer for his reading glasses. He slipped them on, the thin frames settling on the bridge of his nose, giving him that scholarly look that always made her stomach flip—especially now, with the iPad propped open in his lap.

"Let's see what my girl reads when she's bored," he smirked, the words dripping with playful menace as he scrolled to the first chapter, his eyes flicking over the opening lines.

Rey stayed where she was, propped up on her elbows, her heart hammering against her ribs like it might break free. She watched him read, the way his brow furrowed slightly in concentration, the subtle shift in his posture as the story pulled him in. A bead of sweat traced down her spine, her thighs pressing together under the covers as she imagined what he might think—what shadows this glimpse into her mind would cast over them both. The room felt smaller, the air charged with unspoken possibilities, and she bit her lower lip, nervous energy coiling tight in her chest as his gaze moved steadily across the screen.

Chapter 29

The clock on the nightstand ticked toward 5 AM, the sky outside still pitch black, stars hidden behind a veil of clouds promising more snow. Rey stirred in her slumber, a low moan escaping her lips unbidden. Pleasure bloomed hot and insistent between her legs, a rush of sensation pulling her from the depths of sleep. Her eyes fluttered open, hazy and unfocused at first, but the feeling intensified—wet heat lapping at her pussy, a tongue circling her clit with deliberate strokes that made her hips buck involuntarily.

She gasped sharply, her body jolting fully awake as reality crashed in. Ben was there, positioned between her spread thighs, his broad shoulders wedged firmly against her inner legs, holding them open. His hands gripped her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh to keep her steady as he buried his face against her core. His mouth worked her relentlessly—lips sucking on her swollen clit, tongue thrusting inside her slick folds, tasting every inch of her arousal. Rey's hands flew to his hair, threading through the dark strands, tugging as waves of ecstasy built rapidly in her core.

"Ben," she whimpered, her voice breathy and broken, legs quivering on either side of his head.

He didn't let up, devouring her pussy like a man starved. His tongue flicked faster over her clit, then plunged deep into her entrance, fucking her with it in short, insistent thrusts while his nose ground against the sensitive nub above. Rey's back arched off the bed, toes curling into the sheets, her breaths coming in ragged pants. The pressure coiled tighter, her thighs trembling uncontrollably as the orgasm hit her hard—her pussy clenching around nothing, juices flooding his mouth as she cried out, body shaking with the force of it. Waves of pleasure pulsed through her, leaving her limp and panting, stars bursting behind her closed eyelids.

As the aftershocks faded, Ben lifted his head slowly, his lips glistening with her cum, chin slick and shiny. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes locked on hers with a predatory gleam, before crawling up her body. His weight settled over her, knees bracketing her hips, hands planting on either side of her shoulders. He hovered there for a moment, letting her feel the heat radiating from his skin, the hard line of his cock pressing against her thigh through his boxers.

"You fell asleep on me," he smirked, bending down to capture her lips in a deep kiss. His tongue slid into her mouth, sharing the tangy taste of her own release, making her moan softly into him as she kissed back, still dazed from the climax.

He pulled away just enough to speak, his breath hot against her mouth. "Also, that book is smut. Pure dirty smut." His eyes pinned hers, dark and intense, holding her gaze captive as if he could see straight into the hidden corners of her fantasies.

"Is this what you've been keeping from me?" he questioned, his voice low and rough, laced with amusement and something darker—arousal, curiosity, a hint of challenge. He shifted his hips, grinding his erection against her hipbone, letting her feel how hard he was just from reading her secret indulgence.

Rey's cheeks flushed deeper, a mix of embarrassment and lingering pleasure making her squirm beneath him. But Ben wasn't done teasing. He trailed his lips along her jaw, nipping at the skin there before whispering against her ear,

"I can do those things, you know." The words sent a shiver racing down her spine, her body responding instantly—nipples hardening, pussy clenching with fresh need.

He kissed down to her neck, sucking lightly on the pulse point that jumped under his mouth.

"Do you want me to stalk you, Rey?" he whispered, his voice a husky growl that vibrated against her skin. His teeth grazed her collarbone, not hard enough to mark but enough to make her gasp. "Wear a mask. Take you and fuck you in the back of my car... pin you down on the leather seats, spread your legs wide, and thrust my cock deep into your pussy until you're screaming my name—or whatever name I give you in the dark."

Rey moaned, her hands sliding up his back, nails digging in as his words painted vivid pictures from the book. He continued, lips brushing her throat.

"Or would you prefer the woods chapter? Chase you through the trees, heart pounding, until I catch you. Throw you to the ground, rip your clothes off, and fuck you rough right there on the dirt—my cock slamming into your wet pussy from behind while you beg for more, even as you pretend to fight."

His hand slipped between them, fingers finding her still-sensitive clit and circling it slowly, teasing without mercy. Rey's moans grew louder, hips lifting to chase his touch, her body alive with the erotic torment of his words mirroring the scenes she'd read in secret—the masked kidnapper hunting his prey, capturing her, forcing her to submit in the most primal ways. Ben's cock throbbed against her, promising to make every twisted fantasy real if she just said the word, his teasing whispers drawing out her desires one filthy detail at a time.

 

Ben's breath was hot against her ear, his body pressing her deeper into the mattress as his fingers slid through her slick folds, rubbing firm circles over her clit.

"Reyyy," he growled low and possessive, the sound vibrating through her skin and sending fresh sparks of need straight to her core. His touch was relentless, two fingers parting her pussy lips before pressing against her entrance, teasing the sensitive rim without entering yet. He ground his hard cock against her thigh, the thick length straining against the thin fabric of his boxers, hot and insistent, letting her feel every inch of his arousal.

"Tell me what you desire," he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, voice rough with hunger. His free hand pinned her wrist above her head, holding her in place as his fingers dipped lower, coating themselves in her wetness.

"Tell me your dirtiest fantasy." He nipped at her neck, teeth grazing the tender skin just below her jaw, then sucked hard enough to leave a faint mark, his hips rolling forward to drag his cock along her leg in a slow, deliberate grind.

Rey shook her head, a whimper escaping her lips as embarrassment warred with the building ache between her legs. She bit her lip, trying to hold back, but Ben wasn't having it. He pushed two fingers inside her pussy without warning, the stretch making her gasp. Slowly, he curled them upward, stroking the spongy spot deep within her walls that made her vision blur. Her body betrayed her instantly, hips bucking up to meet his hand, inner muscles clenching around the intrusion.

Rey let out a sharp cry, her free hand fisting the sheets as pleasure ripped through her. His fingers curled again, pumping in and out with a wet, obscene sound, thumb flicking her clit in time with each thrust.

"Be a good girl and tell me," he murmured, his voice filthy and commanding, laced with that dark edge that made her pussy throb harder around him. He added a third finger, stretching her wider, fucking her slowly while his mouth latched onto her collarbone, sucking and biting as he waited, his cock twitching against her skin.

Rey's resolve crumbled under the onslaught, her breaths coming in short, desperate pants. She turned her face into his shoulder, voice trembling as she started to speak, the words tumbling out in a heated rush, painting the fantasy that had haunted her dreams.

"I... I want you as the masked stalker," she confessed, moaning as his fingers twisted inside her, hitting that spot again. "You'd watch me for weeks, Ben—following me home from the library, lurking in the shadows of the snowy campus paths. I'd feel your eyes on me, that prickle on my skin, but I'd pretend not to notice, my heart racing every time I glanced back and saw nothing but the dark trees."

Ben's growl rumbled against her throat, his fingers speeding up, plunging deeper into her dripping pussy, but he didn't interrupt, urging her on with a press of his thumb against her clit. Rey arched beneath him, her words growing breathier, more explicit as the fantasy unfolded in her mind—and now in his.

"One night, you'd catch me alone, slipping out of a party, tipsy and stumbling through the woods behind the dorms. The snow crunching under my boots, cold air biting at my skin under my coat. You'd grab me from behind—your gloved hand clamping over my mouth, the other arm wrapping around my waist like iron bands, pulling me back against your chest. I'd struggle, kicking and thrashing, but you'd be so strong, Ben, dragging me deeper into the trees, your breath hot through the mask against my neck as you whisper, "You're mine now, little prey.""

She gasped as his fingers curled harder, fucking her pussy with wet slaps, her juices coating his hand and dripping down to her ass. Ben's cock ground against her harder, pre-cum soaking through his boxers onto her thigh, his body tense with the vivid image she was weaving.

"Fuck, Rey," he muttered, voice strained, but she kept going, lost in the heat of it, her own arousal spiking with every filthy detail.

"I'd feel your cock pressing against my ass through your jeans, already rock-hard from the chase," Rey continued, her voice a husky whisper, hips rolling to take his fingers deeper. "You'd shove me against a tree, the rough bark scraping my back as you rip open my coat, yanking my shirt up to expose my tits to the freezing air. My nipples would harden instantly, and you'd pinch them hard, twisting until I cry out into your glove. Then you'd spin me around, face-first into the trunk, pinning my wrists above my head with one hand while the other shoves my skirt up, tearing my panties down my thighs. No warning—you'd unzip your pants, pull out your thick cock, and slam it into my pussy from behind, stretching me wide, fucking me raw and deep right there in the snow."

Ben's fingers mimicked her words, thrusting faster, curling to rub her g-spot relentlessly, his thumb grinding her clit until her legs shook. He kissed her neck again, sucking a bruise into the skin, his free hand releasing her wrist to squeeze her breast, rolling her nipple between his fingers. Rey moaned loudly, the fantasy blurring with the reality of his touch, her pussy clenching around him as she pushed on.

"You'd fuck me like an animal, Ben—pounding into me, your hips slapping against my ass. I'd beg you to stop at first, but you'd cover my mouth again, whispering through the mask how wet I am, how my pussy's gripping your cock like it never wants to let go. You'd make me admit I want it, force me to say I'm your dirty little slut for letting a stranger stalk and take me."

Her words turned even filthier, breath hitching as an orgasm built low in her belly from his fingering alone. "Then you'd pull out, spin me to face you—your mask still on, eyes dark and anonymous—and shove me to my knees in the snow. I'd be shivering, pussy aching and empty, but you'd grab my hair, force my mouth onto your cock, slick with my juices. I'd suck you deep, gagging as you fuck my throat, your gloved hands holding my head still while you use my mouth like a toy. Cum would leak from the corners of my lips, dripping down my chin onto my exposed tits, and you'd growl that I'm not done yet."

Ben's breathing grew ragged, his cock throbbing against her as he finger-fucked her harder, the room filling with the sounds of her wetness and her escalating moans.

"Keep going," he demanded, voice thick with lust, nipping her earlobe.

Rey obliged, her body trembling on the edge.

"You'd haul me up, bend me over a fallen log, and spread my ass cheeks wide. No mercy—you'd spit on my tight hole and push your cock in, inch by inch, making me scream as you claim my ass. It'd burn so good, Ben, your thick shaft splitting me open, fucking me deep and slow at first, then faster, while you reach around to rub my clit. I'd come so hard, my whole body shaking as you fill my ass with your hot cum, pumping load after load until it leaks out around your cock."

She cried out then, the fantasy tipping her over—her pussy spasming around Ben's fingers, orgasm crashing through her in violent waves. Juices gushed over his hand, soaking the sheets as she rode it out, nails digging into his shoulders. Ben didn't stop, drawing out her pleasure with slow strokes until she collapsed, panting and spent, her dirtiest desires laid bare between them.

He finally withdrew his fingers, bringing them to her lips, smearing her cum across them before kissing her deeply, tasting her on her tongue.

"That's my good girl," he murmured against her mouth, his cock still hard and pressing insistently against her, promising he'd make at least part of that fantasy real.

Ben's lips curved into a wicked smile against Rey's skin, his fingers still slick with her release as he shifted his weight, pulling back just enough to shove his boxers down his thighs. His cock sprang free, thick and veined, the head already glistening with pre-cum from listening to her spill her dirtiest secrets. He gripped the base, rubbing the swollen tip along her soaked pussy lips, coating himself in her juices while she trembled beneath him, aftershocks still rippling through her body.

"Do you want to know mine?" he growled into her ear, his voice low and gravelly, sending a fresh shiver down her spine. His free hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head back to expose her throat as he nudged his cock against her entrance, the heat of him pressing insistently there.

Rey nodded frantically, her breath hitching, eyes wide and glazed with lingering pleasure and building anticipation. She spread her legs wider, inviting him in, her pussy clenching around nothing as she whispered,

"Yes, Ben... tell me."

With a deep, satisfied rumble, Ben thrust forward, burying his cock to the hilt in one smooth, powerful stroke. Her walls stretched around his girth, gripping him tight and wet, pulling a guttural groan from his chest. He didn't give her time to adjust—instead, he started fucking her immediately, hips snapping in a steady rhythm, his balls slapping against her ass with each plunge. The bed creaked under them, the air thick with the wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of her dripping pussy.

"My fantasy," he began, voice strained but commanding as he drove deeper, grinding his pelvis against her clit on every inward push, "starts with you in my classroom after hours. You're the naughty student who's been teasing me all semester—flashing your panties under that short skirt, bending over my desk just to make my cock hard while I try to teach. I lock the door, tell you to stay after for detention, but it's not about homework. It's about punishment for being such a dirty little slut who can't keep her eyes off her teacher's bulge."

Rey's moan filled the room as he picked up the pace, his cock pistoning into her with forceful thrusts, the head battering her cervix on deeper strokes. She wrapped her legs around his waist, heels digging into his back to pull him closer, her nails raking down his shoulders. The stretch of him inside her felt obscene, filling her completely, every ridge and vein dragging along her sensitive walls.

Ben leaned down, capturing her mouth in a bruising kiss, tongue fucking her in time with his hips before pulling back to continue. "I bend you over my desk, Rey—flip up that skirt and yank your panties to the side. No foreplay, just my hand cracking down on your bare ass, spanking you red until you're sobbing and begging. But you don't get to cum yet. I make you spread your cheeks, show me that tight pussy and asshole, then I finger both holes while you hump the air like the desperate whore you are."

He emphasized his words with a particularly hard thrust, his cock bottoming out and holding there, rotating his hips to stir inside her. Rey cried out, her pussy fluttering around him, juices leaking out to soak his balls. She could feel every inch of him throbbing, the way her body molded to his invasion, heat building low in her belly again despite her recent orgasm.

"Then I pull out my cock—that's fucking you now—and shove it down your throat," Ben growled, nipping at her earlobe before sucking the lobe into his mouth. He started pounding her harder, the slap of skin on skin echoing loudly, his hand sliding between them to pinch her clit sharply. "You gag on it, tears streaming down your face, but you suck like your life depends on it, slobbering all over my shaft while I call you my filthy student slut. I face-fuck you until your mascara runs, until you're choking and your throat's raw, then I bend you back over the desk and ram into your pussy from behind."

Rey's hips bucked up to meet his, her breaths coming in ragged gasps as pleasure coiled tighter. His cock dragged out almost fully before slamming back in, the friction making her walls spasm. She reached down, grabbing his ass to urge him deeper, loving the way he dominated her completely, his fantasy weaving into their reality.

"But that's not twisted enough," he continued, voice dropping to a husky whisper as sweat beaded on his forehead, dripping onto her chest. He hooked one of her legs over his shoulder, changing the angle so he could thrust even deeper, his cock hitting that spongy spot inside her relentlessly.

"I tie your hands to the desk legs with my belt, spread you wide so anyone walking by could hear you screaming my name. Then I lube up your ass with your own pussy juices and force my way in—inch by thick inch and make you squirt all over my classroom floor. You fight it at first, clenching so tight it hurts, but I don't stop. I fuck your ass raw, pulling your hair to arch your back, whispering how you're mine to use, how I'll breed you right there if I want, fill you with my cum until it drips down your thighs."

A whine escaped Rey's lips, her body arching off the bed as his words painted the depraved scene. His thrusts grew erratic, harder, his cock swelling inside her pussy, stretching her to the limit. She could feel her orgasm approaching, the pressure building from the constant rub against her g-spot, his thumb now circling her clit in firm strokes.

"And when you're a shaking mess, ass and pussy wrecked, I flip you onto your back and straddle your chest," Ben panted, his muscles flexing with each powerful drive, balls tightening as he neared his edge. "I jerk my cock over your face, make you open wide and stick out your tongue. You beg for it—'Please, Professor, cum on your slutty student'—and I do, ropes of hot cum painting your lips, cheeks, tits. But I'm not done. I scoop it up and feed it to you, finger-fucking your mouth until you swallow every drop, then I make you clean my cock with your tongue while I promise to keep you after school every day to use as my personal fucktoy."

The fantasy pushed Rey over the brink—her pussy clamped down on his cock like a vice, convulsing as waves of ecstasy ripped through her. She screamed his name, body seizing, inner walls milking him desperately as she came hard, gushing around his thrusting length, soaking his groin and the sheets beneath them.

Ben followed seconds later, a roar tearing from his throat as he buried himself deep one last time. His cock pulsed, flooding her pussy with thick spurts of cum, filling her until it overflowed, leaking out around him with each twitch. He collapsed onto her, still pumping shallowly through the aftershocks, their bodies slick and entangled, breaths mingling in the hazy aftermath.

Finally, he stilled, pressing soft kisses to her neck, his cock softening inside her but not pulling out yet. "Fuck, Rey," he murmured, voice sated and tender now.

Rey's laughter bubbled up softly, a light chuckle that vibrated through her chest as Ben lay there, still buried inside her, their bodies slick and spent. She traced lazy circles on his back with her fingertips, her pussy still fluttering faintly around his softening cock, a reminder of the raw intensity they'd just shared.

"So you really have a big teacher kink," she teased, her voice husky from their moans, eyes sparkling with playful affection as she looked up at him.

Ben lifted his head from where it rested against her skin, his dark hair tousled and damp with sweat. He smirked, pressing a lingering kiss to the swell of her breast before murmuring,

"Not until I met you."

His words were sincere, laced with that deep rumble that always made her heart skip. He nuzzled closer for a moment, inhaling her scent—musk and salt and the faint floral of her shampoo—before finally rolling off her with a reluctant groan. The cool air hit their overheated skin as he settled onto his back beside her, one arm draped across his eyes.

Rey shifted onto her side, propping her head on her hand, elbow digging into the mattress. The sheets tangled around her waist, leaving her upper body bare, her nipples still pebbled from the chill and the echoes of pleasure. She studied him in the dim lamplight, the way his chest rose and fell steadily, the faint scars and tattoos marking his broad frame. There was a vulnerability in his profile that she rarely saw, and it tugged at something deep inside her. After a long pause, filled only by their slowing breaths and the distant hum of the city outside, she spoke quietly.

"You never talk about what happened in L.A.. What made you move across the country?"

Ben's arm lowered slightly, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. He swallowed, the muscles in his throat working visibly.

"You wouldn't like it. It's not a great story," he replied, his voice low and edged with old pain, like gravel underfoot.

She reached out, her fingers brushing his jawline softly, coaxing him to meet her eyes.

"You can tell me," Rey whispered, her touch gentle, thumb stroking the stubble there in slow, reassuring arcs. She could see the hesitation in him, the way his body tensed just a fraction, but she didn't push—only waited, her own heart aching with the need to understand the shadows he carried.

He turned his head then, locking eyes with her, the brown depths stormy with memories.

"I was dating this girl. We'd been together a few years. Things had been weird for a while. She was dodging me a lot," he began, his words measured, as if testing the waters. He sat up slowly, the sheet pooling around his hips. Rey mirrored him, pulling the sheet up to cover her breasts as she knelt beside him, listening intently, her knees pressing into the mattress.

"She became so secretive," Ben continued, running a hand through his hair, making it stand up even more wildly. Ben explains it like he's reliving the unraveling—texts going unanswered, nights out that stretched into dawns with vague excuses, the way she'd pull away in bed, her touches mechanical and distant. It gnawed at him, turned him inside out.

"She destroyed me, Rey. She sent me crazy. She said I was insecure. Jealous. She made out like I was crazy." His voice cracked on the last word, and he stood abruptly, the sheet falling away as he paced to the window, his naked back to her—broad shoulders hunched, ass flexing with each step.

Rey slipped from the bed, wrapping the sheet around her like a toga, the fabric whispering against her skin as she moved to him. She placed a hand on his arm, feeling the tension coiled there like a spring.

"Keep going," she urged softly, her bare feet silent on the rug.

Ben nodded, staring out at the snow-dusted streetlights below, his breath fogging the glass.

"One day, I decided to confront her. I tracked her phone. We hadn't spoken in two weeks, and I was worried—out of my mind, actually." He lowered his head, jaw clenching. "I tracked her to my best friend's house." The words hung heavy, and Rey's grip tightened, her mind racing with the betrayal she could already sense.

"They'd been fucking for two years behind my back," he said flatly, turning to face her now, his eyes raw. "Now, it didn't help that I worked with him. So I saw him every day. He was another teacher at the school. I had to leave." Ben's hands balled into fists at his sides, knuckles whitening. Rey tilted her head, searching his face, the pain etched there making her chest ache. She stepped closer, the sheet brushing his legs, her free hand reaching for his.

"I'm so sorry, Ben," she whispered, lacing her fingers through his, squeezing. Tears pricked her eyes—not just for him, but for the boy he'd been, shattered by trust turned to ash.

He exhaled shakily, pulling her into a loose embrace, his forehead resting against hers.

"She said I was a disappointment in bed. I couldn't please her. Nothing I ever did, in general, was enough. No amount of flowers, fancy meals out, nothing pleased her." His voice dropped lower, laced with self-doubt that twisted her gut. He pulled back slightly, cupping her face in his hands, thumbs brushing her cheeks. "She admitted she was only with me for the money, but she got bored of waiting for me to propose."

Rey's breath caught, her mind flashing to their own tangled secrets, the fears that sometimes whispered in the dark. But she pushed them aside, focusing on him. "Ben..."

"Then I realized," he continued, his gaze intense, searching hers. "I never even thought about it once while with her. I didn't think at all about proposing or her being a wife. Not once." He paused, the silence stretching, charged. Then, softer, almost reverent: "I haven't stopped thinking about marrying you, Rey. The future. Don't you find that crazy?"

She stared at him, heart pounding in her ears, the weight of his confession settling over her like the sheet—warm, enveloping, but fragile. Crazy? No, it was terrifyingly real, a promise amid their chaos. Rey leaned in, pressing her lips to his in a slow, tender kiss, tasting the salt of unshed tears on his skin.

"Not crazy," she murmured against his mouth, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes.

Ben's arms wrapped around her fully then, drawing her flush against him, the sheet slipping between them as their bodies aligned—chest to chest, hip to hip.

Rey's voice trembled with sincerity as she cupped his cheek, her palm warm against the rough stubble of his jaw. Her thumb brushed away a stray tear that had escaped the corner of his eye, the simple gesture carrying the weight of all the unspoken comforts she'd longed to give him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her breath mingling with his in the close space between them, "that someone treated you like that." Her fingers traced the line of his face, memorizing the contours she'd come to adore—the sharp angle of his cheekbone, the soft curve of his lips that could curl into a smirk or part in a gasp of pleasure.

Ben's eyes, dark and stormy, searched hers, vulnerability cracking through his usual armor. He leaned into her touch, his hand coming up to cover hers, holding it there as if afraid she'd pull away. The sheet she'd wrapped around herself slipped slightly, exposing the curve of her shoulder, but neither moved to adjust it; the intimacy of the moment transcended the chill seeping through the window.

"It's her loss and my gain," Rey continued, her voice gaining strength, laced with a fierce protectiveness that surprised even her. She moved closer, pressing her body against his until she could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat against her chest.

"I don't care about money, I don't care about flowers, fancy meals." Her free hand slid down his arm, fingers intertwining with his, squeezing as if to anchor him to the present, away from the ghosts of his past. She tilted her head, locking her gaze with his, unblinking, letting him see the raw truth in her eyes—the depth of her devotion, unmarred by the secrets and storms that sometimes raged between them.

"All I ever want is only you, Ben," she said, the words pouring out like a confession, heavy with the months of longing, the nights spent tangled in his sheets, the days navigating the forbidden edges of their love. Her voice dropped lower, intimate, as she leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of his ear.

"You have no idea what you do to me. From the first moment I saw you in that classroom, standing there with that commanding presence, I was lost. Not just to your body—though God, the way you touch me, the way you make me shatter—it's your soul that owns me. The way you see through my chaos, my recklessness, and still look at me like I'm the only thing that matters."

She pulled back just enough to search his face, her hand sliding from his cheek to the nape of his neck, fingers threading through his damp hair, tugging gently to keep him close. Tears welled in her own eyes now, not from sorrow, but from the overwhelming surge of emotion that threatened to spill over.

"You've been my anchor in the storm, Ben. When everything else falls apart—my family, my doubts, the nights I drown in bottles or lines just to forget—you're the one who pulls me back. You make me feel safe, desired, whole. I crave your dominance in bed, the way you pin me down and fuck me until I can't think, but even more, I need your tenderness, the way you hold me after, whispering promises that make me believe in us."

Ben's breath hitched, his free hand settling on her hip, thumb circling the skin there in slow, soothing strokes. He opened his mouth to speak, but Rey pressed on, her words tumbling out faster now, fueled by the intensity of the moment.

"I love how you challenge me, push me to be better, even when I'm breaking. You've seen my darkest parts and you still choose me every day. That's what makes this real, Ben. Not the sex—though I ache for you constantly—but the way you love me through it all."

Her lips capturing his in a kiss that started soft, exploratory, but deepened quickly, tongues sliding together in a dance of reassurance and hunger. When she broke away, gasping, her forehead rested against his, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as she gathered her thoughts.

"Marrying you? Building a life? It's not crazy—it's the dream I've been too scared to voice. I picture it all: waking up to you every morning, your hands on me before the sun's even up, lazy Sundays where we fuck slow and deep on the kitchen counter, then talk about nothing and everything. Kids someday, maybe, with your eyes and my fire. A home where the past doesn't haunt us, where we heal each other. You mean everything to me, Ben. You're my heart, my fire, my forever. Without you, I'm just drifting—lost in the cold. With you, I'm alive."

The weight of her love hung in the air, palpable, wrapping around them like the sheet that now pooled at their feet. Rey's body trembled slightly, not from the cold, but from the vulnerability of laying her soul bare. She pressed her palm flat against his chest, feeling the rapid beat beneath, mirroring her own.

"I love you," she breathed, the words simple yet profound, carrying the depth of oceans, the intensity of stars colliding. "More than I ever thought possible. You're it for me. Always."

Ben's eyes darkened with a mix of raw emotion and desire as Rey's words washed over him, her confession stripping away the last of his defenses. He couldn't hold back anymore—the depth of her love ignited something fierce and tender inside him. Without a word, his hands gripped her hips firmly, lifting her up in one fluid motion. Rey gasped, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he pressed her back against the cool wall of his bedroom, the impact sending a jolt through her body that only heightened the intensity.

His mouth crashed down on hers in a rough kiss, lips bruising against hers with desperate hunger. Ben's tongue plunged into her mouth, tasting her deeply, tangling with hers as he devoured her like a man starved. One hand slid up to cup the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair to hold her in place, while the other braced against the wall beside her shoulder, his body pinning hers completely. He nipped at her lower lip, sucking it between his teeth before soothing it with his tongue, his breaths coming in hot, ragged bursts against her skin.

Rey moaned into the kiss, her hands clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into the muscles there as she surrendered to the ravaging storm of his affection. Ben's free hand roamed her body greedily. He broke the kiss only to trail his lips down her neck, sucking hard enough to leave faint marks, his teeth grazing her collarbone as he ground his hips against hers. She could feel his cock, already hard and thick, pressing insistently against her.

But even in the heat of his ravishment, there was an undercurrent of softness—his hold on her was possessive yet careful, his kisses fierce but laced with the reverence of someone who cherished every inch of her. Ben pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against hers, eyes locked on hers with an intensity that made her heart stutter.

"Rey," he murmured, voice husky and thick with emotion, "you have no idea what you do to me. Hearing you say that... it breaks me open."

He shifted her weight, his hands sliding down to grip her ass, Rey reached down between them, her fingers wrapping around his length, stroking him slowly as she guided him to her entrance. Ben groaned, the sound vibrating through his chest, and with a deliberate thrust, he pushed inside her. Her pussy clenched around him, welcoming the stretch, the fullness that always made her feel so completely his.

He started slow, just as he promised in his heart—deep, measured strokes that filled her to the hilt before pulling back almost all the way, savoring the way her walls fluttered around him. Her back pressed firmly against the wall with each movement, the rough texture a contrast to the smooth glide of his cock inside her. Ben's lips found her ear, his breath warm as he began to pour out his soul, words tumbling forth between thrusts, each one punctuated by the soft slap of skin on skin.

"You think you're the only one who's lost without the other?" he whispered, his voice low and intimate, hips rolling forward to bury himself deeper. Rey whimpered, her head falling back against the wall, exposing her throat for him to kiss. "From the moment you walked into my class, all fire and defiance, I was done for. I tried to fight it—God, I tried—but you slipped under my skin, into my blood. You're not just my love, Rey; you're my salvation."

He pulled out slowly, almost torturously, before sliding back in, his cock dragging against her inner walls, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind her eyelids. Ben's hand slipped between them, his thumb finding her clit and circling it gently, matching the rhythm of his thrusts.

"You rebuilt me, piece by piece. Every time you let me in, body and soul, it heals something I thought was broken forever."

Rey's legs tightened around him, pulling him closer as pleasure coiled low in her belly. She kissed his jaw, tasting the salt of his skin, her own breaths coming in soft pants. Ben's pace remained unhurried, each thrust a declaration, his cock pulsing inside her as he continued, voice cracking with vulnerability.

"I dream about our future—the one you described. Waking up to you, your body warm against mine, sliding into you slow like this, making love until we're both spent and whispering plans for the day. Just us, building a life where I can show you every day how much you mean to me."

He captured her lips again, softer this time, the kiss deepening as he rocked into her steadily. The wall held them steady, her body arching to meet his, pussy dripping wet around his length, easing the way for his gentle invasions. Ben's free hand traced her side, from her hip to her breast, cupping it tenderly, thumb brushing her nipple in soothing strokes.

"You're my everything, Rey. My heart beats for you, my body aches for you. I love how you surrender to me. But it's your spirit—your fire, your pain, your unyielding love—that owns me completely."

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, mirroring hers from earlier, as emotion swelled between them. He thrust a little harder then, but still controlled, his cock bottoming out inside her, grinding against her clit with his pelvis. Rey's moans grew louder, her hands roaming his back, nails scraping lightly as waves of pleasure built. "I need you, Rey. More than air, more than anything. You've given me hope when I had none, made me believe in love again. Feel me inside you— this is us, connected, unbreakable."

The intimacy of his confessions wrapped around them like a warm embrace, softening the edges of their passion into something profoundly romantic. Rey's body trembled on the edge, her pussy tightening around his cock, pulling him deeper with each slow withdrawal and return. Ben's thumb pressed firmer on her clit, rubbing in tight circles as he whispered one last vow:

"I love you, Rey. With every thrust, every beat of my heart. Forever."

As her orgasm crested, crashing over her in gentle waves, Ben followed soon after, spilling deep inside her with a muffled groan against her shoulder, their bodies locked together against the wall in a tableau of tender, exhaustive love.

Ben held Rey close against the wall for a long moment after their shared release, his cock still buried deep inside her, softening slowly as their breaths mingled in the quiet aftermath. Her body trembled in his arms, not from cold but from the overwhelming tide of emotions that had crashed through them both. He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, tasting the faint salt of her tears mingled with sweat, and whispered,

"I've got you, love. Always." With careful strength, he eased out of her, a soft whimper escaping her lips at the loss, but he soothed her immediately with another kiss, this one tender and lingering on her mouth.

Scooping her up effortlessly, Ben cradled her against his chest, her legs dangling loosely as he carried her back to the bed. Rey's arms looped around his neck, her face nuzzling into the crook of his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of him—musk and warmth and home. The room felt smaller now, more intimate in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, the sheets rumpled from their earlier urgency. He lowered her onto the mattress with reverence, as if she were something precious and fragile, though they both knew her fire could burn just as fiercely as his.

Rey shifted immediately, curling into herself slightly, but Ben joined her without hesitation, stretching out beside her on the bed. He pulled the covers over them both, the soft fabric whispering against their skin, and drew her into his embrace. She fit perfectly against him, her back to his front, his arm draping over her waist to hold her close. Her head rested on his bicep, and he could feel the steady rise and fall of her breathing syncing with his own, a rhythm that spoke of peace after the storm.

His free hand found her hair, fingers threading through the tangled strands with slow, soothing strokes. He started at her scalp, massaging gently in circles that eased the tension from her body, then trailed down the length of her locks, smoothing them out like he was unraveling all the knots in her heart. Rey sighed contentedly, her eyes fluttering closed as she pressed back against him.

Ben's lips brushed the shell of her ear, not with hunger this time, but with quiet affection.

"Sleep well, Rey," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through his chest into hers. "I've got you wrapped up tight. No more worries tonight—just us, like this." His fingers continued their gentle path through her hair, occasionally dipping to trace the curve of her shoulder or the dip of her spine, light touches that grounded her in the moment. She reached for his hand at her waist, intertwining their fingers, the simple act sealing their connection.

Chapter 30

The first rays of afternoon sunlight filtered through the half-drawn curtains of Rey's bedroom window, casting a hazy glow over the rumpled sheets. It was nearly 2 p.m., the clock on the nightstand blinking accusingly as Rey stirred from her deep, exhausted sleep. Her body felt like it had been dragged through a storm—every muscle ached with the dull throb of a brutal hangover, compounded by the sharp crash from the previous night's indulgences. Coke lines and whiskey had left her mind foggy and her nerves frayed, but worse was the creeping chill that had settled in her bones overnight, turning into a full-blown cold. Her nose was stuffed up, sinuses throbbing with pressure, and when she tried to swallow, her throat rasped like sandpaper, dry and inflamed, sending a stab of pain that made her wince.

She groaned low in her chest, the sound barely escaping as she pushed herself up on one elbow. The room tilted slightly, the simple act of sitting up sending a wave of nausea rolling through her stomach. Her head pounded in rhythm with her heartbeat, a relentless hammer against her temples, and the light seeping in felt like needles piercing her eyes. Rey rubbed at her face with trembling hands, sniffling wetly as a sneeze built in her chest. It exploded out of her suddenly, harsh and uncontrollable, making her whole body jerk. 'Ah-choo!' The force of it left her coughing, her throat burning even more fiercely now.

Blinking against the tears the sneeze had brought, Rey swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her bare feet hitting the cool hardwood floor. She put on Ben's oversized t-shirt, which hung loose on her frame and carried Ben's faint scent, a small comfort amid the misery. Standing proved more challenging; her knees wobbled, and she gripped the bedpost for support, waiting for the dizziness to pass. One step at a time, she shuffled toward the door, each movement amplifying the spin in her head. Down the stairs she went, clutching the banister tightly, her breaths coming in shallow, congested huffs. The house was quiet, save for the distant clink of dishes in the kitchen—Ben must have let her sleep in, probably tending to breakfast or coffee for them both.

By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs, another sneeze wracked her, doubling her over with its intensity. She straightened slowly, wiping her nose on the sleeve of the shirt, and padded into the kitchen. Ben stood at the counter, pouring himself a mug of coffee, his back to her. He was dressed casually in jeans and a fitted gray sweater, his dark hair still tousled from sleep. The aroma of fresh brew filled the air, but it turned her stomach, making her press a hand to her mouth to stifle a gag.

"Hi," she croaked, her voice a gravelly whisper that scraped painfully against her raw throat. It came out weaker than she'd intended, muffled by the congestion, sounding more like a frog's croak than words.

Ben turned immediately, his expression shifting from relaxed to concerned in an instant as he took in her pale face, the flush creeping up her cheeks, and the way she leaned against the doorframe for support.

"Oh, that doesn't sound good," he said, setting the coffee pot down with a little more force than necessary, his voice laced with alertness. He crossed the kitchen in two strides, his eyes scanning her from head to toe, noting the sweat beading on her forehead despite the chill she must be feeling.

"I think I'm sick," Rey managed, her words all bunged up and nasal, each syllable pulling at the soreness in her throat. She sniffled again, rubbing at her eyes as if that could chase away the ache. "My head hurts... the light is so bright... I feel sick, my throat hurts."

She listed off her problems in a halting rush, her voice growing fainter with effort, the pain making her wince after every word. "And the room is spinning..." Her voice trailed off into a whisper, the world around her blurring at the edges. Black spots danced in her vision, and her legs buckled beneath her without warning, knees giving way as her eyes rolled back in their sockets.

"What?" Ben's voice sharpened with alarm, he caught her just before she hit the ground, his strong arms scooping her up against his chest in one fluid motion. Rey's body went limp in his hold, her head lolling back, eyes closed and unresponsive. He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead—burning hot, feverish skin slick with sweat that pooled at her temples and trickled down her neck.

"Rey, wake up," he urged, his voice tight with panic as he cradled her closer, one arm under her knees and the other supporting her back. He shook her gently, willing her eyelids to flutter, but she remained slack, her breaths shallow and ragged through her congested nose. Her weight felt heavier in his arms now, not from size but from the fear gripping his chest like a vise. This wasn't just a hangover; the heat radiating from her body screamed infection, and the way she'd collapsed terrified him. His mind raced—flu? Something worse from the cold night air and her exhausted state?

Heart pounding, Ben shifted her weight to free one hand, fumbling for his phone in his pocket. He dialed without looking, the number muscle memory. It rang once before connecting.

"Look, I need you to get here now. I've got a problem," he barked into the receiver, his tone clipped and urgent, leaving no room for questions. "Bring your bag." He hung up before any response could come, shoving the phone back into his pocket and rushing back to Rey. "Someone's coming," he murmured to her unresponsive form, more to reassure himself than anything. His voice cracked slightly as he carried her to the living room, navigating the familiar layout of her home with ease despite the adrenaline surging through him.

The sofa sat against the wall near the window, its cushions soft and inviting under normal circumstances. Ben lowered her onto it carefully, propping her head with a throw pillow and pulling a blanket from the armrest to tuck around her shivering frame. Even in fever, goosebumps prickled her skin, a stark contrast to the flush on her cheeks. He brushed damp strands of hair from her face, his thumb lingering on her jawline, tracing the line there as if he could will her back to consciousness.

"Come on, Rey, open your eyes," he pleaded softly, leaning down to press his lips to her forehead again, feeling the unnatural heat sear against his mouth. Panic clawed at him—images of her vulnerability from the night before, the drugs, the emotional toll, all piling onto this physical collapse. What if it was serious? What if he'd missed the signs?

He sat on the edge of the sofa, one hand clasped around hers, squeezing gently as he watched her chest rise and fall. The shattered mug lay forgotten in the kitchen, coffee pooling on the floor, but none of that mattered. Minutes stretched like hours, the clock on the wall ticking loudly in the silence broken only by Rey's occasional congested snuffle and Ben's own ragged breaths. He glanced toward the door every few seconds, willing the sound of an approaching car to break the tension. Whoever he'd called—likely a trusted friend with medical know-how, perhaps a doctor from his old circles—would know what to do. For now, all Ben could do was hold on, his free hand stroking her arm through the blanket, grounding them both in the midst of the crisis.

Rey's eyelids twitched faintly, a small sign of life that eased the knot in his stomach just a fraction, but she didn't wake. Sweat continued to bead on her skin, her body fighting whatever battle raged inside, and Ben murmured reassurances into the quiet room, his voice a steady anchor.

"You're going to be okay. I've got you. Just hold on." The front door was unlocked—he'd made sure of that when they arrived last night—and he prayed help would arrive soon, before the fever pulled her deeper into unconsciousness.

 

The sharp rap of knuckles against the front door echoed through the quiet house, jolting Ben from his vigilant watch over Rey. He squeezed her hand one last time before standing, his muscles tense as he crossed the living room in quick strides. Peering through the peephole confirmed it was Todd—his old friend from his school days, the one who'd settled just outside town in a quiet practice that catered to folks who preferred discretion over bureaucracy. Ben swung the door open, the cold afternoon air rushing in like an unwelcome intruder, carrying the faint scent of pine from the nearby woods.

Todd stepped inside without a word of greeting, his boots thudding softly on the entryway rug. He was a sturdy man in his mid-thirties, with a neatly trimmed beard and wire-rimmed glasses that gave him a scholarly air, though his rumpled coat and the black medical bag clutched in his gloved hand spoke of hurried departures. He pushed the door shut behind him with a decisive click, locking it out of habit, his sharp blue eyes already scanning the space as if assessing a crime scene. The warmth of the house enveloped him, but his expression hardened the moment his gaze landed on the sofa where Rey lay.

"Fuck, Ben, why do you have an unconscious half-naked girl here?"

Todd's voice was a low growl, laced with disbelief and a hint of accusation as he shrugged off his coat and tossed it over a nearby chair. He moved swiftly to Rey's side, his movements efficient and practiced, dropping to one knee beside the sofa. The doctor's bag hit the floor with a muffled thud, and he flipped it open, revealing an array of instruments glinting under the lamp light—stethoscope, thermometer, vials of saline, and a blood pressure cuff. His hands, steady despite the surprise, began their assessment: first pressing two fingers to her neck to check her pulse, then gently tilting her head to listen to her breathing through the stethoscope draped around his neck.

Ben hovered nearby, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, jaw clenched as he watched Todd work. The shattered coffee mug still lay in the kitchen, a dark stain spreading across the tiles like an accusation of his own negligence.

"I didn't do this," he said firmly, his voice edged with defensiveness. "Look, it's complicated. I called you because I know you don't ask questions." He paced a short step, running a hand over his stubbled chin, the weight of the situation pressing down on him like the snow piling outside.

Todd didn't look up, his focus on Rey as he peeled back the blanket slightly to expose her arm, wrapping the cuff around her bicep and pumping it manually. The soft hiss of air filled the brief silence.

"Who told you that?" he muttered, his tone skeptical, eyes flicking up to meet Ben's for the first time. There was no judgment in his gaze yet, just the pragmatic curiosity of a man who'd seen too many secrets in his line of work.

"Many people, Todd," Ben replied, his voice steady but strained, the words coming out sharper than intended. "You hardly hide your after dark activities." He gestured vaguely toward the bag, a nod to the off-the-books house calls and discreet prescriptions that had earned Todd a reputation in certain circles.

He stopped pacing and knelt on Rey's other side, his hand instinctively reaching out to brush a damp lock of hair from her forehead. Her skin was still scorching, a fever that made his stomach twist.

"Look, she's a student at the school I work at, okay? We've been seeing each other since last summer. She's legal—she's nineteen—and it's fully consensual." He stood his ground, his dark eyes locking onto Todd's, daring him to push further. "She'd tell you if she was... well, conscious."

To emphasize the point, Ben dragged his fingers through his disheveled hair, a frustrated gesture that betrayed the turmoil churning inside him. The confession hung in the air, heavy with the risks it implied—his job, her future, the tangled web of their forbidden romance.

Todd's eyebrows shot up as he noted the readings on the cuff, jotting them down on a small notepad from his bag. He shone a penlight into Rey's eyes, checking pupil response even though her lids remained stubbornly closed.

"You're screwing your student?" The words were delivered matter-of-factly, without the shock one might expect, but there was an undercurrent of caution as he shifted to palpate her abdomen gently, feeling for any tenderness or rigidity. Her oversized t-shirt—Ben's, he realized with a glance at the logo—rode up slightly, exposing the curve of her hip, but Todd kept his touch clinical, professional. He pulled the blanket back down modestly before proceeding.

"Okay, has she been drinking? Any drugs?" His questions came rapid-fire now, the doctor in him taking over, prioritizing facts over the drama.

Ben exhaled heavily, sinking onto the coffee table across from the sofa, his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. The room felt smaller with Todd's presence, the air thick with unspoken histories—their shared past of late-night study sessions turning into bar crawls, the way Todd had always been the one to patch up the aftermath without involving authorities.

"Last night she was at a party—she told me," Ben began, his voice dropping as he recounted the details, piecing together the fragments Rey had shared in her vulnerable haze. "She had been drinking, heavily. I know she did coke; she admitted it to me when she showed up here after midnight. Some guy attacked her—she ran all the way to my door." He shrugged, the motion helpless, his mind flashing back to the sight of her on his porch: shivering in that skimpy red dress, makeup smudged, eyes wild with fear and the remnants of her high. "She was freezing cold, wearing a short-as-fuck dress that barely covered anything. I warmed her up, wrapped her in blankets, made her hot chocolate. We talked"

He paused, rubbing his temples as if to ward off the headache building there, mirroring Rey's symptoms.

"She crashed in my bed eventually, but this morning—well, afternoon, really—she woke up groaning. Said she didn't feel good. Her head hurt like hell, complained the light was too bright, that she felt sick." Ben's gaze drifted back to Rey, watching the shallow rise and fall of her chest, the way her lips parted slightly with each congested breath. A faint wheeze escaped her, and Todd adjusted her position slightly, propping her head higher with another pillow.

"Her throat hurt bad—could barely croak out words. Then she said the room was spinning, and before I could even react, her eyes rolled back, and she just... dropped. Straight to the floor." His voice cracked on the last word.

Todd nodded absently, his hands moving methodically now: he swabbed her inner cheek for a quick temperature reading, the digital thermometer beeping softly after a moment—102.4°F.

"Fever's high, pulse is elevated but steady. Dehydration's likely playing a part, and with the history of alcohol and coke, this could be a combo of withdrawal crash, infection kicking in from exposure, or even something viral like the flu going around." He pulled out an otoscope, tilting Rey's head to peer into her ears and throat, noting the redness and swelling. "Throat looks inflamed—strep or just a bad cold on top of everything. No obvious trauma, but I'll draw some blood to check for electrolytes, infection markers." He prepped a needle with practiced ease, tying a tourniquet around her arm and sliding the IV line in smoothly, her vein accepting it without protest. A bag of fluids hung from a makeshift stand he assembled from his bag, dripping steadily as he taped everything in place.

Ben watched the whole process, his earlier defensiveness easing into a weary gratitude.

"Thanks for coming quick. I didn't know who else to call—hospital would mean questions, records..." He trailed off, the implications clear. Rey stirred faintly at the prick of the needle, a soft whimper escaping her lips, but her eyes stayed closed, lost in the fever's grip. Todd administered a low-dose anti-inflammatory through the IV, then covered her with a cooling cloth he'd soaked in ice water from the kitchen sink—Ben had fetched it without being asked, the routine familiar from their younger days.

"She's tough," Todd said after a long minute, packing away his tools but leaving the IV setup. "Rest, fluids, and monitoring should bring her around in a few hours. Keep her cool, push electrolytes when she wakes—Gatorade or broth. If the fever spikes over 103 or she doesn't respond soon, we reassess." He stood, zipping his bag with a finality that suggested the immediate crisis was contained, though his eyes lingered on Ben with a mix of concern and unresolved curiosity. "As for the rest... complicated, huh? Just be careful, man. Lines like this blur easy."

Ben nodded, the weight of it all settling back on his shoulders as Todd gathered his coat. The doctor paused at the door, glancing back at Rey's still form.

"Call if anything changes. And Ben? Next time, maybe start with the full story upfront." With that, he slipped out into the snowy afternoon, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving Ben alone again with the woman who held his heart—and now, his every fear—in her fragile hands.

 

The door clicked shut behind Todd with a finality that echoed through the quiet house, sealing out the swirling snow and the fading crunch of his footsteps on the porch. Ben lingered there for a moment, his hand pressed against the wood as if to steady himself, the chill from the brief opening seeping into his skin like a reminder of the harsh world outside. His heart pounded unevenly, a mix of relief that help had come and dread at the fragility of the situation. Turning slowly, his gaze fixed on Rey, sprawled across the sofa in the dim glow of the living room lamp. The IV drip stood sentinel beside her, the clear tube snaking from the bag of fluids down to the needle taped securely into the crook of her elbow. Her arm lay limp against the cushions, the pale skin flushed with fever, and her dark hair fanned out in sweaty tangles, half-covering her face like a veil shielding her from the light. Beads of perspiration dotted her forehead, and her breaths came in shallow, ragged pulls, each one a soft rasp that twisted something deep in Ben's chest.

He crossed the room in measured steps, his socks silent on the hardwood floor, avoiding the scattered remnants of the earlier chaos—the overturned mug in the kitchen, the blanket he'd draped over her now slightly askew. Kneeling beside the sofa, he reached out tentatively, his fingers brushing the damp strands from her cheek. Her skin burned under his touch, hot and clammy, and he swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. She looked so small there, vulnerable in his oversized t-shirt that swallowed her frame, the hem riding up just enough to reveal the curve of her thigh. But there was no time for lingering admiration; the worry gnawed at him, urging action.

Spotting her clutch bag on the coffee table—small, black, and sequined, abandoned from her frantic arrival the night before—Ben picked it up with careful hands, as if it might shatter. He unzipped it, rummaging through the contents: a crumpled lipstick, a few crumpled receipts from the party, her keys jangling softly. At the bottom lay her phone, the screen cracked slightly from some untold mishap, but it powered on with a swipe. He scrolled to Rose's contact—Rey had mentioned her friend in passing during their late-night confessions—and hit call, holding the device to his ear as it rang twice, three times, before a hoarse voice answered.

"Rey?"

"Hey, Rose, it's Ben," he said, keeping his tone even, though the exhaustion laced his words. He paced a short circuit beside the sofa, glancing back at Rey every few seconds, watching the steady drip of the IV as it worked its slow magic.

There was a pause on the line, filled only by Rose's raspy breathing, before she croaked out, "Tell me Rey is there? Please." Her voice cracked, raw from whatever illness still gripped her, the desperation cutting through like a knife. Ben could picture her in her dorm, bundled under blankets, eyes red-rimmed from fever and fear.

"She is," he replied, sinking onto the edge of the coffee table, his free hand absently tracing the edge of the blanket over Rey's legs. "She came to me last night. She was drunk, high—some guy made moves on her. I just wanted you to know she's here, but she's sick, Rose. I've had her looked at; she should wake up soon." He kept it factual, sparing the details of the collapse for now, though the memory flashed vivid: her eyes fluttering shut, body going slack in his arms.

"Wait! Wake up?" Rose's panic spiked, her voice rising into a wheeze that dissolved into a cough. Ben winced, imagining her sitting up too fast, the room spinning for her as it had for Rey.

"She passed out," he admitted quietly, rubbing his temple with his free hand. "Doctor said she'll be okay—dehydration, fever from the exposure and the crash from whatever she took. Fluids are helping; she'll be fine once she stabilizes. I'll keep you updated, I promise." He glanced at Rey again, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that seemed steadier now, the anti-inflammatory perhaps kicking in.

Rose exhaled sharply, the sound muffled as if she were pressing the phone to her chest.

"Who attacked her?" The question came fierce, protective, the illness doing nothing to dull her edge.

Ben hesitated, lowering his voice even though they were alone. "Some kid called Mark. He goes to..."

"Daleport," Rose finished, not a question but a grim confirmation. Her tone darkened, laced with venom. "I know him. He's a sleaze bag. I've heard stories about him from girls—what did he do to Rey?"

Ben's jaw tightened, the image of Rey's tear-streaked face from the night before resurfacing, her stuttered words about the kiss.

"She said he kissed her, got a bit forceful," he said quietly, the understatement burning on his tongue.

"I'll fucking kill him," Rose spat, the words raw and unfiltered, her cough punctuating the threat. Ben could hear the rustle of sheets, as if she were already plotting from her sickbed. "I'll deal with him. My brother goes there—big footballer, built like a tank. He can have a word for me." There was a dark satisfaction in her voice, the kind that promised more than words; Ben knew the type—small-town justice, swift and unforgiving.

He nodded to himself, a flicker of gratitude mixing with his unease. "I'll keep you updated with Rey," he said, his gaze softening as it landed on her again, the IV bag half-empty now, the fluid line clear and unobstructed.

"And I'll keep you updated with Mark," Rose replied, her voice steadying into resolve. "Might even send pics." The line went dead with a click, leaving Ben staring at the phone for a long moment, the screen fading to black.

He set it aside on the table, the clutch forgotten beside it, and moved back to Rey's side. The room felt heavier now, the weight of secrets and alliances pressing down, but her presence grounded him. He knelt again, closer this time, his hand finding her hair—silky despite the sweat—and stroking it back gently, parting the strands to reveal her flushed features. Her eyelids twitched faintly, a sign of stirring perhaps, but she remained lost in fevered sleep. Leaning in, he pressed his lips to the back of her hand, the skin warm against his mouth, the faint scent of saline and her own faint vanilla lingering.

"When we leave this shitty town," he murmured, his voice low and fervent, words meant for her alone even if she couldn't hear, "I promise no one will ever touch or hurt you again." The vow hung in the air, a lifeline amid the storm, as he kissed her hand once more, holding it against his cheek.

Ben eased himself onto the edge of the sofa, careful not to jostle the IV stand or disturb the fragile rhythm of Rey's breathing. The room was hushed, the occasional creak of the house settling against the winter wind outside. Afternoon light slanted through the curtains, but it did little to warm the chill that had settled in his bones from the night's vigil. Rey lay there, her body curled slightly toward him even in unconsciousness, her chest rising and falling in shallow, even pulls. The fever had ebbed a touch since Todd's visit, her skin no longer scorching but still warm to the touch, flushed cheeks peeking through the damp strands of hair that clung to her face like wilted petals.

He reached out, his fingers threading gently into her hair, the silky texture a stark contrast to the sweat-dampened roots. He stroked it back from her forehead in slow, rhythmic motions, parting the locks to reveal the delicate arch of her brow, the faint crease between her eyes that spoke of dreams or discomfort even in sleep. Her lips were parted slightly, chapped from the dehydration, and he resisted the urge to trace them, to press a kiss there and will her awake. Instead, he let his hand linger at her temple, thumb brushing feather-light circles against her skin, as if his touch alone could coax her back from the haze.

The words had been building in him for days, weeks even—secrets tucked away like folded letters in a drawer, waiting for the right moment. But with her like this, vulnerable and adrift, the dam broke. He leaned in closer, his voice a low murmur, barely above a whisper, meant for her ears alone, even if she couldn't hear.

"I applied for a job in L.A. a few weeks ago," he said quietly, the confession spilling out like a held breath finally released. His free hand found hers on the sheet, intertwining their fingers, her palm cool and limp against his. "English Lit professor. At one of the universities there—thought it might fit, you know the dream."

He paused, watching her face for any flicker of response—a twitch of her lashes, a softening of her expression—but she remained still, lost in the depths of fevered rest. The IV drip continued its steady plink-plink into the line, a metronome marking time in the quiet room. Ben's gaze drifted to the window, where snowflakes danced lazily against the glass, a reminder of the world beyond this sanctuary. L.A.—the city of sun and sprawl, of dreams chased under palm trees and endless horizons. It was what she'd whispered about in stolen moments, her eyes lighting with a mix of longing and fear: escaping this suffocating small town, starting fresh with Rose by her side, leaving behind the shadows of parties and secrets and half-broken hearts.

"I have an interview next week"' he continued, his voice gaining a thread of resolve, as if saying it aloud made it more real, more inevitable. He shifted slightly, drawing her hand to his chest, feeling the faint thrum of his heartbeat against her knuckles.

"You wanted L.A.," he said, his tone softening further, laced with the raw edge of emotion he rarely let show. "You wanted to go with Rose, build something new, away from all this." He swallowed, the lump in his throat tightening as he glanced down at her, the curve of her jaw, the way her hair fanned across the pillow like spilled ink. "And Rey... I'll follow you till the ends of the world."

The words hung in the air, a vow etched into the stillness, heavy with the depth of his devotion. He brought her hand to his lips then, pressing a lingering kiss to her knuckles, his breath warm against her skin. The faint taste of salt from her earlier tears mingled with the clean scent of the sheets, grounding him in the moment.

He held the kiss a beat longer, eyes closing as he poured everything unspoken into it—the nights he'd spent staring at job listings, tailoring his resume with her in mind; the quiet terror of the interview call coming through while she was still angry, still pulling away; the fierce, unyielding love that had rooted him to her despite the chaos. When he finally pulled back, he didn't release her hand, instead tucking it against his side, his body a shield against whatever dreams plagued her. The room seemed to hold its breath with him, the light shifting as clouds passed outside, casting fleeting shadows across her face.

 

Rey's eyelids fluttered open, the world emerging in hazy fragments, like peering through fogged glass. The ceiling above her swam into focus first—a plain white expanse dotted with faint shadows from the branches outside the window, swaying gently in the late afternoon breeze. Her head throbbed with a dull, insistent ache, a dizzy swirl that made the room tilt when she tried to shift. She lay on her back, the sheets tangled loosely around her legs, her body heavy and unfamiliar, as if it belonged to someone else. The air smelled of chamomile tea and clean linen, undercut by the faint metallic tang of the IV line still taped to her arm, its drip a soft, rhythmic patter in the quiet.

She blinked slowly, willing her vision to clear. Blurry shapes sharpened at the edges: the wooden nightstand with a half-empty glass of water, the lamp casting a warm glow, and then—him. Ben, curled on his side beside her, his broad shoulders rising and falling in the steady cadence of sleep. His face was turned toward her, lashes dark against his skin, a faint stubble shadowing his jaw from the hours of worry etched into his features. One arm was draped across the pillow between them, fingers lax, as if even in rest he reached for her. The sight of him there, so close, so vigilantly present, tugged at something deep in her chest—a mix of warmth and ache that made her throat tighten.

A small movement escaped her: a twitch of her hand against the sheet, a shallow breath that deepened without her meaning it to. The bed creaked faintly under the shift of her weight, and in an instant, Ben's eyes snapped open. No groggy haze, no slow awakening—just sharp alertness, his gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that pierced through her dizziness. He pushed up on one elbow, his free hand already reaching for her, palm cupping her cheek with a gentleness that belied the urgency in his touch.

"Rey," he murmured, voice rough from disuse, laced with relief that bordered on desperation. "Hey, you're awake. How do you feel? Dizzy? Sick?"

She tried to nod, but the motion sent a fresh wave of vertigo spinning through her skull, forcing her to squeeze her eyes shut for a beat. When she opened them again, his face was closer, brows furrowed, scanning her features as if memorizing every flicker of expression. His thumb brushed her cheekbone, tracing the path of a dried tear track she hadn't realized was there. The IV tugged slightly as she moved, a reminder of the fragility she'd been reduced to, but his presence grounded her, pulling her back from the edge of the haze.

"My head... it's spinning a little," she whispered, her voice cracking, hoarse and thin from disuse. She licked her lips, tasting the chap, and glanced down at the line in her arm, confusion flickering through the fog. "What... how long was I out?." Her eyes darted to his, searching, the blurry edges of her vision sharpening on the concern etched into his face. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, his shirt rumpled from hours spent in that chair or beside her, but there was no hiding the fierce protectiveness that softened his gaze.

Ben nodded, his hand sliding from her cheek to intertwine with hers, squeezing lightly, careful not to press too hard on her weakened grip. "I had a doctor friend check you over. You had a high fever, dehydrated as hell from everything—the drugs, the booze, not eating. He got you set up with fluids, some meds to bring the temp down. You've been out for almost a full day now, drifting in and out, but this is the first time you've really come around." He shifted closer, propping himself up fully now, the mattress dipping under him as he adjusted the pillow behind her head with his free hand. "Don't try to sit up yet. Just breathe. Tell me what you need—water? The bucket's right here if you're nauseous."

"I feel... like I got hit by a truck," she admitted, a weak laugh escaping that turned into a cough. She pressed her free hand to her forehead, feeling the residual warmth of the fever, cooler now but still there. Ben was quick to respond, grabbing the glass from the nightstand and holding the straw to her lips, tipping it gently so she could sip. The water was cool, soothing the rawness in her throat, and she drank slowly, eyes never leaving his. When she pulled back, he set it down and brushed a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering, tracing the curve of her ear.

"You're safe now," he said softly, his voice dropping to that intimate timbre that always made her feel seen, held. "I haven't left your side." He leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers for a moment, their breaths mingling in the small space. "God, I was scared. When you collapsed... seeing you like that, unconscious, burning up. I thought I'd lost you."

Tears pricked at her eyes, the blurriness returning not from dizziness but from the overwhelm crashing over her. She turned her hand in his, squeezing back with what strength she had, her thumb stroking his knuckles.

"Ben... I heard you. Or I think I did. Maybe it was a dream..." She closes her eyes trying to think clearly. "Talking about L.A., the job. Was that...?" Her voice trailed off, hope and fear twisting in her gut, the words hanging between them like a fragile thread.

He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, a small, tired smile curving his lips, the first real one she'd seen since waking.

"Yeah, it was real. I couldn't hold it in anymore, even with you out cold. Applied a few weeks back. I couldn't let you go live your life, without me fighting for a spot in it." His fingers tightened around hers, a vow in the grip. "I'll follow you anywhere, Rey."

The dizziness ebbed further as his words sank in, warmth blooming in her chest despite the ache. She shifted toward him, ignoring the pull of the IV, and he met her halfway, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to draw her gently against his side. His heartbeat thudded steady under her ear, a rhythm that synced with her own slowing pulse.

"Thank you," she whispered, burying her face in his shirt, inhaling the familiar scent of him—soap and faint cologne, mixed with the worry-sweat of the night. "For everything."

He kissed the top of her head, his lips lingering in her hair, hand rubbing slow circles on her back. "Always," he replied, voice thick. "Rest now." The room fell into a comfortable quiet then, broken only by the drip of the IV and the distant hum of the world outside, as she let herself drift against him, the blurriness fading into clarity, one breath at a time.

Chapter 31

The dorm room felt like a cocoon of muted light and stale air, the kind that clung to everything after days of feverish isolation. It was Thursday afternoon, and Rey had lost track of time somewhere between the haze of chills and the endless cycle of naps that swallowed her hours. Her body ached with the lingering grip of the flu—muscles sore from shivering, throat raw like sandpaper, and a persistent fog clouding her thoughts. She hadn't stepped foot outside since Monday morning, when Ben had pulled up to the dorm in his old sedan, his hand lingering on her thigh as he leaned in for a quick, heated kiss before she slipped out. 'Text me when you're settled,' he'd said, voice low and promising more. But the texts had dwindled as the illness hit hard, turning her world into this bed, this tangle of sheets that smelled faintly of sweat and the chamomile tea Rose had forced on her earlier in the week.

She lay curled on her side, the comforter pulled up to her chin, her dark hair splayed across the pillow like spilled ink. The room was a shared space with Rose, but her friend had been scarce—classes, committee duties, the usual whirl of campus life that Rey envied from her prone position. The desk beside her bed held a graveyard of tissues, a half-empty mug, and now, with a sudden thud that jolted her from a light doze, a new addition: a thick paperback copy of Hamlet landing squarely on the wooden surface. The impact sent a faint puff of dust into the air, and Rey's eyes fluttered open, bleary and unfocused.

Rose burst through the door like a whirlwind, her cheeks flushed from the cold outside, a scarf still looped around her neck despite the warmth of the building. She kicked the door shut with her boot, shedding her coat in one fluid motion before crossing the room to drop the book.

"New book from your sexy boyfriend," she announced, her voice bright and teasing, cutting through the quiet like a spark. "He's given us an assignment. Hamlet, Rey! We have to focus on Hamlet and Ophelia and their forbidden love." Rose's eyes sparkled with mischief as she straightened, brushing her hands together as if dusting off the drama of Shakespeare's tragedy.

Rey groaned, the sound muffled and weak, emerging from deep in her chest as she burrowed deeper under the sheets. The flu had stripped her of energy, leaving her feeling small and fragile, but Rose's words pierced through, stirring a flicker of warmth amid the misery. She peeked out from the edge of the comforter, her face pale and flushed in patches, eyes puffy from the congestion that made every breath a labored effort. Strands of hair stuck to her forehead, and she wiped at her nose with the back of her hand before propping herself up on one elbow, the movement sending a wave of dizziness through her.

Rose plopped down on her own bed across the room, the mattress springs creaking under her weight. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, studying Rey with a mix of concern and that irrepressible energy that always seemed to bounce off her.

"Ben misses you,'"she added, her tone softening just a touch, though the grin lingered. "He told me to tell you. Cornered me after class, all brooding professor vibes, asking if you've been eating. Guy's got it bad, Rey. Like, pining bad."

The mention of Ben sent a pang through Rey's chest, sharper than the ache in her ribs. She hadn't seen him since that drop-off, hadn't felt the solid warmth of his arms or the way his fingers traced lazy patterns on her skin. Four days felt like an eternity in their secret rhythm—stolen glances in hallways, hurried meetings in his office after hours. Now, confined to this bed, she missed him with a physical ache that rivaled the flu's grip.

"He said that?" she murmured, her voice hoarse and cracked, pushing the sheets down further to sit up properly. The room spun for a second, forcing her to grip the edge of the mattress, but she blinked it away, focusing on Rose's face. "Tell him... I miss him too. This sucks. Can't even think straight."

Rose nodded, her expression turning sympathetic as she kicked off her boots and tucked her legs under her.

"I will. He's worried, but he gets it—no spreading germs in class or whatever. Anyway, the assignment's due next week, so you've got time to rally. Ophelia and Hamlet... it's all tragedy and unspoken passion, right? Kinda romantic in a doomed way." She paused, then her eyes lit up again, shifting gears with the ease of someone perpetually planning the next event. "Also, I'm on Valentine's dance duty. The committee's letting me head up the theme this year, and I'm thinking of calling it something hot and sexy. How about 'Crimson Desires: A Night of Untamed Hearts'? Sounds sultry, doesn't it? Like, red lights, velvet drapes, maybe some masquerade masks to amp up the mystery. Perfect for sneaking off with forbidden lovers." She winked, clearly envisioning the chaos of hormonal students under dim lights and thumping bass.

Rey managed a small laugh, though it turned into a cough that had her reaching for the water bottle on her nightstand. The idea sparked a faint thrill despite her exhaustion—imagining Ben there, his hand on the small of her back, pulling her into a shadowed corner amid the crowd.

"Crimson Desires... yeah, that's got edge. Better than last year's lame 'Hearts and Flowers' crap. Just don't make me chaperone if I'm still hacking up a lung by then." She took a sip, the cool liquid soothing her throat, and glanced at the book on the desk. Its cover stared back, Elizabethan drama promising layers of betrayal and longing that mirrored her own life too closely.

Rose tilted her head, watching Rey with that knowing look, the one that said she saw more than Rey let on.

"You'll be fine by then. Flu's no match for your stubborn ass. But seriously, rest up. Want me to grab you some more tea or heat up that soup from the cafeteria? And I'll text Ben—tell him his forbidden love is alive and plotting Shakespearean revenge on this virus." She pulled out her phone, thumbs already flying across the screen, the room filling with the soft glow of the display.

Rey sank back against the pillows, a tentative smile curving her lips as the weight of isolation lifted just a fraction. The flu still clawed at her, but Rose's energy—and the echo of Ben's concern—wove a thread of connection through the fog. She reached for the book, flipping it open to the first act, the words blurring slightly before sharpening. Forbidden love. If only it were as simple as ink on a page.

Rey reached for the book on her desk, her fingers trembling slightly from the residual weakness of the flu. The cover of Hamlet felt cool and smooth under her palm, a stark contrast to the feverish heat that still prickled her skin. She flipped it open carefully, the pages whispering as they parted, and there, tucked between the first few acts, was a yellow sticky note. Ben's handwriting—bold, deliberate strokes that carried the weight of his presence—filled the small square. The words hit her like a quiet thunderbolt:

"Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love."

A soft smile tugged at her lips, the first genuine one since the illness had pinned her down. Her thumb traced the edges of the note, brushing over the ink as if she could feel the press of his pen, the moment he'd written it. It was Hamlet's words to Ophelia, a vow wrapped in poetry, and in that instant, it felt like his own confession slipping through the cracks of their forbidden world. Her chest tightened with a mix of longing and ache—the flu's congestion mirroring the swell of emotion she couldn't quite voice. She pressed the note to her lips for a fleeting second, the paper tasting faintly of glue and promise, before slipping it back into the book and turning to the opening lines. The words blurred at first through her watery eyes, but she forced herself to focus, sinking deeper into the pillows as the tragedy unfolded on the page.

Across the room, Rose had pulled out a spiral notebook from her bag, her pen scratching furiously against the paper as ideas poured out. She sat cross-legged on her bed, the afternoon light catching the highlights in her hair, turning her into a whirlwind of creativity amid the dorm's clutter. Tissues and empty tea mugs dotted Rey's side, but Rose's space was a testament to her organized chaos—posters of indie bands curling at the edges, a string of fairy lights draped over the headboard casting a warm glow.

"Masquerade for sure," Rose declared, her voice bubbling with excitement as she glanced up at Rey. "Love the mystery. Imagine it—everyone in masks, identities hidden, that electric tension in the air where you don't know who's behind the feathers or the velvet. Ties right into the 'Crimson Desires' theme. Red and black everywhere, dim lights pulsing like heartbeats, maybe some fog machines to make it feel like you're stepping into a dream... or a nightmare, depending on who you end up dancing with."

Rey glanced up from the book, her eyes still heavy-lidded but sparked with a flicker of interest. The quote from Ben lingered in her mind, weaving through the dense prose of Hamlet's Denmark, where secrets festered like open wounds. She coughed lightly, the sound rasping in her throat, and took another sip from her water bottle before responding.

"Masquerade... yeah, that sounds intense. Like, people could slip away without anyone noticing. Perfect for... whatever." Her voice was still rough, each word costing her a bit of energy, but the idea stirred something in her—a vision of lace masks and shadowed corners, Ben's hand finding hers in the crowd, pulling her close under the guise of anonymity. She shifted against the pillows, the sheets rustling softly, and turned another page, Ophelia's innocence clashing with the court's intrigue in a way that echoed her own tangled feelings.

Rose nodded vigorously, her pen flying faster now, sketching rough outlines of decorations on the margins of her notes.

"Exactly! No one knows who's who, so all those crushes and hookups get a free pass. I'll push for live music—something sultry, like a jazz band with a singer who croons about lost loves and stolen kisses. And the venue? The old ballroom in the student union, strung with those crimson drapes I mentioned. We could have a photo booth with props: feathers, top hats, maybe some faux jewels to amp up the glamour. Oh, and drinks—non-alcoholic punches that look like blood-red elixirs, but spiked for the upperclassmen who know how to sneak it in." She paused to tap her pen against her chin, eyes narrowing in thought.

Rey let out a weak chuckle, the sound muffled as she buried her nose back in the book. The flu made her head throb with every laugh, but Rose's enthusiasm was infectious, pulling her out of the isolation that had gripped her for days. She read on, Hamlet's soliloquy unfolding in her mind—"To be or not to be"—mirroring her own doubts about their relationship, the risks of loving a professor in a world that demanded discretion. Ben's note burned in her thoughts, a talisman against the uncertainty. She imagined him reading the same lines, his voice murmuring them to her in the dim light of his bedroom, his fingers tracing her skin like he traced the words on the page. The dorm felt smaller, warmer, with Rose's planning filling the space, but Rey's focus drifted inward, the fever dreams blending with Shakespeare's ghosts.

Rose flipped to a new page, her list growing: invitations with embossed masks, a playlist of slow, seductive tracks for the later hours, even ideas for a grand entrance with a velvet rope.

"We need to lock this down by next committee meeting. Valentine's is only two weeks away—plenty of time to make it legendary. You in to help brainstorm when you're feeling better? Your eye for the dramatic would kill it." She shot Rey a playful grin, but there was genuine care in her eyes, the kind that had kept Rey grounded through worse storms than a flu.

Rey nodded faintly, her smile returning as she marked her place in the book with Ben's note. "Count me in. Just... give me a day or two to stop sounding like a chain-smoker." The words from the sticky note echoed again, a quiet reassurance amid the planning and the prose. Never doubt I love. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the promise settle over her like a balm, the Valentine's masquerade already weaving into her fantasies of stolen moments and hidden passions. The flu might hold her body captive, but her mind wandered free—to Ben, to the dance, to a night where masks could hide everything and reveal just enough.

 

Rey huddled deeper into the cocoon of blankets on her dorm bed, the weight of them pressing against her feverish body like a reluctant embrace. The flu meds had finally kicked in, dulling the ache in her throat and the persistent throb behind her eyes, leaving her in that hazy limbo between sleep and wakefulness. The room was a tomb of shadows, the single lamp she'd left on earlier now switched off by Rose before she headed out for dinner with Finn and Poe. The air hung heavy with the scent of chamomile tea gone cold on her nightstand and the faint, medicinal tang of vapor rub smeared across her chest. Her eyelids fluttered, heavy as lead.

A soft creak pierced the quiet: the door easing open on its hinges. Rey stirred, her voice a muffled slur from beneath the pile of quilts and pillows.

"What did you forget?" she murmured, assuming Rose had dashed back for her keys or that forgotten clutch. No answer came, just the subtle shift of air, cooler now, brushing against her exposed ankle where the blanket had slipped. She waited, breath shallow, but the silence stretched, unnerving in its emptiness.

Propping herself up slowly on one elbow, Rey winced as the room spun faintly, the meds making her movements sluggish and uncoordinated. Pitch black enveloped everything—no sliver of hallway light, no familiar silhouette. Her heart quickened, a stutter in her chest, as she strained to listen. Footsteps? Too deliberate, too heavy for Rose's light tread.

"Rose?" Her voice wobbled, cracking on the edges, laced with the rawness of her illness. No response. Panic flickered at the edges of her haze, sharpening her senses. She fumbled blindly to the side table, her fingers knocking against the water glass before closing around her phone. The screen ignited with a harsh glow as she thumbed it on, the flashlight beam slicing through the darkness like a knife.

The light swept the room in erratic arcs—empty desk cluttered with tissues and her copy of Hamlet, Rose's bed with its rumpled sheets and fairy lights unplugged, the door ajar but no one in the frame. Then it caught him: a figure by the entrance, tall and broad-shouldered, cloaked in shadow. A mask concealed his face—black, featureless, like something pulled from one of those twisted erotic tales she'd confessed to loving, the kind where masked strangers claimed what they wanted without mercy. Her breath hitched, the phone trembling in her grip as the beam trembled over him: dark hoodie pulled low, jeans hugging powerful legs, gloves on his hands that flexed with intent. It wasn't Rose.

Before she could scream, he moved. Marched, really—long strides eating up the distance between door and bed, his boots silent on the worn carpet but vibrating through the floorboards. Rey's mind reeled, the flu's fog thickening her thoughts into molasses. Was this a dream? A hallucination from the meds? She scrambled back against the headboard, blankets tangling around her legs like restraints, her free hand clutching the neckline of her oversized sleep shirt.

"Who—who are you? Get out!" The words tumbled out weak, her voice hoarse and unconvincing even to her own ears.

He didn't hesitate. In one fluid motion, he vaulted onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he climbed over the footboard like it was an insignificant barrier. The frame creaked in protest, springs groaning as he advanced, knees pressing into the sheets on either side of her calves. Rey's phone slipped from her numb fingers, clattering to the floor and casting wild shadows that danced across the walls before the light sputtered out, plunging them back into inky void.

"No—stop!" She thrashed, trying to kick free, but he was on her now, his body heat radiating through the thin fabric of her clothes, overwhelming the chill of the room.

He climbed up her, deliberate and unyielding, one knee sliding between her thighs to pin her in place while his torso loomed over hers. The mask brushed close—cool, smooth material against her cheek as he leaned in—and she caught a whiff of something familiar, cologne maybe, or just the clean scent of skin and fabric softener, but her brain couldn't latch onto it through the panic. Her hands flew up, shoving at his chest, nails scraping against the hoodie's zipper, but he was solid, immovable, like a wall of muscle and determination. She bucked beneath him, heart slamming against her ribs, a gasp escaping as his weight settled fully, pressing her deeper into the pillows.

Panic surged hot and electric through her veins, overriding the flu's lethargy. She twisted, trying to roll away, her elbow jabbing at his side, but he anticipated it—his gloved hand clamping over her mouth in an instant, firm but not bruising, fingers splaying wide to muffle her cry. The leather was cool against her lips, tasting faintly of newness and restraint, and she froze, eyes wide in the darkness, staring up at the blank mask where eyes should be. Twin voids stared back, unreadable, but intense, boring into her with a focus that sent a shiver racing down her spine—not entirely from fear.

"Shh," he breathed, his voice mechanical almost, a voice changer? the word a low rumble against her ear, distorted slightly by the mask but carrying an undercurrent of command. His other hand pinned her wrist to the mattress above her head, the grip ironclad yet careful, not twisting or hurting, just holding her captive. Rey's breath came in short, frantic bursts through her nose, warm against his palm, her body trembling under his. The blankets had fallen away, exposing her legs to the draft, her sleep shirt riding up to bare the curve of her hip. She could feel every inch of him—the hard lines of his thighs bracketing hers, the rise and fall of his chest syncing with her own ragged rhythm, the subtle press of his hips against her core that made her stomach clench in a mix of terror and something darker, unbidden.

Tears pricked at her eyes, the flu making them spill hot and unchecked down her cheeks, soaking into the glove over her mouth. Her mind raced: Who was he? She whimpered against his hand, the sound muffled and desperate, her free hand clawing at his arm, nails digging into the fabric. But he didn't flinch, didn't retreat. Instead, he shifted his weight, his knee nudging higher between her legs, parting them just enough to settle more firmly, his body a cage of heat and shadow.

Her pulse thundered in her ears, drowning out the distant hum of campus life beyond the walls—laughter from the hall. Here, it was just them: her vulnerability laid bare, half-asleep and medicated, and this intruder who moved with a predator's grace, as if he'd rehearsed this descent into her world. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing it to be a nightmare, but the pressure of his hand, the solid reality of his form—it was all too real, pinning her in the dark heart of her own bed.

Rey’s chest heaved under the unyielding press of his body, each shallow breath fogging the air between them in the stifling dark. The gloved hand stayed firm over her mouth, leather creaking faintly as her lips parted against it, tasting the synthetic bite of it amid her rising terror. She bucked again, hips twisting in a desperate bid for leverage, but his thighs clamped tighter around hers, knees digging into the mattress to lock her in place. He was heavy—solid weight bearing down like an anchor, his chest brushing hers with every ragged inhale, the hoodie’s fabric rough against her sleep shirt where it had bunched up to expose her midriff to the cool room air.

Her mind swam through the flu meds’ haze, thoughts fracturing like ice under pressure: intruder, danger, scream—but the words died muffled against his palm. Then, as her eyes adjusted to the void, the mask’s slits aligned with her gaze. Two dark pools stared back, intense and unwavering, locking onto hers with a familiarity that pierced the fog. Not voids, but eyes she knew—the kind that stripped her bare in stolen glances across lecture halls or tangled sheets. Her pulse stuttered, eyes widening until they burned, tears blurring the edges but not the recognition.

A low hum emanated from him, mechanical and distorted, like words filtered through gravel and circuits.

"Not so loud," it rasped, the voice modulator twisting the timbre into something alien, deep and menacing, stripping away the warmth she associated with late-night confessions. But those eyes—Ben’s eyes—betrayed it all, flickering with a mix of hunger and restraint, the same look he’d given her when he’d pinned her against the snow-dusted wall outside the library, breath hot on her neck as he’d whispered promises of forever.

"Ben?" The question escaped as a whimper, vibrating against his glove, her body going still beneath him. Shock rippled through her, chasing away the edges of panic, replaced by a dizzying swirl of confusion and heat.

The modulator crackled again, his breath warm through the mask’s edge as he leaned closer, nose brushing her temple.

"Who?" The denial came out warped, playful menace lacing the electronic growl, but his eyes crinkled at the corners—smiling, she knew, even if she couldn’t see it. His weight shifted, one hip grinding subtly against her thigh, the hard line of his arousal pressing insistent through his jeans, unmistakable now that the fog lifted enough to register it. He wasn’t here to hurt her; he was here to play, to pull her into the fantasy they’d danced around in whispers, his jealousy over Mark’s shadow fueling this bold intrusion.

Rey’s heart hammered, a wild drumbeat echoing in her ears, her body betraying her with a flush that crept up her neck despite the chill. She shook her head minutely under his hand, eyes searching his, pleading and accusing all at once. Her legs parted instinctively under the pressure of his knee, a soft gasp escaping as it nudged higher, brushing the edge of her panties where heat pooled unbidden.

He released her wrist slowly, gloved fingers trailing down her arm in a deliberate drag, leaving goosebumps in their wake, before cupping her jaw, tilting her face up to hold her gaze captive. The other hand eased off her mouth, thumb brushing her lower lip in a tease that sent sparks skittering across her skin.

"Say it again," the modulator demanded, voice dropping to a guttural purr, but his eyes burned with that familiar fire, the one that had her arching into him during their snow-swept fucks, begging for more even as guilt clawed at her edges.

"Ben," she breathed, voice hoarse from the flu and the weight of realization, her hands rising tentatively to grip his hoodie’s edges, tugging lightly as if to unmask him herself. The room spun faintly, but clarity sharpened on him—her Ben, risking everything to slip into her dorm like a shadow, turning her vulnerability into this charged game. Fear ebbed into something hotter, her thighs clenching around his knee as she whispered,

"What are you doing? Rose could come back any minute."

His chuckle distorted into a low buzz, but the vibration thrummed through his chest into hers, intimate and reassuring. He dipped his head, mask cool against her forehead as he nuzzled there, gloved hand sliding down to splay over her hip, fingers digging in just enough to anchor her.

"Missed you,"

His hips rocked forward once, deliberate, cock straining against the denim to rub along her inner thigh, drawing a involuntary moan from her lips. Rey’s fingers tightened on the edges of his hoodie, pulling insistently as her plea hung in the air, her voice a ragged whisper laced with need and frustration.

"Take it off," she urged again, eyes locked on the shadowed slits where his gaze burned back at her, unyielding. The fever made her bold, her body arching up to press against his solid frame, seeking the familiar warmth of his face, the stubble she loved scraping her skin during their frantic nights.

The modulator crackled with a low, distorted denial, the sound warping his refusal into something predatory.

"No," he growled, the single word heavy with command, his gloved hands capturing her wrists in a swift motion, pinning them back to the mattress above her head. She squirmed beneath him, thighs parting wider as his knee nudged between them, but he held firm, the mask’s edge hovering inches from her lips—no contact, no softening of the barrier he’d chosen. This was the game, the dark fantasy they’d teased in hushed tones, him as the intruder who took without asking, her as the prey who craved the capture.

His free hand moved with purpose, fingers hooking into the waistband of his jeans, the zipper rasping loud in the dim room as he shoved them down just enough. His cock sprang free, thick and rigid, brushing her inner thigh in a hot slide that made her gasp. He gripped the base, stroking once to align himself, the modulator humming as he leaned in closer, breath filtering hot through the fabric.

"I don’t have long," the electronic voice rasped, urgent and rough, echoing the real risk—Rose could return.

Rey’s breath caught, her pussy clenching in anticipation, slickness coating her folds from his earlier teasing strokes. She nodded, eyes wide and pleading, but he didn’t wait for more. His hands shifted, gloved palms clamping down on her thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to bruise, spreading her legs wide and locking her open beneath him. The mattress dipped under his weight as he positioned himself, the tip of his cock nudging her entrance, parting her lips with insistent pressure.

Then he slammed in, burying his full length inside her in one brutal thrust, stretching her walls around his girth until she cried out, the sound muffled by the room’s shadows. Her back arched off the bed, heels digging into the sheets as her body adjusted to the sudden invasion, pussy fluttering around him in a vise of heat. He didn’t pause, hips snapping forward again to seat himself deeper, the slap of skin on skin echoing sharply, his balls pressing tight against her ass.

Ben’s grip tightened on her thighs, holding her pinned and immobile as he began to fuck her, each withdrawal slow and deliberate, dragging his cock along her inner walls before plunging back in with controlled force. The mask hid his expression, but his eyes—those dark, stormy eyes—stayed fixed on hers, watching every twitch of her face, every bite of her lip as pleasure twisted through the haze of her illness. No tenderness, no lean-in for a kiss; just the relentless rhythm of his body claiming hers, the stalker’s possession raw and unfiltered.

She whimpered, hands straining against his hold on her wrists, but he kept them trapped, his thumbs pressing into her pulse points to feel her racing heartbeat. His thrusts slowed further, turning into deep, grinding pumps that rolled his hips in a punishing circle, the head of his cock hitting that spot inside her that made stars burst behind her eyelids. Her pussy clenched around him with each drag out, milking his length as he pushed back in, the friction building a fire low in her belly despite the fever’s drag on her limbs.

The modulator buzzed faintly with each exhale, but he stayed silent now, letting the wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of her fill the space—the squelch of her arousal coating him, the creak of the bedframe under his weight. Sweat beaded on her skin, mixing with the flu’s clamminess, her nipples straining against the thin shirt as her breasts bounced with every pump. He shifted his angle, one hand releasing her thigh to hook under her knee, bending her leg higher to open her wider, allowing him to drive deeper, his cock bottoming out with a thud that jolted her whole body.

Rey’s moans grew louder, unchecked, her head thrashing on the pillow as the tension coiled tighter, her walls rippling around him in desperate pulls. He fucked her like that—slow, trapping her beneath his bulk, hands roaming back to grip her thighs again, spreading and holding as he pumped into her with unhurried power. The mask loomed over her, a barrier that heightened every sensation, turning the intimacy into something forbidden, electric. Her climax built under the assault, pussy spasming as he slammed home once more, his own control fraying at the edges, breaths coming harder through the fabric.

He didn’t stop, just kept her locked in place, cock pistoning in and out with that deliberate slowness, drawing out her surrender until she shattered around him, crying his name into the dark.

 

Rey bolted upright in bed, her heart slamming against her ribs like a caged animal desperate for escape. The dream clung to her like a second skin—Ben's masked form, the iron grip on her throat, the relentless thrust of his cock filling her until she shattered. But as the fog of sleep lifted, reality crashed in cold and unyielding. No leather-clad intruder. No possessive growls echoing in her ear. Just the dim glow of her dorm room at 5 a.m., the faint hum of the heater struggling against the winter chill seeping through the window cracks.

Her white t-shirt, thin and oversized, stuck to her damp skin, the fabric translucent where sweat had beaded along her collarbone. The flu's fever had broken sometime in the night, leaving her body slick and chilled. No Ben. The bed beside her was empty of him, the sheets tangled but cool. Instead, Rose lay in her own bed across the narrow space between them, curled under a quilt, her breathing soft and even, oblivious to the storm raging in Rey's chest.

Rey's breath came in heavy pulls, ragged and uneven, as she pressed a hand to her sternum, willing her pulse to slow. The dream had felt so real—the way his gloved fingers had squeezed just enough to make her vision spark, the wet slide of him inside her, claiming every inch until she came undone. Her thighs clenched instinctively at the memory, a faint ache lingering between her legs, but it was phantom, born of fantasy, not fact. She shifted, feeling the sticky residue of her own arousal on her inner thighs, the dream's intensity having coaxed her body to the brink even in sleep. Heat flushed her cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and lingering want, but beneath it all, relief trickled in. She felt a little better, the haze of illness lifting like morning mist. Her throat was still raw, her limbs heavy with the remnants of exhaustion, but the dizziness had ebbed, her head clearer than it had been in days.

The clock on her nightstand blinked 5:07 a.m., the red digits casting a bloody glow across the rumpled comforter. Outside, the world was still swallowed by night, the snow-blanketed campus silent save for the occasional distant creak of settling ice. Rey swung her legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet hitting the cold linoleum floor with a shiver that raced up her spine. She paused there, elbows on her knees, running trembling fingers through her tangled hair. It was just a dream, she told herself, but the ache in her chest twisted deeper. Ben hadn't come to her, hadn't broken into her room like some shadowed savior from her darkest reads. He was out there, somewhere in the faculty housing, probably asleep, unaware of how desperately she'd conjured him in her fevered mind.

Rose stirred faintly in her sleep, murmuring something incoherent before rolling over, her face peaceful in the low light filtering through the blinds. Rey envied that ease, the way her friend could shut out the chaos. But Rey couldn't—not with the echo of Ben's modulated voice still whispering "mine" in her ears, not with the school's scandals swirling like a storm cloud, Miss Potts' arrest a fresh wound that threatened to drag them all under. She needed to move, to wash away the sweat and the longing before it drowned her.

Pushing herself up, Rey padded across the room on numb feet, the floorboards groaning softly under her weight. She grabbed a towel from the hook by the door, her movements deliberate despite the weakness tugging at her muscles. The shared bathroom down the hall was empty at this hour, a small mercy.

The shower was cramped as always, tiled in faded white, but the hot water promised salvation. Rey stripped quickly, peeling the clinging shirt over her head and shimmying out of her damp panties, letting them pool at her feet. Steam began to billow as she twisted the faucet, the initial blast of icy spray making her gasp before it warmed, cascading over her shoulders in relentless sheets. She stepped under it fully, tilting her head back to let the water sluice through her hair, darkening the strands to a deep chestnut as it ran in rivulets down her body.

Soap came next, a bar of lavender-scented simplicity that Rose had left on the shelf. Rey lathered it between her palms, the suds foaming thick and white, then dragged her hands over her skin with slow, methodical strokes. Starting at her neck, she traced the path where Ben's hand had gripped in the dream, fingers pressing lightly as if to erase the phantom pressure. The heat soothed her sore throat, easing the tightness, but it couldn't touch the deeper ache—the one rooted in isolation, in the forbidden pull toward a man who could ruin her with a single misstep.

By the time she turned off the faucet, the mirror was fogged over, her skin pink and pruned from the heat. Rey toweled dry roughly, the friction grounding her, then pulled on fresh underwear and a loose sweatshirt from the hamper, the fabric soft against her warmed body. She finger-combed her wet hair, avoiding her reflection. It was too early for truths.

Chapter 32

Rey sat at her cramped desk in the corner of the dorm room, the wooden surface scarred from years of absentminded doodles and late-night cram sessions. Her school uniform—a crisp white blouse tucked into a pleated navy skirt that hit just above her knees—felt a little too stiff against her still-tender skin, but it was a deliberate choice, a armor against the lingering weakness of her illness. The blouse's collar chafed slightly at her neck, where her throat still burned with a raw, scratchy ache, but she ignored it, pen gripped tightly in her right hand as she scribbled notes in the margins of her literature textbook. The pages were dense with Hamlet's soliloquies, Ophelia's tragic unraveling, and the forbidden undercurrents of their doomed connection—themes that hit a little too close to her own tangled life with Ben. Sunlight filtered through the half-drawn blinds, casting striped shadows across the open book, and the faint scent of last night's chamomile tea lingered in the air, mixing with the musty dorm smell of old carpet and unwashed laundry.

She'd been up since the shower, her wet hair now pulled into a loose ponytail that dripped occasional cool beads onto her shoulders, soaking tiny dark spots into the blouse fabric. The fever had truly broken, leaving her with a bone-deep fatigue that made her eyelids heavy, but her mind was sharper, the dizziness reduced to a vague hum at the edges of her focus. Two assignments loomed like storm clouds: a 1,500-word essay on Hamlet's madness and a character analysis of Ophelia, both due by Monday. She couldn't afford to fall further behind—not with graduation creeping closer and the weight of her transcript pressing down. The pen scratched rhythmically against the paper, underlining key phrases, her left hand propping up her chin as she mouthed the words silently to test their flow.

Across the room, Rose stirred in her bed, the quilt rustling like dry leaves as she pushed it aside. Her dark hair was a wild tangle framing her face, and she blinked sleepily at the clock on the wall—7:45 a.m.—before her gaze landed on Rey. Rose sat up slowly, stretching her arms overhead with a yawn that revealed the faded band tee she slept in, the hem riding up to expose a sliver of her midriff. The dorm was a cozy chaos: posters of indie bands peeling at the edges on the walls, a string of fairy lights draped over the headboard casting a soft glow, and a pile of discarded clothes heaped in the corner hamper.

"Wow, you're actually awake and dressed," Rose said, her voice husky from sleep, a grin tugging at her lips as she swung her legs over the bed's edge. Her bare feet hit the floor with a soft thud, toes curling against the chill. "Feeling better? You look less like a zombie than yesterday."

Rey glanced up, setting her pen down for a moment to rub at her throat, the croak in her response betraying the soreness that clawed at every word.

"Kinda," she managed, the sound rough like sandpaper on wood. She cleared it gently, wincing. "Mostly just my throat now, but it's manageable. I'll come in today—gotta push through."

Rose snorted, standing up and padding toward the small electric kettle on the shared dresser, her steps light and unhurried. She flicked it on, the water inside beginning to hum as she rummaged for mugs.

"Pointless, it's Friday," she said over her shoulder, grabbing a box of herbal tea bags—chamomile for Rey, something peppermint for herself. Steam started to rise as the kettle clicked off, and she poured with practiced ease, the liquid swirling golden in the chipped ceramic. "Might as well bail. Skip the drudgery, hit up the library café instead. Or, you know, sleep in and pretend the world's ending."

Rey shook her head, picking up her pen again but not writing, her fingers tapping the desk in frustration. The thought of missing class twisted her gut; she was already a week behind from the flu and the fallout of that disastrous party.

"Can't," she said firmly, though her voice wavered with exhaustion. "I have two assignments due in today, and I can't be behind another week. It'll fry me—total meltdown. It's bad enough I won't be seeing Ben today either." She moaned the last part, leaning back in her chair, the wood creaking under her shift. The absence hit harder than the illness; no stolen glances in the hallway, no quick brushes of hands during office hours. Just the echo of his texts, brief and loving, from the airport.

As Rose stirred honey into Rey's mug—a small ritual of care—she handed it over, the warmth seeping through the ceramic into Rey's palms.

"He text me at 7 a.m. saying he was just boarding his flight," Rey continued, her words tumbling out around a sip of the tea, the chamomile soothing the fire in her throat like a balm. She yawned midway through, covering her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes watering from the stretch. "He's got an interview in L.A. New job for when we go after graduation—English Lit professor gig at some community college out there."

Rose paused mid-sip of her own tea, her eyes widening as she lowered the mug and plopped down on the edge of Rey's bed, the mattress dipping under her weight. The room felt smaller with her sudden intensity, the fairy lights twinkling like conspiratorial stars.

"Holy shit, he's actually coming with you to L.A.?" she asked, leaning forward, elbows on her knees. Excitement laced her tone, mixed with a touch of surprise, as if the reality of their post-graduation plans was only now sinking in.

Rey nodded, a small smile breaking through her fatigue as she closed her textbook with a soft thud, stacking it neatly with her notebook and the essay drafts scattered around. The assignments were as done as they could be in her hazy state—rough but salvageable—and the relief of that closure eased the knot in her chest.

"Yeah," she said simply, taking another sip of tea, the steam curling up to warm her face. The liquid slid down easy now, coating her throat in gentle heat. She set the mug down and glanced at the clock—7:55 a.m.—the hands ticking relentlessly toward the start of the day. "It's huge for us. Means we don't have to do the long-distance thing. L.A.'s our fresh start."

Rose's grin widened, but she didn't press further, sensing the undercurrent of worry in Rey's voice—the what-ifs of Ben's interview, the scandal at school still simmering like a pot about to boil over. Instead, she stood, stretching again with a dramatic flair.

"Okay, future Hollywood power couple," Rose teased lightly, heading toward the bathroom door.

"You should shower. You've got about an hour till first period." Rey said to Rose. She finished her tea in one long pull, the mug emptying with a satisfied clink as she set it aside.

 

The campus cafeteria buzzed with the familiar Friday morning chaos as Rey and Rose pushed through the heavy double doors, the scent of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee hitting them like a warm wave. Rey's throat still throbbed with each swallow, but the promise of food—a greasy bagel slathered in cream cheese or maybe some scrambled eggs—kept her steps steady. Her uniform skirt swayed against her legs, the loafers clicking softly on the linoleum floor, while her backpack hung heavy from one shoulder, stuffed with the freshly turned-in assignments that had consumed her morning. Rose walked beside her, freshly showered, her damp hair twisted into a messy bun, a oversized hoodie that swallowed her frame. The air inside was thick with chatter from clusters of students hunched over trays, laughter echoing off the high ceilings, and the clatter of silverware against plates providing a rhythmic backdrop.

Finn and Poe caught up just as they reached the line, falling into step with easy grins. Finn, with his close-cropped hair and athletic build from the soccer team, carried a gym bag slung over his shoulder, while Poe, leaner and always a bit more disheveled with his curly hair poking out from under a beanie, juggled a couple of water bottles. They'd texted Rose earlier, insisting on joining for breakfast after hearing she'd dragged Rey out of the dorm despite her lingering flu. The four of them shuffled forward in the queue, trays in hand, the steam from the hot food stations rising like mist.

"Hey, Rey, you holding up?" Finn asked first, grabbing a plate and piling on hash browns, his voice cutting through the din. He glanced at her with genuine concern, his brown eyes softening.

"We feel like total asses for losing track of you at that party last weekend. One minute you're dancing, the next... poof. We should've stuck closer."

Poe nodded vigorously, scooping up a ladle of oatmeal and dumping it unceremoniously onto his tray.

"Yeah, seriously. My bad. I got caught up in that stupid beer pong tournament, and Finn was... well, being Finn with the shots. Won't happen again. Promise." He shot her a sheepish smile, adjusting his beanie as they moved toward the bagel station.

Rey shrugged, forcing a casual lift of her shoulders as she selected a plain bagel, her fingers tearing off a piece absentmindedly before she'd even paid. The motion pulled at her sore muscles, but she played it off, not wanting to dive into the nightmare of that night—the drugs, the cold walk, Mark's hands pinning her against the wall.

"It's all good," she said lightly, her voice still a bit raspy, though the tea from earlier had helped. She slid her tray along the counter, adding a side of fruit to balance the carbs. "Really. I survived. Just got a little lost in the crowd." The lie sat easy on her tongue, protecting the secrets that tangled her life with Ben, the miles she'd trudged to his door in the snow.

They paid at the register, a quick swipe of meal cards, and claimed a corner table by the windows, the morning light streaming in and glinting off the condensation on the glass. Rey sank into the plastic chair with a sigh, her body protesting the early hour, while Rose plopped down across from her, already tearing into a muffin. Finn and Poe settled in beside them, the table filling with the scrape of forks and the pop of soda cans opening. The cafeteria hummed around them—groups of freshmen giggling over gossip, upperclassmen nursing hangovers with black coffee, the occasional burst of music from someone's phone.

Rose chewed thoughtfully for a moment, her eyes flicking to Rey with that protective glint she always got when the topic skirted too close to danger. She swallowed, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and leaned forward.

"Speaking of that night," she said, her tone shifting to something sharper, more deliberate, as she fished her phone from her hoodie pocket. The screen lit up under her thumb, and she scrolled briefly before pausing on a video, the thumbnail frozen on a blurry figure slumped against what looked like a concrete wall. "Check this out. Thought you might want to see justice served."

Rey's fork hovered midway to her mouth, a bite of scrambled eggs dangling precariously. She leaned in as Rose turned the phone toward the table, the paused frame coming into focus. It was a guy—short, blonde hair matted with what looked like blood, his face swollen and bruised, one eye nearly shut under a purple welt. His Daleport jersey hung torn at the collar, and his lips were split, a trickle of red staining his chin. The background was dim, maybe a parking lot or alley, shadows playing off chain-link fencing. Rey's stomach twisted, a cold recognition dawning even before the video started.

Rose pressed play, the sound tinny from the phone's speaker but clear enough to cut through their small circle. Grainy footage jerked to life: the guy—Mark—sagged between two larger figures, their hands gripping his arms like vices, holding him upright as he whimpered. His knees buckled slightly, sneakers scraping against the ground, and tears mixed with the blood on his cheeks, carving clean paths down his dirt-streaked face. Off-camera, a deep voice barked, rough and unyielding:

"Go on. Talk."

Mark's head lolled forward, then snapped up toward the lens, his icy blue eyes wide with terror and pain. He sniffled, a wet, broken sound, his voice cracking as he forced the words out.

"I'm sorry I kissed you, Rey," he gasped, the name hitting her like a punch. "And I'm sorry I pushed my luck. It won't happen again. Please... I swear." He was begging now, his body trembling under the hold of the two guys, their knuckles white from the pressure. Sobs choked his apology, his chest heaving as he stared directly into the camera, desperation etched in every bruised line of his face.

The off-camera voice growled again, laced with disgust.

"Fucking creep. Stop harassing young girls." A shadow moved—maybe a fist clenching—and then the video cut abruptly, the screen going black as Rose locked it with a swipe.

The table fell silent for a beat, the cafeteria's noise rushing back in like a tide. Poe leaned in closer, his oatmeal forgotten, eyebrows furrowed in shock.

"Oh my god, who is that?" he asked, voice low, glancing around as if the video might draw stares. His fingers drummed nervously on the tray edge.

Finn peered over, his hash browns cooling untouched. He let out a low whistle, shaking his head.

"Someone pissed off the wrong jocks," he muttered, a hint of admiration mixed with unease in his tone. "That dude looks like he went ten rounds with a truck."

Rose pocketed the phone with a satisfied smirk, picking up her muffin again as if she'd just shared a funny meme.

"This is the creep that attacked Rey at that shitty party you dragged her to last weekend," she said flatly, her eyes locking on Finn and Poe with a challenge. She took a deliberate bite, chewing slowly, letting the weight settle.

Rey's heart hammered in her chest, her bagel turning to lead in her mouth. She set her fork down quietly, leaning toward Rose with wide eyes, her whisper urgent and laced with horror.

"Oh my god, Rose! What did you do?" She glanced at Mark's frozen image in her mind—the blood, the bruises, the raw fear. "He's battered. Like, really bad."

Rose shrugged, unrepentant, her voice casual but her gaze fierce as she defended her friend without flinching.

"I told my brother he took advantage of you while you were drunk," she explained, twisting the story just enough to shield the deeper truths—Ben's house, the secret nights, the miles Rey had walked alone. Finn and Poe didn't need to know about the teacher-student line they toed, the risks that could unravel everything. "He kissed you, you told him no, and he kept going. Then you ran from the party and came to me, scared out of your mind." She paused, sipping her orange juice, the pulp catching on her lip. "Told him how you got really sick from the cold walk after, ended up with this flu on top of it. He got pissed—said he'd have a word with the guy. Guess he meant it."

Poe barked a chuckle, leaning back in his chair with a mix of awe and relief, the tension easing from his shoulders.

"I see your brother has a way with words," he said, grinning despite the brutality of it all. He picked up his spoon again, stirring the oatmeal absently. "Remind me never to cross your family, Rose. That's some next-level protection right there."

Finn nodded, his expression turning serious as he looked at Rey.

"Damn, Rey. You okay? That sounds messed up. We should've been there." He reached across the table, giving her hand a quick squeeze—brotherly, reassuring—before pulling back to attack his food.

Rey managed a weak smile, her pulse still racing, the video's echoes replaying in her head. Mark's apology felt hollow, a forced script under duress.

"Yeah, I'm good now," she said softly, picking at her bagel again. "Thanks to you guys. And Rose's... family." The group eased into lighter chatter after that—plans for the weekend, complaints about midterms—the video fading into the background like a storm cloud passing. But Rey couldn't shake the image entirely, the bloodied face a reminder that her secrets, her pains, had teeth of their own.

 

The fluorescent lights in the math classroom hummed like a persistent headache as Rey slumped over her desk in the back row, her pencil scratching half-hearted equations across the graph paper. Mr. Harlan droned on about quadratic functions, his voice a monotonous blur against the squeak of dry-erase markers and the occasional rustle of pages turning. Rey's eyes kept drifting to her phone, tucked under the edge of her notebook, screen dark and silent. She'd snuck a quick text to Ben before first period—How's LA? Thinking of you. Fingers crossed.—but nothing back. Not even a thumbs-up emoji. The clock above the board ticked mercilessly toward 10:15, each minute stretching like taffy, pulling her thoughts into a whirlwind of what-ifs.

Her fingers tightened around the pencil, snapping the lead with a faint crack. She glanced up, catching Rose's eye from across the aisle; her friend mouthed You okay? with a raised eyebrow, but Rey just nodded weakly, forcing her focus back to the board. The numbers swam anyway, her mind replaying Ben's text this morning.

It's just an interview, Rey. I'll call as soon as it's done.

But the silence gnawed at her, a quiet ache blooming in her chest amid the remnants of her flu—throat still scratchy, head foggy from the meds she'd popped at breakfast.

By the time the bell rang, releasing them into the crowded hallway, Rey's backpack felt heavier than usual, weighed down by textbooks and unspoken worries. Students surged around her like a river—laughing clusters heading to lockers, the faint scent of cafeteria leftovers clinging to the air. She weaved through, her loafers scuffing the scuffed tile floor, uniform skirt brushing her knees as she checked her phone again. Still nothing. Plane delay? Bad signal? She shoved it into her pocket, joining Rose at the water fountain, where Finn and Poe were already lounging against the wall, debating the upcoming soccer scrimmage.

"You look like you're plotting world domination," Poe teased, pushing off the wall with a grin, his beanie askew as always. "Or just surviving Harlan's torture chamber?"

Rey managed a half-smile, twisting the cap off her water bottle.

"Something like that. Bio next—dissecting frog dreams await." The banter helped, a thin shield against the knot in her stomach, but as they split off toward the science wing, her thumb hovered over Ben's contact again.

Don't be needy, she chided herself, pocketing it once more.

Biology lab was a stark contrast to math's sterility: rows of black-topped tables scarred from years of scalpels, the air thick with the chemical tang of preservatives and the faint, underlying rot of specimens in jars. Rey partnered with Rose, the two of them gloved up and peering into microscopes at onion root tips, counting cells in metaphase. But concentration fractured every few minutes—Rey's gaze flicking to the lab clock, now pushing 11:45. The interview should've wrapped by now; Ben's flight out was early, the panel at noon Pacific time. She imagined him in a crisp button-down, hair neatly combed, articulating his thesis on Brontë's influences with that quiet intensity that made her heart stutter. Or maybe fumbling a question, the weight of their future hanging on his answer.

"Pass the slide?" Rose nudged her elbow, snapping Rey back.

 

Lunch came as a brief reprieve, the cafeteria line snaking longer than usual under the Valentine's banners already strung up—pink and red streamers dangling like veins from the rafters. Rey loaded her tray with a turkey sandwich and apple, the bread squishing under her fork as she poked at it. Finn and Poe dominated the conversation at their table, recounting a viral TikTok about campus pranks, but Rey's laughs felt forced, her phone burning a hole in her lap. She checked it under the table: Interview would be over by now right?

Why no text? Her pulse quickened, scenarios spiraling—traffic jam to the airport? Phone dead? Or worse, a polite rejection email already in his inbox, derailing their dreams of sun-soaked apartments and classes without the shadow of scandal.

The afternoon dragged into history, the classroom a dim cave of maps and timelines projected on the wall. Ms. Keller paced at the front, dissecting the fall of the Roman Empire with slides of crumbling aqueducts and barbarian hordes. Rey sat by the window, the winter sun slanting in cold and pale, casting long shadows across her notebook. She doodled absentmindedly—swirls that morphed into masks, echoes of her fever-dream fantasies with Ben, the anonymous thrill of hidden faces and rough hands. But today, the romance soured into anxiety; what if LA rejected him?

Her phone buzzed once during the lecture—a group chat ping from Rose about dance committee ideas: Masquerade confirmed! Mystery vibes for V-Day. Rey typed a quick Sounds hot with emojis, but her heart wasn't in it. The class crawled to 2:45, the bell finally liberating them into the gray afternoon. Outside, flurries danced in the wind, the campus paths slick with melting slush. Rey lingered by her locker, stalling, willing her phone to light up. Friends peeled off—Rose to the library for shift, Finn and Poe to practice—but she stood there, breath fogging the metal door, the silence from Ben a void sucking the air from her lungs.

 

The day had dragged on like a slow bleed, each hour etching deeper lines of worry into Rey's thoughts. Ben's morning text—short, promising a call after the interview—had been her lifeline, a fragile thread connecting her to him across the miles. But as the sun dipped low and the campus lights flickered on, that thread frayed into nothing. No updates. No 'I nailed it' or 'Rough day, talk soon.' Just silence, thick and accusing, pressing against her chest until she could barely breathe through the remnants of her flu.

By 9:45 p.m., back in the dorm, the walls felt like they were closing in. Rose was out at some study group, leaving Rey alone with the hum of the mini-fridge and the distant thump of bass from a frat house party. She paced the narrow space between their beds, phone clutched like a talisman, thumb scrolling through old messages—his voice notes from last week, husky promises of LA sunsets and shared apartments. The engagement ring, hidden in her jewelry box, seemed to pulse with unspoken vows.

At 9:58, she couldn't take it anymore. She sank onto her bed, legs tucked under her, and dialed. The rings echoed in her ear—once, twice, three times—each one amplifying the roar of her heartbeat. Then, a soft click, and a voice that wasn't his. Feminine, gentle, like a breeze through curtains.

"Hello?"

Rey's body went rigid, fingers numbing around the phone. Her mind blanked, a cold wave crashing over her. Who? Why? The woman's tone was casual, intimate, as if answering for someone she knew well. Rey's thumb fumbled, ending the call with a jolt that sent her phone skittering across the comforter. She shook her head, blonde hair tangling over her shoulders, trying to rationalize it—a wrong number, a pocket dial to someone else. But deep down, doubt rooted fast, visions of hotel rooms and loosened ties flashing unbidden.

No. She dialed again, breath shallow, the rings stretching into eternity. Four, five—then a low, shadowed

"Hello..." Ben's voice, but edged with something murky, like smoke from a dying fire.

Before she could form words, a murmur cut through: "Who is Rey?" The woman's voice again, close, curious, too damn close.

"Who is that?" Rey demanded, her voice pitching higher, cracking on the edges.

A beat of hesitation, then Ben's reply, words thick and stumbling, alcohol weaving through them.

"I'm just having drinks with a friend." Slurred just enough to confirm it—booze, not exhaustion. And then, that giggle. Light, flirtatious, slicing the airwaves like a knife.

"A friend?" Rey echoed, the word dripping with skepticism, her free hand twisting the edge of her shirt until the fabric bit into her skin. Friend? After a day of radio silence? Her imagination spun wild—some colleague from the interview, celebrating over shots, hands lingering too long. Or worse, a stranger picked up in a bar, filling the void she'd left.

Whispers followed, low and indistinct, like secrets traded in the dim glow of a lounge. She pressed the phone harder to her ear, straining, but they melted into silence, leaving her suspended in the void. Desperation clawed up, and she grasped for normalcy.

"How did the interview go?"

Ben's sigh crackled through the line, heavy with impatience. "Rey, can I call you back? It's not a great... time."

Her heart stuttered."'Is everything okay?"

The response came sharp, a lash that stung across the distance.

"Rey, for fuck's sake! Do as you're told for once. Can I call you back?" His tone—dark, commanding, laced with irritation—hit like a physical blow, echoing the dominance she'd craved in their stolen nights, but twisted now into rejection.

Rage flared hot in her chest, chasing the chill of betrayal. Do as you're told? Like she was a problem to dismiss, not the woman who'd surrendered everything to him—the bruises from his grips, the whispers of forever, the ring burning a hole in her drawer.

"Don't bother," she spat, voice steady despite the tremor, and ended the call with a decisive jab. The phone dropped from her hand, thudding softly onto the mattress, screen lighting up briefly before going dark.

She sat there, staring at it, breath coming in short bursts. His attitude—that snap, the slur of dismissal—pissed her off more than the woman's giggle or the silence. It stripped away the vulnerability, leaving only fury.

The dorm door creaked open then, Rose stumbling in with a yawn, books under arm.

"You okay?" Rose asked, eyeing her friend's rigid posture.

Rey forced a nod, grabbing her jacket.

"Just need air." She bolted before questions could follow.

 

The cold air bit at Rey's cheeks as she stepped out into the night, the campus paths already dusted with fresh snowflakes that swirled like errant thoughts. Her boots crunched softly against the thin layer building up, each step a deliberate effort to shake off the sting of Ben's words echoing in her mind. The jacket she'd grabbed on impulse clung too loosely around her frame, the flu still sapping her strength, but the chill felt clarifying—sharp enough to cut through the haze of hurt and confusion. Streetlamps cast golden pools on the ground, illuminating clusters of students hurrying between dorms, their laughter muffled by the falling snow. Rey kept her head down, hands shoved deep into her pockets, avoiding eye contact as she looped a short path past the library and around the quad. The wind tugged at her hair, carrying the faint scent of pine from the evergreens lining the walkways, but it did little to soothe the raw ache in her chest.

The walk stretched to ten minutes, maybe fifteen, before the numbness in her toes urged her back toward the dorm. The building's warm glow beckoned like a reluctant truce.

Pushing through the door, Rey stamped snow from her boots in the entryway, the heat inside wrapping around her like an unwelcome embrace. Rose looked up from her bed, a shopping bag spilling tissue paper and a hanger onto the floor. Her eyes lit up, cheeks flushed with that irrepressible energy Rey envied in quieter moments.

"There you are! I was about to send out a search party. Check this out—I finally found the perfect dress for Valentine's."

Rose held up the garment with a flourish: a sleek, deep red number with a fitted bodice and a skirt that flared just enough for twirls on the dance floor. The fabric shimmered under the desk lamp, catching the light in a way that screamed confidence and allure.

"It's not too much, right? But enough to turn heads at the masquerade. Finn's gonna lose it." She spun it around, grinning wide, oblivious to the storm brewing in Rey's expression.

Valentine's Day. The words landed like shards of ice, piercing the fragile calm Rey had scraped together on her walk. Just days away now, with the campus buzzing about the themed dance—masks and mystery, echoes of their own hidden games. But after tonight's call, the thought twisted into something bitter. Ben's silence stretched on, no vibration from her pocket to signal a text, no ring to pull her back from the edge. Would he even remember? Or was he still out there, lost in drinks and distractions, the woman’s giggle a prelude to whatever came next? Rey forced a smile, thin and unconvincing, as she shrugged off her jacket and hung it by the door.

"Looks great, Rose. Really suits you."

She crossed to her desk without another word, the wooden chair creaking under her as she settled in. Books and notes waited in neat stacks—biology flashcards half-sorted, a half-finished essay on Hamlet glaring accusingly from the screen. Homework was a lifeline, a way to anchor herself amid the chaos. Rose chattered on, folding the dress carefully back into the bag, rambling about accessories and hair ideas, her excitement filling the room like steam from a kettle. Rey nodded at the right intervals, pen scratching across paper as she outlined cell structures, but her mind wandered. The phone lay face-down beside her laptop, silent as a grave. No apology from Ben, no explanation for the snap in his voice or the background whispers. Just the void, widening with every tick of the clock.

The snow tapped against the window like impatient fingers, mirroring the restlessness coiling in her gut. Rose eventually flopped onto her own bed, scrolling through her phone with a contented sigh, the dress bag propped like a trophy. Rey's responses dwindled to murmurs, her focus fracturing between the assignment and the what-ifs piling up. What if the interview had gone south, pushing him to drown it in liquor and company? What if 'friend' was code for something more, a rebound from the stress she'd added with her worry? She rubbed her temples, the fever's dull throb returning, but pushed through, filling margins with diagrams until her eyes blurred.

By midnight, the room quieted, Rose's breathing evening out into sleep. Rey glanced at her phone one last time—nothing. She powered it down, the screen's blankness a small act of defiance, and crawled under the covers. Sleep came fitfully, dreams laced with masked figures and echoing laughs, Ben's face morphing into accusation. Valentine's loomed like a storm on the horizon, but for now, the homework sat half-done on the desk, a testament to her resolve amid the unraveling.

Chapter 33

The Saturday afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting a pale, wintry light over the town's main street, where snow from the night before had been shoveled into gritty piles along the curbs. Rey zipped her coat tighter against the bite of the wind, her breath fogging in quick bursts as she matched Rose's brisk pace. The streets bustled with weekend shoppers—families bundled in scarves, couples linking arms under the bare branches of the maples lining the sidewalks, and clusters of college kids spilling out of the coffee shop with steaming cups in hand. Lights still twinkled faintly from lampposts, but Valentine's Day loomed larger now, its commercial cheer plastered on every storefront window: heart-shaped balloons bobbing against glass, displays of chocolates wrapped in red foil, and mannequins draped in glittering gowns that screamed romance.

Rose had ambushed her that morning, bursting into their dorm room with a mission etched on her face.

"No more moping, Rey. We're going shopping. You need a dress and a mask for the masquerade."

Rey had protested weakly, citing the stack of unread texts from group chats about study sessions and the biology quiz she still needed to cram for, but Rose's enthusiasm was a force of nature.

"It's Valentine's, not a funeral. Come on, it'll be fun. Distraction city." And so here they were, weaving through the pedestrian traffic on Elm Street, the air thick with the scent of fresh pretzels from the vendor cart and the distant hum of traffic from the highway.

No word from Ben. The thought gnawed at Rey like a persistent itch she couldn't scratch, buried deep under layers of forced nonchalance. Her phone sat heavy in her coat pocket, silent since that disastrous call—the slurred defensiveness, the woman's laugh cutting through like a knife. She'd checked it obsessively that morning: no missed calls, no apologies typed in the dead of night, nothing to bridge the chasm his absence had carved. Was he nursing a hangover, or had the silence stretched into something deliberate, a punishment for her prying, her worry? She shoved the questions down, focusing instead on the rhythm of her boots against the salted pavement, the way Rose's arm looped through hers like an anchor.

"Okay, first stop: that boutique on the corner. They had the cutest masks last time I was in." Rose tugged her toward a shop window alive with feathered confections and lace-trimmed gowns, her voice bubbling over the doubts Rey kept locked away. Rose had always been the spark—vibrant, unyielding, the one who dragged everyone to parties and patched up the aftermath with coffee and bad jokes. Today, she was in full gear, her dark hair tied back in a ponytail that swung with each step, eyes scanning the displays like a general surveying the field. Rey managed a nod, her smile practiced and thin, the kind that didn't reach her eyes.

"Sure, sounds good."

Inside the boutique, the air warmed immediately, heavy with the floral perfume of potpourri and the faint rustle of silk. Racks of dresses lined the walls, colors popping against the neutral tones: emerald greens, sapphire blues, and endless shades of crimson that evoked spilled wine or fresh blood. A saleswoman with a sleek bob and a name tag reading 'Elena' greeted them at the door, her gaze appraising Rey's rumpled jeans and oversized sweater.

"Looking for something special, ladies? We've got a whole Valentine's section ready." Rose dove in without hesitation, flipping through hangers with expert efficiency, pulling out a slinky black number with off-the-shoulder sleeves and a hem that would skim mid-thigh. "This! Try this on, Rey. It'll hug you in all the right places."

Rey took the dress, the fabric cool and slippery against her fingers, and let Rose steer her toward the fitting rooms at the back. The mirror in the cramped stall reflected a version of herself she barely recognized: pale skin shadowed by sleepless nights, eyes red-rimmed from the flu's lingering grip and the tears she'd shed alone. She stripped off her layers, the chill of the room raising goosebumps on her arms, and slipped into the dress. It clung like a second skin, the neckline dipping low enough to tease the curve of her collarbone, the skirt flaring just enough for movement. She turned, watching the way it moved with her, imagining Ben's hands sliding up the fabric in one of their hidden moments—his fingers digging into her hips, breath ragged against her ear. The fantasy flickered, unbidden, hot and sharp: him masked, anonymous in the dim light of the dance, pulling her into a shadowed corner, his mouth claiming hers with that possessive edge she craved even now, amid the hurt.

She smoothed the dress down, forcing the image away, and stepped out to face Rose's critique. Her friend whistled low, circling her like a fashion editor.

"Damn, girl. You look like sin wrapped in velvet. Pair it with a mask, and you'll have every guy—and half the girls—tripping over themselves." Rose rummaged through a nearby display, selecting a black lace mask adorned with subtle silver filigree, the kind that covered the eyes and bridged the nose, leaving the mouth free for secrets. She held it up to Rey's face, adjusting the ties. "See? Mysterious. Perfect for the theme."

Rey stared at her reflection over Rose's shoulder, the mask transforming her features into something enigmatic, a stranger's gaze peering back.

"It's... nice," she said, voice steady despite the twist in her gut. "But maybe something less dramatic?" Rose rolled her eyes but relented, swapping it for a simpler one in deep burgundy, feathers curling at the edges like flames.

They spent the next hour bouncing between shops, Rose's energy a whirlwind that Rey trailed in the wake of. A bookstore yielded a stack of paperbacks on forbidden romances—"Inspiration for the night," Rose teased, though Rey's mind wandered to the dog-eared novel hidden under her mattress, the one with the masked antihero who claimed his love through force and fire.

At a accessory stall in the outdoor market, Rose haggled over a pair of dangling earrings that caught the light like stars, insisting they completed the look. Rey nodded along, offering opinions on colors and fits, her laughter light when Rose struck a pose in an over-the-top feathered mask that made her look like a deranged bird.

But the distraction frayed at the edges. Every buzz from a passerby's phone made Rey's hand twitch toward her pocket, hope flaring only to die when it wasn't hers. The town square came into view, its fountain frozen over and strung with heart garlands, a live band setting up for an impromptu afternoon set—soft jazz laced with saxophone wails that tugged at the loneliness coiled in her chest. Couples swayed on the makeshift dance floor, wrapped in each other's arms, and Rey's steps faltered. Rose noticed, of course. Her arm tightened around Rey's.

 

By the time they headed back toward campus, arms laden with bags—the black dress tucked safely away, the burgundy mask peeking out like a secret— the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in bruised purples and oranges. Rey's phone remained a dead weight, no vibration to shatter the quiet. The walk back stretched longer in the fading light, the town's cheer fading into the residential streets where lamps flickered on one by one. Rose hummed a tune from the square, oblivious or perhaps willfully so, and Rey matched her stride, playing the part of the composed friend. Inside, though, the questions churned: How long could she keep him buried? And what would surface when the mask came off at the dance, with or without him?

Back in the dorm, the warmth hit like a sigh of relief. Rose dumped the bags on her bed, already pulling out the dress to admire.

"Mission accomplished. You're gonna slay it, Rey." Rey nodded, hanging her coat and sinking onto her own bed, the weight of the day settling in her bones. She pulled out her phone one last time—still nothing. The screen's glow mocked her as she set it aside, turning instead to her books. Homework waited, a safer distraction than the man who held her heart in silent fists. Outside, the first stars pricked the dusk, and Valentine's edged closer, mask and all.

 

The snow had thickened by evening, fat flakes swirling under the sodium glow of campus streetlamps like confetti from a reluctant winter party. Rey and Rose had barely unpacked their shopping bags before the group chat exploded with Poe's idea: dinner off-campus, something to shake off the week's grind. 'Enzo's,' he'd typed, followed by a string of eggplant and pasta emojis. 'Fancy Italian—dress code enforced. We're splitting the bill, no excuses.'

Rose had whooped, already rifling through her closet for heels that wouldn't sink into the slush, while Rey lingered by her bed, the black dress from earlier still draped over the chair like a shadow she wasn't ready to wear just yet. But the plan pulled her along, a current she didn't fight. Anything to fill the hours until the masquerade, to drown out the echo of silence from her pocketless coat.

By the time they stepped out of the dorm, the world had softened into a muffled hush, the crunch of boots on fresh powder the only sound breaking the quiet. Rey had chosen a simple burgundy wrap dress—nothing as bold as the one from the boutique, but it hugged her frame just enough to feel put-together, the fabric whispering against her legs with each step. She'd paired it with low boots and a wool coat that reached her knees, her hair loose and wavy from the hurried brush-through. No makeup beyond a swipe of tinted balm; she wasn't trying to impress ghosts tonight. Rose, ever the showstopper, had gone full glam: a sleek red sheath that ended mid-calf, slit high on one side to flash a glimpse of thigh, her curls pinned half-up with a silver clip that caught the light.

"Valentine's practice run," she'd declared, linking arms with Rey as they hurried down the path toward the parking lot. Finn and Poe were already waiting, Finn in a crisp button-down that strained at his shoulders, Poe in a velvet blazer that screamed 'I own this night' over slim trousers.

The wind whipped up as they approached Poe's car, an old but reliable sedan buried under a fresh layer of white.

"Tumble time!" Rose laughed, the word half-lost in the flurry as she lunged forward, grabbing a fistful of snow from the hood and flinging it playfully at Finn. He yelped, dodging with exaggerated flair, his arms flailing as he brushed flakes from his collar. Rey joined the fray without thinking, scooping a loose handful and lobbing it toward Poe, who ducked behind the driver's door with a mock-scandalized gasp.

"Assault on the chauffeur? You'll walk!" But his grin betrayed him, wide and infectious, as he fired up the engine and the headlights sliced through the dark, illuminating their chaotic cluster.

Rey slipped on the edge of the drift first, her boot catching an icy patch hidden under the powder. She pitched forward with a startled squeak, arms windmilling, but Rose was there in an instant, hooking an elbow around her waist and yanking her upright. They both teetered, a tangle of coats and laughter, snow dusting their hair like powdered sugar.

"Whoa, easy there, ice queen," Rose teased, steadying them both against the car's fender. Finn piled in from the back, shaking off like a wet dog, while Poe revved the engine impatiently. Rey climbed into the backseat beside Rose, the vinyl seat cold through her coat, the heater blasting warm air that smelled faintly of Poe's cologne and fast-food wrappers from earlier conquests.

As the car pulled away, tires spinning briefly on the slick road before finding purchase, Rey sank back against the cushion, the window fogging from her breath. She'd left her phone behind deliberately, tucked under her pillow like a talisman she couldn't afford to touch. Every glance at the blank screen earlier had been a fresh twist of the knife. It was madness, that compulsive refresh, each silence amplifying the doubts. But tonight, in this cramped car filled with her friends.

The drive into town wound through tree-lined roads, the wipers swiping rhythmic arcs across the windshield, branches heavy with snow bowing low like conspirators. Enzo's came into view sooner than expected, a cozy glow spilling from mullioned windows onto the plowed lot, valets in crisp uniforms waving cars forward. The place was an institution—red-brick facade with ivy clinging to the corners, a striped awning over the entrance that fluttered in the gusts. Inside, the air wrapped around them like a hug: garlic and basil mingling with the rich undertone of simmering sauces, candlelight flickering on white linens and crystal glasses. The hostess, a woman with a warm smile and an accent that rolled the vowels, led them to a corner booth upholstered in deep burgundy, the kind of spot that felt intimate without trying too hard.

They slid in, coats shedding like old skins, the group's energy shifting from boisterous to anticipatory as menus landed in their laps. Poe began by launching into tales of his last disastrous date, complete with exaggerated gestures that had Rose snorting into her water glass. Rey let it all wash over her, chiming in with a laugh here, a nod there, her fork twirling absentmindedly around a breadstick as the appetizers arrived: bruschetta dripping with tomatoes and basil, calamari rings golden and crisp.

The main courses followed in a parade of indulgence—Poe's osso buco falling off the bone, Rose's linguine alle vongole piled high with clams, Finn's pizza bianca loaded with prosciutto and arugula. Rey opted for the eggplant parmigiana, the cheese bubbling hot over layers of sauce that stained her lips red. Conversation flowed like the wine, dipping into lighter territories: Rose's gushing recap of their shopping haul, the masks she'd snuck into her bag for 'surprise reveals' at the dance; Poe's conspiracy theory about the dean spiking the punch to 'loosen up the faculty'; Finn's quiet admission that he was nervous about asking someone to the masquerade, his eyes flicking to Rose with a subtlety that made Rey bite back a smile. She savored the normalcy, the way their voices layered over the clink of silverware and the murmur of other diners—couples leaning close over tiramisu, families toasting with sparkling water. For these hours, the weight lifted; Ben's absence became a distant hum, not a roar.

Dessert brought gelato in delicate scoops—hazelnut for Rey, its creaminess melting slow on her tongue—and by then, the snow outside had eased to a lazy drift, the lot glittering under fresh lights. They lingered over coffee, the bill arriving like an afterthought, split four ways with tips pooled from wallets that emerged reluctantly.

"Worth every penny," Poe declared, signing the receipt with a flourish. As they bundled back into coats, the warmth clinging to their skin, Rose squeezed Rey's hand under the table.

"See? Fun without the drama." Rey nodded, genuine this time, the evening's glow chasing shadows from her edges.

 

The door to Enzo's swung shut behind them with a soft chime, sealing in the warmth of laughter and lingering espresso as the group spilled out into the crisp night air. The snow had tapered to a gentle flurry, flakes drifting like lazy fireflies under the streetlights, turning the plowed sidewalk into a shimmering path. Rey zipped her coat higher against the chill, her cheeks still flushed from the wine and the easy camaraderie inside, while Rose linked arms with her, their heels clicking in uneven rhythm on the uneven pavement. Finn trailed a step behind, rubbing his hands together dramatically, Poe led the way, keys jingling like a victory bell, his blazer unbuttoned to show off the crisp shirt beneath.

They'd made it halfway up the block, the restaurant's glow fading behind them, when the first brassy notes cut through the quiet. Up the street, around the corner from the town's little square, a marching band materialized like something out of a holiday movie—drums thumping a lively beat, trumpets blaring a jaunty tune that echoed off the brick facades. It was the local high school group, probably wrapping up some rehearsal or just parading for the hell of it, their uniforms crisp navy with gold trim, instruments gleaming under the lamps. The snare drums rattled like fireworks, the tuba player puffing out low, rumbling bass that vibrated through the soles of their boots.

Rose's eyes lit up first, her head snapping toward the sound with a grin that split her face.

"Oh my god, yes!" she exclaimed, already bouncing on her toes. Without a second's hesitation, she extended her hand to Rey, palm up and insistent. "Come on, partner—dance with me before we turn into snow zombies."

Rey blinked, caught off guard, but the infectious energy pulled her in; she took Rose's hand, their fingers lacing together as Rose swept her into a whirlwind spin right there on the sidewalk. The world tilted in a blur of laughter and flurries—Rey's burgundy dress peeking from under her coat as she twirled, her boots slipping just enough to make her giggle, high and breathless. Rose was a force, dipping Rey low with exaggerated flair, their coats flapping like capes in the wind, the band's music swelling closer, all upbeat brass and rhythmic claps from the percussion line.

Finn couldn't resist; he whooped, shedding his reserve like an overcoat, and jumped in beside them, grabbing Rose's free hand to form a clumsy chain. His steps were all enthusiasm over grace, elbows pumping as he shuffled side to side, his button-down coming untucked at one corner. Poe, ever the showman, feigned reluctance for about two seconds before diving into the fray, looping an arm around Finn's shoulders and kicking up his heels in a mock two-step that had everyone howling. The band marched past, close enough now that they could see the rosy cheeks of the clarinetists and the determined stomp of the drum major, baton twirling high. Snow crunched underfoot as the group swayed and spun, a spontaneous flash mob of four against the winter night—Rey's hair whipping across her face, Rose belting out off-key lyrics to what sounded like an old pop march, Finn attempting a spin that nearly toppled him into a snowbank, and Poe leading with jazz hands that dissolved into pure, unfiltered joy.

The music crested, horns blasting a triumphant finale as the band rounded the corner and faded into the distance, leaving echoes and the group's ragged breaths hanging in the air. They collapsed against each other, doubled over with laughter, faces aching from smiles that wouldn't quit. Rose straightened first, wiping a tear from her eye, her curls dusted white. 'We need to remember this,' she declared, fishing her phone from her coat pocket with mittened hands. The screen glowed warm in the cold, and she waved it like a flag.

"Group huddle—now!"

No one argued; they piled in close, shoulders bumping, the scent of Italian spices still clinging to their clothes mixing with the clean bite of snow. Rose held the phone high, arm extended for the widest angle, her face alight with mischief.

"Smile like you mean it." Rey leaned into the frame, throwing up rock and roll fingers—pinky and index extended, thumb tucking the others—with her tongue poking out in playful defiance, her eyes sparkling under the streetlight. Poe sidled up behind her, fingers curving into devil horns at the side of her head, his tongue mirroring hers in exaggerated solidarity, a devilish wink aimed at the camera. Rose flashed a peace sign with her free hand, two fingers up in classic cool, her grin wide enough to light the shot. Finn, pressed in on the other side, puckered up and blew a dramatic kiss toward the lens, his eyes crossed for extra flair.

Click—the shutter sounded, capturing the chaos in pixels: four friends frozen in mid-laugh, snowflakes blurring the edges, the empty street stretching behind them like an invitation to more nights like this. Rose lowered the phone, already thumbing through filters with expert speed. 'Perfection,' she murmured, then tapped upload, the Instagram app whirring to life. She tagged them all in a flurry—captioning it 'Snow dances and zero regrets #WinterVibes #SquadGoals #EnzosAftermath.' The post went live as they finally pushed off toward Poe's car, notifications already pinging softly, the digital echo of their moment rippling out to followers who would envy the unscripted fun.

Poe unlocked the doors with a beep, the sedan waiting patiently at the curb, headlights cutting twin beams through the settling flakes. They tumbled in one by one—Rose shotgun, claiming navigator rights with a triumphant fist pump; Rey and Finn in the back, still buzzing, knees knocking as they recounted the band's tune like war stories. The engine roared to life, heater blasting away the chill, and as they pulled away, the town's lights smudged into streaks behind the windows. No heavy thoughts, no what-ifs—just the hum of friendship, the afterglow of a night unchained, carrying them back to campus on a wave of shared, silly magic.

 

The door to the dorm room clicked shut with a familiar, satisfying snick, sealing out the hallway's fluorescent hum and the faint echo of footsteps from other late-night wanderers. The space was a cozy chaos—posters of indie bands curling at the edges on the walls, string lights draped haphazardly over the window frame casting a soft amber glow, and the faint scent of vanilla candles mingling with the crisp chill that clung to their clothes from the walk back. Rey kicked off her boots by the entrance, the thud muffled by the worn rug, and peeled away her coat in one fluid motion, tossing it over the back of the armchair like a discarded skin. It landed in a heap, sleeves dangling, still dusted with the night's fleeting snow.

"Tonight was so much fun," Rey said, her voice bubbling with genuine warmth as she stretched her arms overhead, feeling the satisfying pull in her shoulders from all the impromptu dancing. The high of the band's brass and the group's laughter lingered in her chest like a fizzy aftertaste, chasing away the heavier shadows that had been dogging her steps earlier. She spun on her heel, facing Rose with a grin that crinkled the corners of her eyes, the burgundy dress swishing against her thighs.

"It really was," Rose agreed, her tone light and affirming as she hooked her own coat on the door peg, the fabric whispering against the wood. She was already peeling off her scarf, curls bouncing free as she shook out her hair, a few stray flakes tumbling to the floor like confetti. Without missing a beat, she veered toward the bathroom, her hand trailing the doorframe.

"I'm gonna change out of this—heels are killing me." The door swung half-closed behind her, the sound of rustling clothes and the click of the light switch filtering through the thin panel.

Rey lingered for a moment, the room's quiet settling around her like a blanket, broken only by the distant hum of the radiator kicking on. She crossed the space in a few unhurried strides, her socked feet padding softly over the cool linoleum to the desk tucked against the far wall. It was her domain—a cluttered altar of textbooks, highlighters in a rainbow array, and a half-empty mug of tea from that morning, now cold and forgotten. The laptop sat closed, but it was her phone that drew her gaze first, propped against a stack of notes like a silent sentinel. She picked it up, thumb swiping the screen to life with habitual ease, the blue light washing over her face in the dim room.

Nothing. The lock screen stared back blank—no notifications, no missed calls, no blinking icon from Ben. The Instagram alert from Rose's post popped up, a thumbnail of their goofy selfie grinning back at her, but that was it. A sigh escaped her lips, long and heavy, deflating the buoyant mood from the street. It wasn't despair, not yet—just that familiar ache, a quiet erosion at the edges of her joy. Where was he? The silence, the weight of it all pressed in, making the room feel smaller.

She set the phone down face-up, as if willing it to vibrate, and turned to the dresser instead. Rey stripped off the dress with efficient tugs, the fabric pooling at her feet in a silken puddle, leaving her in just her underwear and the chill of the air raising goosebumps along her arms and legs. She rummaged for her sleep shorts and an oversized tee—Ben's, actually, stolen from one of their nights, soft and worn with his faint cologne clinging to the collar. Slipping it on felt like a small anchor, the hem brushing her thighs as she padded back to the desk, the fabric whispering against her skin.

The English essay loomed next, Ben's assignment for Monday that she'd been chipping away at between classes and worries. She flipped open her notebook, the pages rustling under her fingers, and powered up the laptop with a soft whir. The screen bloomed to life, her document cursor blinking patiently where she'd left off—something about thematic isolation in the novel, words she'd typed with half her mind on the plot and the other on him. Rose emerged from the bathroom then, fresh-faced in pajama pants and a tank top, her hair twisted into a loose bun. She flopped onto her bed with a contented groan, scrolling her phone.

"That selfie is blowing up—Finn's already commented with a string of fire emojis. You're a rockstar with those horns, Rey."

Rey glanced up, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, her fingers pausing on the keys.

"Yeah? Good. Night was perfect." She dove back in, the clack of typing filling the room, but her thoughts wandered—sentences forming around echoes of Ben's voice, the promise of his texts that never came. Rose chattered on about the band's tune for a bit, her voice a soothing backdrop, before the rustle of covers signaled she was settling in. The clock on the desk ticked past midnight, the dorm's quiet deepening, and Rey pushed through the essay's final paragraphs, each word a tether to normalcy amid the unspoken storm brewing in her chest. By the time she hit save and closed the lid, exhaustion tugged at her limbs, but sleep felt far off, tangled as it was with questions she couldn't voice.

Chapter 34

The Monday morning air bit at Rey's cheeks as she and Rose trudged across the frost-kissed quad, their boots crunching over the thin layer of ice that had formed overnight. The campus was stirring to life under a pale winter sun, students bundled in scarves and puffy coats hurrying between buildings, coffee cups steaming in their gloved hands. Rey's breath came out in visible puffs, her backpack slung heavy over one shoulder, weighed down by textbooks and the notebook she'd filled with frantic notes over the weekend. Sunday had been a blur of isolation—curled up at her desk from dawn till the streetlights flickered on, her eyes burning from the screen as she powered through revisions for English, biology flashcards, and that lingering history outline. No distractions, she'd told herself, ignoring the itch in her fingers to check her phone every five minutes. But the silence from Ben stretched like a taut wire in her chest, pulling tighter with each unanswered hour. His last message from Friday felt like a ghost now, and the interview in L.A. loomed in her mind like an uninvited shadow. Was he okay? Had something gone wrong? She shoved the thoughts down, focusing on the rhythm of her steps, the way her wool mittens muffled the chill.

Rose walked beside her, chattering animatedly, her curls escaping her beanie in wild spirals that caught the breeze. Finn and Poe trailed a few paces back, their laughter carrying on the wind—Poe's deep, rumbling baritone cutting through Finn's quicker, teasing jabs. The group had fallen into this easy formation naturally, a ritual of Monday mornings before bio, the path to the science building a well-worn trail of gossip and groans about upcoming quizzes. Rey appreciated the normalcy, the way it buffered the quiet storm in her head. No one asked about her weekend solitude, and she didn't offer it up; instead, she let Rose's energy pull her along like a current.

As they approached the squat brick facade of the bio lab, the conversation had already veered to the hot topic buzzing through the halls since last week's faculty meeting announcement: the new history teacher starting today. Whispers had flown—tall, dark-haired, with a jawline that could cut glass, or so the rumor mill claimed. Rey had overheard snippets in the library, but she'd tuned them out, her focus laser-sharp on her assignments. Now, though, with the bell tower chiming the hour in the distance, the group slowed to a cluster outside the frosted glass doors, steam from their breaths mingling in the cold.

"He's cute, guys," Rose declared, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she adjusted her scarf, leaning against the railing with a dramatic flair. She tilted her head, as if picturing the man in question already striding through the corridors. "Like, objectively. I saw his photo in the department newsletter—sharp suit, that whole brooding intellectual vibe. History's about to get a lot more interesting."

Rey shook her head, a laugh bubbling up despite the fatigue tugging at her edges. It was light, genuine, the kind that eased the knot in her stomach for a fleeting second.

"He is not cute," she protested, rolling her eyes as she shifted her backpack to the other shoulder.

The motion pulled at the sore muscles from hunching over her desk all day yesterday, but she played it off, bumping Rose's arm playfully.

"You're just projecting your rom-com fantasies onto some poor guy who's probably ancient and smells like old books."

Rose gasped in mock offense, clutching her chest.

"Excuse me? Ancient? Rey, have you seen the pic? He's, like, mid-thirties tops. And he looks a bit like that guy Poe likes... oh god, what's his name?" She hummed thoughtfully, tapping her chin as she glanced back at the boys, who had caught up and were now leaning against the wall, hands shoved in their pockets against the chill. Finn's breath fogged his glasses, and he wiped them on his sleeve, while Poe smirked, clearly enjoying the setup.

Poe raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "We're gonna need more than that, Rose. 'That guy I like? Vague much?"

"He gets really angry in the movie and goes on a killing spree" Rose adds

"Really helps narrow it down, guy gets really mad and kills a fuck load of people" Finn chuckled, his voice warm with amusement as he pushed off the wall, gesturing toward the doors. The group started to shuffle forward, the conversation flowing like it always did—easy, unhurried, even as the first students trickled inside. Finn held the door open with a flourish, the warm rush of heated air spilling out, carrying the faint scent of formaldehyde and dry-erase markers.

"No, no," Rose insisted, waving her hands as they crossed the threshold into the linoleum-tiled hallway, her voice echoing slightly off the lockers. She fell into step beside Poe, undeterred. "He was badass. Come on, guys, you don't see it? The new teacher's got that same intense stare—like he's about to flip a table or something epic. Tall, messy hair, the works."

Poe shrugged, his shoulders rolling under his jacket as they navigated the crowd of backpacks and muffled hellos.

"Rose, we don't even know what movie you're talking about. 'Guy gets mad'? That's half of Hollywood."

"Yeah, let alone the actor Poe fancies," Finn added, grinning as he dodged a freshman with headphones blasting too loud. "That's a long list. You've got Chris Evans, Hemsworth, that one from the spy movies... hell, at this point, it's easier to list who you don't like."

"He isn't wrong," Poe agreed with a nod, his tone good-natured as they reached the bio classroom door. The room was a familiar hive—long lab tables scarred from years of dissections, microscopes lined up like soldiers on the shelves, and the professor's desk piled with slides and quizzes. They filed in, claiming their usual cluster of seats in the middle row: Rey and Rose sliding onto stools at one table, Finn and Poe taking the adjacent one. Bags thumped to the floor, notebooks flipped open, and the chatter dipped as more students poured in, the hum of anticipation building.

Rose leaned over, whispering conspiratorially to Rey as they pulled out pens. "You'll see when we pass his room later. Trust me, cuteness confirmed."

Rey just smiled faintly, her fingers tracing the edge of her textbook without really seeing it. The banter had been a welcome distraction, but as the professor entered—Dr. Harlan, with his rumpled cardigan and perpetual coffee stain—calling the class to order with a sharp clap, the conversation paused like a held breath. The lights dimmed slightly for the projector, and the slide on cellular mitosis flickered to life on the screen. Rey straightened, forcing her focus forward, the equations and diagrams a mechanical refuge from the unanswered questions gnawing at her. Ben's silence echoed louder in the quiet of the lecture hall, but for now, she let the rhythm of class pull her under—the scratch of pencils, the professor's droning voice, the occasional whisper from Rose about lunch plans. Monday stretched ahead, ordinary and unrelenting, but beneath it all, the wait continued.

The lecture droned on in the bio classroom, Dr. Harlan's voice a monotonous hum that blended with the whir of the projector fan and the occasional scratch of pens on paper. He paced in front of the board, chalk dust puffing up as he sketched out the intricate phases of mitosis—prophase, metaphase, anaphase, telophase—labeling each stage with precise, looping letters. Rey stared at her notebook, her pen hovering over the page, but the words blurred together, her mind wandering back to the unanswered texts on her phone, tucked away in her bag like a guilty secret. The room felt stuffy despite the faint draft from the vents, the air thick with the scent of old textbooks and the sharp tang of someone’s spilled energy drink two rows back. She shifted on her stool, the metal creaking under her, trying to anchor herself in the diagram she was supposed to be copying. Rose sat beside her, chin propped on her hand, eyelids drooping as she fought off a yawn, her notes reduced to doodles of swirling cells that looked more like abstract art than science.

Halfway through the hour, as Dr. Harlan launched into a tangent about spindle fibers and their role in chromosome separation—his voice rising with unearned enthusiasm—Rose suddenly leaned across the table, her elbow knocking into Rey’s arm. She cupped her hand around her mouth, whispering fiercely,

"His dog dies!" The words burst out in a hushed explosion, her eyes wide with the gravity of the spoiler she’d just dropped, as if it were the key to unlocking the entire mystery of the new history teacher’s appeal.

Rey’s head snapped up, a cough of laughter escaping before she could clamp it down. She slapped her hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking as she tried to stifle the sound, heat flooding her cheeks. The noise cut through the lecture like a crack in glass, drawing every eye in the room—including Dr. Harlan’s, who paused mid-sentence, his chalk hovering over the board. He turned slowly, his wire-rimmed glasses glinting under the fluorescent lights, peering over them at the two girls with a stern arch of his brow.

"Miss Tico and Miss Kenobi," he drawled, his voice laced with that professorial disapproval that made students squirm, "is it something you want to share with the rest of us? Perhaps an insight that the rest of the class has missed?"

Rose straightened up, her face flushing pink, but Rey shook her head quickly, her hand still pressed to her lips.

"No, sir," she managed, her voice muffled and steady despite the laughter bubbling beneath. She met his gaze, willing her expression to neutrality, though her eyes watered from the effort of holding it in.

Dr. Harlan harrumphed, turning back to the board with a flourish of his chalk.

"Good. Save the gossip for after class," he muttered, resuming his lecture as if the interruption had been a mere ripple in the pond.

The class settled back into its rhythm, a few stifled snickers rippling through the rows, but Rey exchanged a quick, conspiratorial glance with Rose, who bit her lip to keep from grinning. The rest of the period dragged on, the clock on the wall ticking with agonizing slowness, each minute marked by Harlan’s pointer tapping against the slides—gametes fusing, DNA replicating, the endless cycle of life that felt anything but vibrant in that moment.

 

Finally, the bell shrilled through the speakers, a sharp mercy that sent chairs scraping and bags zipping up in a cacophony of relief. Rey shoved her notebook into her backpack, slinging it over her shoulder as the group converged in the aisle—Rose bouncing on her toes, Finn stretching his arms overhead with a groan, Poe already cracking jokes about how mitosis was basically the biological version of a bad breakup. They spilled out into the hallway, the cooler air a welcome slap after the stuffy classroom, the corridor buzzing with the shuffle of feet and the murmur of conversations picking up where they’d left off.

As they made their way toward English, weaving through clusters of students clustered around lockers and vending machines, they passed the history wing—a row of doors with frosted windows that offered teasing glimpses inside. Rose slowed first, nudging Rey with her elbow, and the group instinctively clustered closer, peering through the narrow slit of an open door. Inside, the new teacher stood sideways to them, his back to the board as he arranged stacks of syllabi on his desk. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair that fell in a slightly tousled wave over his forehead, and a jaw set in a way that screamed quiet intensity. His button-down shirt stretched across his shoulders as he moved, the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle, and even from the doorway, there was an air of coiled energy about him—like a man who’d seen too much and carried it all in his stance.

"Oh, guys," Rey added, her voice dropping to a whisper as she craned her neck for a better look, "she’s on about John Wick. She told me the dog dies in the movie. Dead dog and angry guy killing a shitload of people... and no shit, that guy is the spitting image of Keanu Reeves." She peeked through the gap, her breath catching slightly at the resemblance—the sharp profile, the brooding eyes that flicked up to scan the entering students.

"Fuck," Poe gasped, his eyes widening as he leaned in beside her, close enough that she could smell the faint citrus of his cologne. "He is cute. Like, unfairly so."

"History just got good, right?" Rose said, her grin triumphant as she pulled back, linking arms with Rey to propel them onward. The hallway traffic pushed them along, but the excitement lingered, a spark in the winter-dreary routine.

"Yeah, in time for us leaving," Rey muttered, her tone half-joking, half-resigned as they rounded the corner toward the English hall. Graduation loomed like a finish line, but the sudden influx of intriguing faculty felt like the universe’s cruel timing. "What’s with all the hot teachers as we’re ready to leave?"

"Hey, I might just start flunking to stay behind another year," Poe laughed, his deep voice echoing off the lockers as he slung an arm around Finn’s shoulders. The group moved as one, a tight-knit unit navigating the throng.

"You and me both," Rose shot back, fist-bumping Poe with a solid smack that drew a few glances from passing underclassmen. Her energy was infectious, pulling chuckles from the others, and Rey found herself smiling despite the weight in her chest—the silence from Ben still gnawing at her like an itch she couldn’t scratch.

They burst through the double doors of the English classroom, the familiar scent of aged paper and polished wood enveloping them like an old friend. The room was brighter than bio, sunlight slanting through tall windows that overlooked the quad, casting long shadows across the desks arranged in a semi-circle for discussion. Posters of Shakespeare and Austen lined the walls, curling at the edges from years of humidity, and the chalkboard bore faint traces of last week’s sonnet analysis.

"How am I going to pay attention to my class when he is that hot?" Rose declared loudly, her voice dramatic and theatrical as she flopped into a seat, fanning herself with her notebook. The exaggeration cracked Rey up, a genuine laugh spilling out as she dropped her bag beside her desk, the tension from the morning easing just a fraction.

"Who has history today out of all you guys?" Finn asked, sliding into the row behind them, his backpack thudding to the floor.

"Me," Rey said, settling into her chair with a sigh, "with Rose after lunch."

"I might not eat; I’m so nervous," Rose chuckled, twisting in her seat to face them, her eyes sparkling. "I’m not mad, right? He is totally smoking hot."

"Oh yeah," Rey and Poe said at once, their voices overlapping in perfect sync, before dissolving into laughter. Rey shook her head, reaching into her bag for her copy of Hamlet, the worn spine familiar under her fingers. She flipped it open, scanning the highlighted passages on Ophelia’s descent, but as she lifted her gaze—

There he was. Ben. Seated at his desk in the front corner, half-shadowed by the podium, his presence so still and commanding that she hadn’t noticed him amid the bustle of entry. He must have been there the whole time, watching the room fill, his dark eyes fixed now on her with an intensity that pinned her in place. Rey froze, her hand tightening on the book, the air between them thickening like smoke.

His gaze burned into her skin, tracing the line of her jaw, the flush creeping up her neck, unspoken words hanging heavy in the space—apology, longing, the weight of his silence over the weekend. She could feel the heat of it, the way his stare lingered on her lips, her collarbone peeking from her sweater, stirring that familiar ache low in her belly despite the hurt twisting inside her.

"Good morning, everyone," Ben said finally, rising from his desk with a fluid grace that belied the tension in his frame. His voice rolled out deep and even, commanding the room’s attention as he straightened his tie, the fabric pulling taut against his chest. He moved to the front, chalk in hand, but his eyes flicked back to Rey for a split second longer than necessary. "I hope you all read Hamlet. You had three days."

The class murmured affirmations, notebooks opening like flowers in the sun, but Rey’s pulse thrummed in her ears, her fingers trembling slightly as she turned a page she wasn’t seeing. The lecture began—Ben’s voice dissecting the themes of betrayal and madness, his gestures sharp and engaging—but every word felt layered, directed at her in the subtlest ways. Rose nudged her under the table, whispering something about the history teacher, but Rey only nodded absently, her world narrowed to the man at the board and the electric pull drawing her toward him, even as the silence between them screamed for breaking.

The classroom settled into a hushed anticipation as Ben paced slowly in front of the board, his chalk tapping rhythmically against the eraser in his hand—a subtle tic that Rey had come to recognize as a sign of his mind racing ahead, piecing together the threads of a lecture. Sunlight filtered through the half-drawn blinds, casting striped patterns across the scuffed linoleum floor and highlighting the faint dust motes dancing in the air. Desks creaked as students shifted, some slouching with feigned boredom, others leaning forward with genuine curiosity, their copies of Hamlet open to the marked passages on forbidden desire and tragic entanglement. Rey's fingers traced the edges of her book, the paper worn soft from repeated readings, her heart pounding in sync with the clock's steady tick. Ben's presence filled the room like a storm cloud—dark, magnetic, unavoidable—and she felt exposed under his occasional glances, as if he could see through her composed facade to the raw ache beneath.

He stopped at the center of the semi-circle, his broad frame silhouetted against the board where he'd scrawled key quotes in his precise, slanting script: 'Doubt thou the stars are fire' and 'Get thee to a nunnery'. Clearing his throat, Ben's voice cut through the murmurs, deep and resonant, pulling every eye to him.

"Let's dive in, then. Hamlet isn't just a play about revenge or madness—it's a tragedy of love, twisted and unrequited, poisoned by circumstance and secrecy. Ophelia and Hamlet: what do we make of their bond? Is it pure affection, doomed from the start, or something more corrosive, a love that devours them both?"

He scanned the room, his dark eyes lingering on a few raised hands before settling briefly on Rey, a flicker of something unreadable—regret, perhaps, or the same hunger she felt—passing between them like a shared secret. Poe, ever the eager participant, shot his hand up first, his grin cocky as he leaned back in his chair.

"It's all politics, right? Hamlet's too wrapped up in his daddy issues to really love her. Ophelia's just collateral damage in his revenge plot."

Ben nodded, crossing his arms over his chest, the fabric of his shirt pulling tight across his shoulders.

"A fair point, Mr. Dameron. The court of Elsinore is a viper's nest—ambition and betrayal everywhere. But does that absolve Hamlet? Or Ophelia? She warns him of her father's spies, yet she remains loyal to Polonius. Is her love for Hamlet a betrayal of her family, or a desperate grasp at something real in a world of deceit?"

Rose fidgeted beside Rey, her pen tapping an erratic rhythm on her desk, clearly still buzzing from the history teacher gossip. When Ben's gaze swept toward their row, she raised her hand tentatively, her voice bright but hesitant. 'Ophelia's love is innocent, I think. She's caught between Hamlet's intensity and her brother's protectiveness. It's like... she wants to believe in him, but everything around her screams that it's forbidden. And when he rejects her, it breaks her completely."

"Exactly," Ben replied, his tone warming with approval as he stepped closer to their side of the room, the soles of his polished shoes scuffing softly against the floor. He leaned against an empty desk, his posture casual yet commanding, one ankle crossed over the other.

"That rejection—the nunnery scene—is a turning point. Hamlet's cruelty isn't just anger at Claudius; it's lashing out at the constraints binding him, including Ophelia. But love like theirs... it's not simple. It's obsessive, consuming. Hamlet sees her as a symbol of purity he can no longer afford, yet he can't let her go. Sound familiar to anyone?"

The class rippled with murmurs, a few students exchanging glances, but Rey felt the words like a punch to the gut. Her breath hitched, and she ducked her head, pretending to jot notes, though her handwriting came out shaky and illegible. The parallels were too stark—her own hidden engagement, the silence stretching between her and Ben like the cold Danish castle halls, the fear that their love was a madness they couldn't escape.

Finn, sitting a row back, chimed in next, his voice steady and thoughtful.

"It's mutual destruction. Hamlet drags her into his paranoia, and she feeds his doubts. Their love isn't healthy—it's codependent, built on lies and what-ifs. If they'd been honest from the start, maybe she wouldn't end up drowning in madness."

Ben's lips quirked in a half-smile, but it didn't reach his eyes, which darted back to Rey again, holding her gaze for a beat too long. She met it unwillingly, her cheeks warming under the scrutiny, a storm of emotions churning inside—anger at his distance, longing that made her chest ache, guilt for the fantasies that haunted her nights.

"Honesty in a world of surveillance and secrets? That's the crux. Polonius spies on them, the king manipulates them. Their love thrives in the shadows, but shadows consume light. Ophelia sings of lost love in her madness—'He is dead and gone, lady'—echoing the betrayal that unravels her. Does Hamlet grieve her truly, or is she just another ghost in his hauntings?"

The discussion flowed from there, voices overlapping in a lively debate—some arguing Ophelia's passivity as tragic flaw, others defending Hamlet's passion as the play's fire. Ben moderated with sharp insights, his questions probing deeper:

"What if their love was never meant to survive the light? Could it have endured without the tragedy?" He gestured animatedly, his hands slicing through the air, veins standing out on his forearms as he emphasized points, the passion in his delivery making the room feel smaller, more intimate.

The shrill ring of the bell shattered the lingering echoes of debate, slicing through the classroom like a final curtain call. Students stirred from their seats in a wave of rustling papers and scraping chairs, the air thick with the scent of chalk dust and teenage restlessness. Ben stood at the front, erasing the board with broad sweeps of his arm, his back to the room as if to avoid the exodus—or perhaps to steal one last glance at Rey without being obvious. She lingered a moment too long, her notebook clutched to her chest like a shield, heart hammering against her ribs. She wanted to confront him, to demand answers, but the crowd of bodies pushing toward the door forced her forward instead.

Rose looped her arm through Rey's, pulling her into the flow of the hallway, where lockers slammed and voices overlapped in a chaotic symphony.

"That was intense," Rose said, her eyes sparkling with the thrill of the discussion. "Ben's got a way of making Shakespeare feel... personal, you know? Like he's dissecting our own messed-up lives."

Finn and Poe fell in step behind them, Finn slinging his backpack over one shoulder while Poe cracked a joke about Hamlet needing therapy more than revenge. Rey managed a weak laugh, but it died in her throat as she caught sight of Ben emerging from the classroom, his tall frame parting the crowd effortlessly. Their eyes met across the throng—his dark and stormy, hers pleading—and then he looked away, jaw tightening as he headed in the opposite direction toward the faculty lounge.

The cafeteria awaited like a battlefield of noise and steam, trays clattering and the hum of fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. The line snaked around the serving stations, where the day's offerings—soggy fries, mystery meatloaf, and limp salads—were doled out with mechanical efficiency. Rey loaded her tray mechanically, her appetite dulled by the knot in her stomach. She spotted their usual table near the windows, where sunlight glinted off the snow-dusted quad outside, a reminder of the biting cold waiting beyond the warmth of shared meals. As they settled in, Poe launched into a recap of the Hamlet talk, waving his fork like a conductor's baton.

"Come on, that nunnery line? Hamlet's basically ghosting Ophelia harder than Ben ghosts his lesson plans sometimes." The group chuckled, but Rey's smile felt brittle, her mind replaying Ben's voice, the way it had softened when Rose spoke, the unspoken plea in his gaze toward her.

Finn nudged her with his elbow, concern etching his brow.

"You okay, Rey? You've been quiet since English. Still feeling under the weather from that flu?" She nodded absently, poking at her salad, the greens wilting under her fork like her resolve. Rose, ever perceptive, steered the conversation lighter, chattering about the new history teacher's good looks.

Lunch passed in a blur of banter and half-eaten food, the clock on the wall ticking down the minutes with merciless precision. Poe's voice pulled her back in from her zoning out, suggesting they hit the library after classes to cram for midterms, but Rose waved him off.

"History next for me and Rey. Catch you guys late"

The bell rang again, signaling the end of the respite, and trays were abandoned in a clatter as the group dispersed. Rose and Rey wove through the crowded halls toward the history wing, the air cooler here, laced with the faint mustiness of old textbooks and polished wood. Lockers lined the walls like sentinels, their metallic doors dented from years of adolescent frustration. Rose linked arms with Rey once more, her steps bouncy despite the post-lunch slump.

They reached the history classroom just as the warning bell trilled, slipping inside to claim seats near the back. The room was a relic—faded maps of ancient empires curling at the edges on the walls, a projector humming faintly in the corner, desks arranged in neat rows that smelled of lemon cleaner. Students trickled in, murmuring about weekend plans and the latest gossip.

The classroom hummed with the low murmur of settling students, chairs scraping against the linoleum floor as bodies claimed their spots in the dim afternoon light filtering through half-drawn blinds. Rey slid into her seat beside Rose, the wooden desk cool under her palms. She pulled out her notebook, flipping it open to a fresh page, but her pen hovered idly, tracing absent loops as Rose chattered on about the masquerade theme for the Valentine's dance.

The door swung open with a decisive creak, and the room fell into a hushed ripple of anticipation. In strode the new history teacher, his presence commanding the space like a sudden gust through an open window. From the side glances in the hall earlier, he'd seemed intriguing—tall, with a shadow of stubble framing a strong jaw—but full-on, he hit like a revelation. Broad shoulders filled out a fitted button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows revealing corded forearms, and his dark hair fell just tousled enough to suggest he didn't try too hard. Those eyes, sharp and hazel under thick lashes, scanned the room with an easy authority that made the air thicken. Rey's breath caught, her jaw slackening as she took him in; he was Ben-level hot, the kind that twisted your gut with unwelcome heat, all brooding intensity wrapped in quiet confidence.

Rose's reaction mirrored hers, her mouth parting in a silent 'oh' before she snapped it shut, only to lean forward with wide eyes.

"Holy shit," she whispered under her breath, elbowing Rey lightly. The class collectively froze, a wave of stillness broken only by the soft thud of dropped pencils and the rustle of shifting postures. Girls in the front row straightened their backs, fingers twirling hair or smoothing skirts without conscious thought, while a few in the back exchanged furtive glances, lips curving into smirks.

He turned to face them, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, like he knew exactly the effect he had.

"Afternoon, everyone. I'm Mr. Stone, and we'll be diving into the tangled webs of empires and revolutions this semester. Let's make history... memorable." His voice rolled out deep and smooth, laced with a subtle drawl that hinted at southern roots, wrapping around the words like velvet over steel. Rose immediately reached for her notebook, but instead of notes, she fanned herself dramatically with it.

The lesson unfolded in a haze, Mr. Stone pacing the front with effortless grace, chalk in hand as he sketched timelines on the board—Roman legions clashing, Byzantine intrigues unfolding like forbidden affairs. He gestured broadly, his shirt pulling taut across his chest, and the girls' attention splintered into fragments: stolen glances at the flex of his hands, the way his eyes lingered just a beat too long on a raised hand.

Notes went unscrawled; instead, there were doodles of crowns and swords in margins, whispers stifled behind palms. Rey tried to focus, jotting down fragments. But her gaze kept drifting, comparing the new teacher's easy charisma to Ben's stormier allure, a pang of guilt twisting in her chest. What if Ben sensed this distraction? Rose, meanwhile, was a goner, her fan-waving escalating to full-on sleeve-tugs under the desk, mouthing 'too much' every time he turned to write.

Mr. Harlan seemed oblivious, or perhaps amused, fielding questions with sharp insights that left even the skeptics nodding. One girl in the third row boldly asked about the fall of empires mirroring modern scandals, her voice breathy, and he leaned against the desk, arms folding as he replied with a nod to current politics, his proximity drawing a collective intake of breath. Rey shifted in her seat, the wooden slats creaking under her.

By the time the bell pierced the fog, the class erupted into motion, bags zipping and chairs pushing back with renewed energy. Mr. Stone called out a reading assignment, his voice cutting through the din, but half the room was already filtering out, buzzing with post-class gossip. Rose grabbed Rey's arm as they stood, her face flushed and grinning.

"Did you see that? I need a cold shower. Or a date. Or both." Rey laughed, the sound lighter than it had been all day, but as they filed into the hall, her eyes caught a glimpse of Ben passing by the adjacent corridor, his stride purposeful, unaware.

Rey watched Ben disappear into his office, the door clicking shut with a finality that twisted her gut. The hallway buzzed with the low murmur of students shuffling to their next classes, but everything blurred around her—the fluorescent lights harsh overhead, the scuff of sneakers on linoleum, the distant ring of a bell marking the end of the period. Her heart hammered, a frantic rhythm against her ribs, as she turned to Rose, who paused mid-step, backpack slung over one shoulder.

"I'll catch up," Rey said, her voice barely above a whisper, laced with the tremor she couldn't suppress.

Rose nodded, her eyes narrowing with concern, but she didn't press. She gave Rey's arm a quick squeeze before walking off, her ponytail swinging as she blended into the crowd.

Rey drew in a shaky breath, the air cool and stale in her lungs. She adjusted the stack of books in her arms, using them as a shield, and approached the office door. Her knuckles rapped softly against the wood, the sound echoing louder in her ears than it should have.

"Come in," Ben's voice called, firm and clipped, devoid of the warmth she'd craved all weekend.

She pushed the door open and stepped inside, the room feeling smaller than she remembered—shelves lined with leather-bound classics, a desk cluttered with graded papers and a half-empty coffee mug. The scent of his cologne lingered, faint but familiar, stirring a pang in her chest. She clutched her books tighter, holding them like a barrier between them.

"Hi," she said quietly, her gaze dropping to the floor before lifting to meet his.

Ben sat behind his desk, pen poised over a stack of essays. He looked up, his dark eyes unreadable, the lines around them deeper than before.

"Miss Kenobi. How can I help you today?"

The formality hit her like a slap. She shifted closer, her sneakers silent on the carpet.

"Uh..." Her throat tightened. "Why haven't you called me? Texted?"

He glanced down at the paperwork, his jaw tightening. "I've... been busy."

"Busy?" she echoed, the word tasting bitter on her tongue.

"Yes, Rey. I have a job to do." He met her eyes then, but the look was foreign—guarded, distant, like a wall had slammed down between them.

"What happened in L.A.?" she pressed, stepping nearer, desperation creeping into her voice. "Did you get the job?"

He ignored the question, his focus returning to the papers. "Is there anything else, Miss Kenobi?"

Rey frowned, confusion swirling in her chest like a storm. "Ben, I don't understand what's happening here."

"What's happening is, you are my student, and you are being very inappropriate right now. I've told you I'm busy."

"Inappropriate?" She scoffed, the sound sharp and disbelieving, heat rising in her cheeks.

"Rey, go to your next class." His tone brooked no argument.

Her eyes watered, the sting building as vulnerability cracked through her resolve.

"Ben..." Her voice broke on his name, a plea wrapped in pain.

He exhaled heavily, leaning back in his chair.

"Look, Rey." His gaze flicked to the paperwork again, avoiding hers. "You are young. You have your life ahead of you. Don't waste your time on me." The words landed like blows, each one heavier than the last. "We're done here."

"What happened in L.A.? Was it the woman? Did something happen?" She searched his face, grasping for any sign of the man who'd held her close, whispered futures in the dark.

He looked up, his expression hardening. "No." Firm, final. "Go to your class, Rey." His eyes dropped back to the page.

"Ben, what happened?"

He rose abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor as he rounded the desk. Towering over her now, his presence filled the space, but not with the intensity she longed for—with cold resolve.

"Nothing happened, Rey. That's what happened in L.A."

She tilted her head up, meeting his stare, tears blurring the edges of his features. "Go," he said, the command low and unyielding.

She shook her head, defiance sparking through the hurt.

"No." Her voice steadied, firm despite the quiver in her hands. "All we do is run. Fight. We never just talk. I waited all weekend for you to call me, to text me back. And you did nothing."

"What if I don't want to talk?" Ben countered, his arms crossing over his chest like a barrier.

"Then you are pushing me away, and that scares me more."

He held her gaze for a beat, something flickering in his eyes—regret? Pain?—before it vanished.

"I didn't get the job in L.A.," he admitted, the words heavy. "I won't be following you to L.A. You should just go on your own and start again, Rey." His tone was resolute, each syllable carving distance between them. "You don't need me dragging you down."

"Can you not apply for another job?"

"Rey, can we just not do this... right now?" Weariness edged his voice, a crack in the facade.

She gulped, her throat burning, and lowered her head, the fight draining from her limbs. "Okay."

"Have a good evening, Miss Kenobi." He returned to his desk, sinking into the chair with deliberate calm, dismissing her as if she were just another student.

Tears slipped down her cheeks, hot trails she couldn't wipe away fast enough. She turned halfway to the door, voice small. "Do you love me still?"

His eyes stayed glued to his work, unmoving. "Goodbye, Miss Kenobi."

"Why are you doing this?" she whispered, the question hanging fragile in the air.

He stood again, closing the gap between them in two strides. So close she could feel the heat radiating from him, smell the faint trace of his aftershave.

"Because you deserve better," he said, locking eyes with her, intensity burning through the resolve.

She gulped, heart fracturing under the weight. "And who are you to decide what is better for me?"

"I am your professor. An adult who should be making better choices in life." His voice was steel, unyielding.

"Better choices?" She shook her head, anger surging through the sorrow. "Fuck you." The words exploded from her, raw and unfiltered. She spun on her heel, yanking the door open and slamming it behind her with a force that rattled the frame.

The hallway swallowed her as she stormed away, books pressed to her chest like armor against the ache. Students parted around her, whispers trailing in her wake, but she didn't care. The world narrowed to the echo of his words—you deserve better—replaying like a cruel mantra. How could he? After everything—the stolen glances in class, the nights tangled in sheets, the promises of a life beyond this small-town cage. L.A. was supposed to be their escape, not the end.

She caught sight of Rose waiting by the vending machine, her friend's face lighting with worry as Rey approached, mascara-streaked and breathless.

"Rey? What the hell happened?"

Rey collapsed against the wall, sliding down until she sat on the cold floor, knees drawn up.

"He... he broke it off. Said I'm too young, that he didn't get the job, that I should go without him. Like we're nothing." Sobs choked her words, her body shaking with the force of it.

Rose dropped beside her, wrapping an arm around Rey's shoulders, pulling her close.

"That asshole. After all that talk of following you? Screw him. You're better off without someone who can't even fight for you." But even as she said it, Rose's eyes darted toward the office door, fury simmering beneath her protectiveness.

Rey buried her face in her hands, the books tumbling forgotten to the side. The weekend's silence had been a warning, but this? This was devastation. Part of her wanted to barge back in, demand answers, make him see the future they could still have. But the other part—the scared, shattered one—wondered if he was right. If love like theirs was always doomed to burn out in the shadows.

As the bell rang again, urging them to class, Rose helped her up, linking arms tightly. "Come on. Skip it. Let's get out of here, grab something hot to drink. You don't have to face this alone."

Rey nodded numbly, letting Rose lead her away, but her mind lingered on Ben's office, on the man who'd captured her heart and now seemed determined to set it free—whether she wanted it or not.

Chapter 35

By Friday, Valentine's Day had arrived like an unwelcome intruder, draping the campus in shades of crimson and pink that only deepened Rey's misery. The air outside hummed with anticipation—strings of heart-shaped lights twinkling along the pathways, couples linking arms as they hurried toward the gymnasium transformed into a masquerade wonderland, the faint thump of music already pulsing through the crisp winter evening. But inside Rey's dorm room, the world was dimmer, the glow from her laptop screen casting harsh shadows across her tear-streaked face. She huddled under a threadbare blanket, legs tucked beneath her, the weight of the week pressing down like an invisible anchor.

The torment had started Monday afternoon in Ben's office and stretched into an agonizing eternity. Each day, she'd dragged herself to his English literature classes, the room feeling like a battlefield where every glance—or lack thereof—wounded her anew. Ben had been a ghost of himself: impeccably dressed in crisp button-downs and slacks, his voice steady as he lectured on forbidden loves in Shakespeare, dissecting Hamlet and Ophelia's tragic bond with clinical precision. But his eyes? They skimmed over her like she was invisible, never lingering on the back row where she sat, notebook open but mind adrift in memories of his touch. No stolen smiles, no subtle nods of acknowledgment. Just silence, thicker than the snow that had blanketed the town earlier in the week. She'd replayed their confrontation endlessly—the slam of the door, his words you deserve better echoing in her skull like a verdict. Betrayal twisted with lingering love, leaving her hollow, her nights fractured by sobs that echoed off the dorm walls.

Her eyes burned now, raw from the fresh wave of tears that had spilled over during the episode she'd been half-watching—a mindless rom-com that only mocked her with its tidy happily-ever-afters. The laptop balanced precariously on her lap, its fan whirring softly, but the dialogue blurred into white noise. She wiped at her cheeks with the sleeve of her oversized hoodie, the one that still faintly smelled of Ben's cologne from the last time she'd worn it to his place. Exhaustion clawed at her, but sleep was a fickle enemy, chased away by the what-ifs:

The bathroom door creaked open, pulling her from the haze. Rose emerged like a vision from one of those fairy-tale montages Rey had avoided all week, her dark hair cascading in loose waves, pinned back with delicate silver clips that caught the lamplight. Her makeup was flawless—smoky eyes that accentuated her warm brown gaze, lips painted a bold red that promised confidence. The dress she wore hugged her figure perfectly: a sleek, off-the-shoulder number in deep burgundy, the fabric shimmering as she moved, paired with strappy heels that clicked against the linoleum floor. She'd spent weeks orchestrating the masquerade dance, transforming the gym into a sea of masks and mystery, complete with twinkling fairy lights, velvet drapes, and a playlist that blended sultry jazz with upbeat pop. It was her baby, her way of injecting some magic into the dreary end-of-winter slump, and tonight, she radiated the excitement of it all.

But her expression softened the moment her eyes landed on Rey, curled up like a wounded animal.

"Rey, please come," Rose begged, her voice a gentle plea laced with worry. She crossed the room in a few strides, the hem of her dress swishing softly, and perched on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped under her weight, jostling the laptop slightly. "Please. You don't need Ben."

Rey blinked, startled, her hand fumbling to pull off her noise-canceling headphones. The sudden rush of real-world sound—the distant laughter from the hallway, the muffled bass from a neighboring room—felt intrusive.

"What?" she murmured, her voice hoarse from disuse and the remnants of last week's flu that still lingered in her throat.

Rose leaned in closer, her perfume—a light floral scent—wafting over Rey like a comforting embrace.

"To the Valentine's dance. Come, please. I've spent weeks planning this." Her eyes searched Rey's face, tracing the dark circles under her eyes, the way her hair hung limp and unbrushed. Rose had been a rock through the week, dragging Rey to meals she barely touched, forcing her into study sessions that dissolved into heart-to-hearts about Ben's cold shoulder. But tonight, with the dance in full swing, Rose's plea carried an edge of desperation, as if leaving Rey behind would taint the evening's joy.

Rey shook her head slowly, the motion sending a fresh ache through her temples. She set the headphones aside on the rumpled comforter, her fingers lingering on the laptop as if it were a lifeline.

"I don't want to go, Rose." The words came out flat, defeated, her gaze drifting back to the paused screen where the characters froze in mid-laugh.

"Come on, Rey," Rose pressed, scooting nearer until their knees touched. She reached out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind Rey's ear with a tenderness that nearly cracked the dam Rey had built around her emotions. "You are young. You don't need him. Come on." Her voice dropped to a coaxing whisper, eyes sparkling with the promise of distraction. "I'll do your hair and makeup. It'll be fun, I swear. Masks mean no one has to know it's you if you don't want them to."

Rey shook her head again, more firmly this time, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders like a shield. The thought of the dance—swirling couples under dim lights, whispers of romance in every corner—twisted her stomach into knots. Valentine's Day was a cruel joke this year, a spotlight on everything she'd lost. Ben's absence loomed larger than ever; she imagined him alone in his apartment, or worse, seeking solace elsewhere, while she rotted away in self-pity.

"It's okay. Go have fun," she said, forcing a weak smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I'm gonna watch this and go to bed probably."

"Rey," Rose sighed, the sound heavy with frustration and love. She placed a hand on Rey's arm, squeezing gently, her manicured nails a stark contrast to Rey's unkempt sleeves. Rose had seen her through the panic attacks that struck in the dead of night, the reckless nights at parties where Rey drowned her sorrows in cheap vodka and fleeting touches from strangers, only to wake up emptier. But this withdrawal? It scared her more than the wild escapades.

"I'm okay. Really, Rose," Rey insisted quietly, her voice cracking on the lie. She met her friend's gaze, seeing the concern etched there, the unspoken fear that Rey might slip further into the abyss. "I just don't want to celebrate Valentine's Day."

The admission hung in the air, raw and vulnerable, laced with the unspoken truth: every heart, every flower, every masked reveler would remind her of what could have been—Ben's arms around her waist during a slow dance, his breath warm against her ear as they stole away from the crowd.

Rose lingered for a moment longer, her shoulders slumping in defeat. She stood, smoothing down her dress with a resigned flick of her wrist.

"Fine. But if you change your mind, text me." She hesitated at the door, glancing back with a mix of pity and resolve. "You deserve to feel alive tonight, Rey. Even if it's just for a little while."

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Rey in the sudden quiet. She slipped the headphones back on, but the show no longer held her. Instead, her mind wandered to Ben—to the way his office door had closed on Monday, to the unyielding set of his jaw, to the love she still felt pulsing beneath the pain. Tears welled up again, spilling silently as she curled into herself, the laptop forgotten. Outside, the night called with promises of joy she couldn't touch, but in the darkness of her room, all she could do was ache for the man who'd taught her what heartbreak truly meant.

 

Two hours slipped by in the dim confines of Rey's dorm room, the clock on her nightstand ticking past ten without mercy. The laptop had long since gone dark, its paused screen a forgotten relic amid the clutter of tissues and half-empty water glasses that littered the bedside table. Rey had shifted from the bed to the floor at some point, her back against the cool wall, phone clutched in her hand like a talisman against the loneliness. Instagram had become her reluctant companion, the app's endless scroll a numb distraction from the ache in her chest. She thumbed through stories and posts mechanically at first, the vibrant colors and laughter blurring into a haze that mirrored her exhaustion.

But then Rose's face popped up—a selfie amid a swirl of masked dancers, her burgundy dress catching the strobe lights as she grinned wide, arm slung around Finn's shoulders. He wore a simple black suit with a feathered mask that gave him a roguish air, his easy smile pulling at Rey's lips despite herself. The caption read:

Masquerade magic with the crew! Wish you were here, Rey! 💃🖤

A video followed: Poe twirling Rose on the makeshift dance floor, the gym alive with bodies moving in sync to a pulsing beat, confetti drifting like snowflakes under the chandeliers. Laughter echoed through the tinny speaker, Finn photobombed in the background with a dramatic flourish, his tie askew and eyes sparkling with mischief. The energy was infectious, a stark contrast to the stale air of her room, and Rey felt a pang sharp enough to steal her breath.

She kinda missed not being there. It was part of the fun—these nights where the weight of classes and secrets lifted, if only for a few hours. Scrolling further, she found more: a group shot of the three of them posing with elaborate masks, the gym's velvet drapes framing their joy; a close-up of Poe's mask, intricate gold filigree that he'd bragged about borrowing from his sister's costume box; Rose's story of her sneaking a sip of punch that tasted suspiciously spiked, her eyes wide with mock scandal. Rey's thumb hovered over the like button, hesitation warring with the pull of belonging. What harm could it do? Just show up, blend into the crowd with a mask hiding her red-rimmed eyes, dance until the hurt dulled to a throb.

She sat there debating it for a minute, phone screen glowing against her face, the room's silence broken only by the distant hum of the campus shuttle outside. A soft high escapes her as she pushed herself up from the floor, knees protesting the sudden movement. A sigh followed, deep and resigned, carrying the remnants of her earlier tears. Fine. Why not? It wasn't like staying here would summon Ben back or erase the void he'd left. At least out there, she could pretend, lose herself in the anonymity of feathers and lace.

Rey padded to her closet, the floorboards creaking under her bare feet, and pulled out the red silk long dress she'd shoved to the back weeks ago. It unfurled in her hands like a secret unveiled—smooth fabric whispering against her skin, the deep crimson hue evoking spilled wine or forbidden passion. She laid it carefully across the bed, smoothing out the wrinkles with palms that trembled slightly from nerves or fatigue, she couldn't tell.

First, the hair. She dragged a chair over to the small vanity mirror propped on her desk, the one cracked at the corner from a too-enthusiastic game of dorm-room volleyball. Running a brush through the tangled waves, she worked methodically, parting it down the middle and twisting sections into loose, romantic curls that cascaded over her shoulders. A few pins secured the front away from her face, letting the rest fall free—effortless, or so she hoped. Her reflection stared back, pale and shadowed, but she dabbed on foundation next, blending it with a sponge until the puffiness under her eyes softened. Eyeshadow in smoky neutrals followed, a subtle wing of liner to sharpen her gaze, mascara lengthening lashes that still clumped from earlier crying. Lips last: a matte red to match the dress, bold but not overpowering, the color blooming under her steady hand.

Makeup done, she stripped off the hoodie and sweats, the chill of the room raising goosebumps on her skin as she stepped into the dress. The silk slid over her like cool water, pooling at her feet before she zipped it up the side, the fabric molding to her hips and waist with a sigh of approval. It felt good—transformative, almost—like slipping into a role where heartbreak was just a backstory. She fastened the mask next, a delicate black lace number with crimson accents that tied at the back, veiling her eyes and upper cheeks while leaving her mouth free. In the mirror, she looked like someone else: mysterious, poised, the vulnerability tucked away behind the facade.

Rey grabbed her coat—a simple wool number to ward off the February bite—slipped on low heels that clicked with purpose, and paused at the door. Her heart raced, a mix of anticipation and dread swirling in her gut. The dance awaited, full of faces she knew and secrets she carried. Would Ben be there? The thought flickered unbidden, but she shoved it down, turning the knob with a steadying breath. Tonight, she'd chase the fun she'd glimpsed on her screen, even if it was just an illusion.

 

The chill of the February night nipped at Rey's exposed shoulders as she stepped out of her dorm building, the wool coat draped loosely over her red silk dress to fend off the bite. Her low heels clicked against the salted sidewalk, each step echoing in the quiet campus paths lined with bare trees strung in twinkling fairy lights for the occasion. The air carried a faint scent of pine from the wreaths hung on lampposts, mingling with the distant thrum of bass that grew louder as she approached the gym hall. Music pulsed from within, a sultry remix of some pop hit vibrating through the brick walls, drawing her like a moth to flame despite the knot of reluctance in her stomach.

She paused at the double doors, hand hovering over the handle, the muffled laughter and chatter seeping out like an invitation she wasn't sure she wanted to accept. But the pull was stronger than the doubt—the need to drown out the silence from Ben, to wrap herself in the anonymity of the night. With a deep breath, she pushed inside, the warmth of bodies and the wave of sound crashing over her immediately.

The gym hall had been transformed into a crimson dreamscape, red lighting bathing everything in a seductive glow that turned skin tones flushed and shadows deep. Velvet drapes in shades of scarlet and burgundy cascaded from the rafters, pooling on the polished floor like spilled wine. Chandeliers—rented, no doubt, for the event—dangled crystals that fractured the light into ruby shards, casting dancing flecks across the crowd. Bodies swayed and twisted on the makeshift dance floor, a sea of masked figures moving in hypnotic rhythm to the beat. No faces, just hints of eyes peering through feathers, lace, and sequins; mouths curved in smiles or parted in laughter, identities blurred behind the facade. The air hummed with energy—perfume, sweat, the faint tang of alcohol—and Rey felt the first stirrings of something lighter uncoil in her chest, a fragile escape from the weight she'd carried all day.

She wove through, her silk dress whispering against her legs with each step, the fabric catching on elbows and hips as she navigated the press of dancers. A couple brushed past her, the man's hand low on the woman's waist, pulling her close in a grind that made Rey's throat tighten with unwelcome memories. She kept her gaze forward, mask firmly in place, the lace itching slightly against her skin but shielding her from prying eyes. The drinks table beckoned at the far side, tucked against the wall under a canopy of red balloons, manned by a volunteer in a devil horn headband ladling out cups from a massive crystal bowl.

Spiked punch the way to start—Poe had texted earlier about the 'special ingredient' some upperclassmen had smuggled in, and tonight, Rey craved the blur it promised. She reached the table, the crowd thinning here amid the clink of cups and bursts of conversation. Dipping a plastic ladle into the bowl, she filled her cup to the brim, the fruity liquid sloshing with a fizz that hinted at more than cranberry and ginger ale. She brought it to her lips, the first sip tart and burning as it slid down, warmth blooming in her belly almost instantly. Another gulp followed, deeper, chasing the edge off her nerves, the alcohol's haze already softening the sharp corners of her thoughts.

"Rey!" The voice cut through the din like a lifeline, a firm hand yanking on her arm just as she set the empty cup down for a refill. She spun, heart leaping, to find Poe grinning at her through the slits of his gold filigree mask, his eyes crinkling with recognition. He was dressed sharp in a tailored black suit that hugged his broad shoulders, a crimson tie peeking from beneath the lapels, looking every bit the charming rogue.

"I knew it was you by the back tat," he said, his voice low and teasing as he nodded toward her shoulder, where the thin strap of her dress had slipped just enough to reveal the edge of the bird inked there—the delicate sparrow she'd gotten with Rose years ago, a symbol of freedom they'd inked during a rebellious summer road trip.

Rey tugged the strap back into place instinctively, a flush creeping up her neck that had nothing to do with the punch.

"Poe," she laughed, the sound lighter than she'd felt in days, masking the flicker of surprise at being spotted so quickly. The tattoo was a secret shared, one of those intimate marks that bound her to her friends amid the chaos of life.

Before she could say more, a squeal pierced the air—high and joyous—as Rose barreled through a cluster of dancers, her burgundy gown swirling around her like a whirlwind. Her mask was a feathered affair in deep plum, matching the excitement sparkling in her eyes as she threw her arms around Rey in a fierce hug.

"You came!" Rose exclaimed, pulling back just enough to scan Rey up and down, approval lighting her face. The embrace smelled of vanilla body spray and the faint citrus of punch on her breath, grounding Rey in the moment.

"I did," Rey replied, summoning a brave face that felt almost genuine under the red lights. She forced a smile, wide and unwavering, even as the ache for Ben lingered like a shadow at the edges. "Now please get me drunk before I regret this."

The words tumbled out with a chuckle, self-deprecating and honest, drawing laughs from both of them. Poe slung an arm around her shoulders, steering her toward the bowl for another round, while Rose linked her elbow with Rey's free arm, the trio forming a protective bubble amid the swirling crowd.

The punch flowed freely then—cup after cup passed between them, the spikes hitting harder with each swallow, loosening limbs and tongues. They lingered by the table at first, Poe recounting a disastrous attempt at a twirl with Finn earlier that had nearly toppled a speaker, his gestures animated and drawing Rey into the story despite herself. Rose chimed in with exaggerated details, her laughter bubbling over as she mimed the near-miss, the three of them leaning close to hear over the music's swell. The alcohol wove its spell, turning the gym's heat into a comfortable buzz, the masks making every stranger a possibility, every glance a mystery. For a fleeting hour, Rey let herself sink into it—the camaraderie, the rhythm pulling at her hips, the way her friends' presence stitched up the frayed edges of her heart. But beneath the brave face, the question of Ben hovered, unspoken, as the night deepened and the crowd pulsed on.

 

They all lingered by the drinks table, the crystal bowl now half-empty from their enthusiastic refills, the punch's fruity tang lingering on their tongues like a sweet deception. Rey felt the alcohol's warmth spread deeper into her veins, a lazy fire that dulled the persistent throb in her chest from the afternoon's confrontation. Poe, ever the instigator, glanced around with a mischievous glint in his eyes behind the mask, then slipped a hand into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. 'Hold up,' he murmured, pulling out a sleek silver flask that caught the red light like liquid mercury. 'This'll make the punch jealous.' He unscrewed the cap with a practiced twist, the sharp scent of dark rum cutting through the air, rich and caramel-sweet.

Rose leaned in first, her feathered mask tilting as she took a bold swig, the liquid burning a trail down her throat. She handed it off to Rey without a word, her grip steady and encouraging. Rey hesitated for a split second, the flask cool against her palm, then tipped it back, letting the rum coat her mouth in its bold spice before swallowing. It hit her gut like a spark, mingling with the punch to create a heady buzz that made the room's edges soften further. Poe took the last pull, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a satisfied grin splitting his face.

"Now we're talking," he said, tucking the flask away just as a group of masked revelers jostled past, oblivious to their illicit addition.

Rose's eyes darted to the DJ booth across the room, a secretive spark lighting them as she leaned toward Poe, cupping a hand to his ear. Her whisper was lost in the music's swell, but Poe's nod was immediate, his expression turning conspiratorial. Without another word, he melted into the crowd, his black suit blending seamlessly with the shifting bodies, vanishing like a shadow in the crimson haze.

Rose turned to Rey then, her hand shooting out to grab Rey's wrist in a firm, excited clasp.

"Come on," she urged, her voice threaded with anticipation, pulling Rey away from the table and into the throng. The crowd parted just enough for them to slip through, bodies brushing against their sides—silk against silk, the occasional graze of fingers that sent harmless shivers up Rey's arm. The dance floor loomed ahead, a pulsing heart of the gym where the red lights intensified, turning the air thick and electric. Rose's burgundy gown flared with each step, and Rey's red silk clung to her curves, the fabric alive under the strobing glow.

They broke into the open space just as the current track faded, the DJ's voice crackling over the speakers in a distorted announcement.

"This next one's for you ladies out there," Rose called out, her words barely audible over the dying echoes, but her grin said everything. Rey's brow furrowed behind her lace mask, curiosity piqued as Rose positioned them in the center, releasing her hand only to sway in place, hips already moving to an invisible rhythm.

The bass dropped then, a deep, vibrating thrum that Rey felt in her bones before the synths kicked in—sharp, edgy, with that haunting vocal hook she knew by heart. Corpse - E-Girls are ruining my life. The song exploded into the space, its glitchy beats and raw lyrics slicing through the red-tinted air like a forbidden thrill. Rey's eyes widened, a laugh bubbling up unbidden as recognition hit.

"No way they're letting you play this," she chuckled, the sound light and disbelieving, her body already starting to loosen under the music's pull. The track was their anthem from late-night drives and dorm room jam sessions, all attitude and unapologetic edge—perfect for shaking off the world's judgments.

"I'm in charge of the music, baby," Rose shot back proudly, throwing her head back with a triumphant whoop. She launched into the dance without hesitation, arms lifting as her body rolled with the beat, her gown twisting around her legs in fluid waves. Rey couldn't help but join in, giggles spilling from her lips as the rum and punch fueled her abandon. They moved together, synced in that effortless way only best friends could manage—bodies close but not crowding, mirroring each other's energy in a display that screamed defiance and joy.

It was a dirty kind of dance, all sharp hips and sultry drops, slutty in the best way: free, unfiltered, happy. Rey arched her back, letting her hands trail down her sides as she dipped low, the silk dress riding up her thighs just enough to tease the boundary between playful and provocative. Rose matched her, spinning with exaggerated flair, her ponytail whipping through the air as she popped her chest to the rhythm, mask feathers fluttering. They laughed through it, the sound raw and infectious, drawing glances from nearby dancers who formed a loose circle around them, cheering the spectacle. Rey felt alive in a way she hadn't all week—weightless, the heartbreak with Ben fracturing under the bass's relentless drive, her movements a release of pent-up fury and longing.

The chorus hit, and they locked eyes, shouting the lyrics at each other over the roar:

"Choke me like you hate me, but you love me!" Rose belted it first, her voice fierce and playful, grabbing Rey's hands to pull her into a twirl that left them breathless and beaming. Rey echoed it back, louder, the words a cathartic scream that vibrated through her chest—"Choke me like you hate me!"—their voices tangling in the humid air. They bumped hips, grinding against the beat in exaggerated mockery of the song's edge, bodies slick with a light sheen of sweat under the relentless red lights. The illumination painted them like sinners in hell, shadows elongating across the floor in demonic stretches, the chandeliers above flickering like hellfire. Every sway felt illicit, every laugh a rebellion against the pain Rey had carried, the crowd's energy amplifying their freedom into something almost primal.

As the bridge slowed to a glitchy crawl, they slowed too, chests heaving, faces flushed beneath their masks. Rose slung an arm around Rey's shoulders, pulling her close in a sweaty, triumphant hug amid the ongoing pulse.

"See? This is what you needed," she panted, her breath hot against Rey's ear. Rey nodded, still catching her breath, the song's final beats fading into the next track. For those minutes, wrapped in red light and rhythm, the world narrowed to just this—just her and Rose, dancing through the devil's playground, leaving the ghosts of the day behind in the dust.

 

The energy from their dance lingered like a haze, sweat-slicked skin cooling in the gym's recycled air as Rose and Rey disentangled from the crowd's fringes. Rey's chest rose and fell in quick bursts, her silk dress sticking to the small of her back, the fabric whispering against her thighs with each step. Rose led the way, her hand still loosely linked with Rey's, weaving them through the press of bodies—masked faces blurring into a sea of feathers and lace, laughter and murmurs rising like steam. The red lights pulsed overhead, casting elongated shadows that danced across the floor, turning every movement into something secretive and charged.

They pushed toward the drinks table again, the crystal punch bowl now a murky swirl of fruit remnants and spiked sweetness. Poe was already there, leaning against the edge with a fresh cup in hand, his mask slightly askew from the earlier swig of rum. He straightened as they approached, handing over two plastic cups without a word, the liquid sloshing invitingly.

"You two put on a show," he said, voice low and teasing, clinking his cup against theirs before taking a sip. Rose downed half of hers in one go, the punch's warmth hitting her like a familiar rush, while Rey sipped slower, savoring the burn that chased away the last echoes of the song's edge.

That's when Finn finally broke through the throng, his broad shoulders parting the crowd like a ship through waves. He was breathing hard, tie loosened and shirt collar open, a grin splitting his face as he caught up.

"Tried to find you guys—got stuck behind that conga line," he panted, accepting a cup from Poe with a nod of thanks. His eyes flicked between Rey and Rose, noting their flushed cheeks and disheveled hair. "What'd I miss?"

Rose just smirked, bumping his shoulder playfully, and the group fell into easy chatter, the alcohol loosening their words into jokes about the night's absurdities—the guy in the devil horns who'd tried to photobomb their dance, or the chaperone who'd confiscated a glow stick like it was contraband.

Rey was halfway through her second cup, the punch coating her tongue in tart berries and hidden fire, when the music shifted. The previous track's glitchy fade dissolved into a sultry intro—low, throbbing bass that built like a heartbeat, layered with breathy vocals and a rhythm that hooked deep in the gut. It was 'The Way to Obey,' that viral track that had exploded on TikTok, soundtracking endless thirst traps with its hypnotic pull: clips of arched backs, trailing fingers, and eyes locked in silent commands. The song's fame came from those raw, teasing videos—bodies moving in slow surrender, the lyrics weaving tales of control and yield that left viewers hooked and heated. Rey's pulse synced to it immediately, the room's spin tilting into something euphoric as her tipsiness bloomed full, the edges of her vision softening like melted wax.

Her gaze drifted to Rose, who was already swaying subtly, cup dangling from her fingers.

"Are you using my Spotify list or something?" Rey chuckled, the sound light and accusing, warmth spreading through her limbs as she set her half-empty cup down.

Rose's eyes sparkled behind her mask, a giggle escaping as she leaned in close, her breath carrying the faint spice of rum.

"Worse. Mine." She admitted it with a wink, the confession pulling Rey right back into the pull of the night. Without waiting, Rey grabbed Rose's free hand, tugging her toward the dance floor once more, the crowd yielding just enough for them to slip through. Finn and Poe followed without protest, Finn's hand brushing Rey's elbow in casual support as they reformed their loose quartet amid the pulsing red glow.

The song enveloped them fully now, its dom/sub undertones threading through the air like invisible chains—lyrics murmuring about kneeling, about the thrill of giving in, the bass urging hips to roll in slow, deliberate waves. Rose and Rey fell into step first, bodies close in the crush, swaying with a languid ease that matched the track's sensual crawl. Rey's hands found Rose's waist for a beat, guiding her into a gentle spin before pulling her back, their movements fluid and unhurried. It was slow and fun, nothing frantic—just the joy of letting the rhythm take over, shoulders brushing, laughter bubbling up as they mirrored each other's dips and rises. Rose arched her neck, letting her head fall back with a soft exhale, her gown's feathers catching the light like embers, while Rey pressed forward lightly, her silk dress sliding against Rose's side in a whisper of friction.

Finn joined in on Rey's other flank, his steps steady and grounding, one hand hovering near her back without touching, keeping the energy light as he nodded along to the beat. Poe circled them loosely, his grin visible even in the dim, adding flourishes with exaggerated hip sways that drew chuckles from the group. The room spun in the best way for Rey—the red lights blurring into a crimson vortex, bodies around them fading into silhouettes as the alcohol wove through her blood, turning every sensation vivid. Her skin tingled where the air kissed it, the bass vibrating up through her soles and settling low in her belly, a pleasant haze that made her feel untethered, alive. She leaned into Rose during a slower verse, their foreheads nearly touching, sharing a conspiratorial smile as the lyrics dipped into promises of restraint and release.

"Told you I'd pick the good ones," Rose murmured, her voice barely audible over the thrum, but Rey just laughed, pulling her deeper into the sway.

The dance stretched on, unhurried and immersive, their quartet a bubble of warmth amid the chaos. Finn's easy presence kept things balanced, his occasional quip cutting through the heat, while Poe's flair added sparks—grabbing Finn's hand for a mock twirl that left them both stumbling with laughter. Rey's tipsiness flowed like the music itself, her body loose and responsive, every shift of weight sending ripples of pleasure through her muscles. The song's erotic undercurrent hummed beneath it all, not overt but insistent, fueling the slow grind of hips and the way their breaths synced in the humid air. For those minutes, the weight of the week—Ben's silence, the ache in her chest—dissolved into the spin, leaving only this: friends, rhythm, and the sweet surrender to the night.

 

The quartet's sway began to fracture as the final notes of 'The Way to Obey' faded into echoes, the bass lingering like a pulse in Rey's veins. Rose caught Finn's eye across the shifting crowd, her hand slipping into his with a playful tug, drawing him into a closer orbit. They moved off together, bodies aligning in a rhythm that was easy and unforced—Finn's arm draping over Rose's shoulder, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his shirt as they laughed into each other's space. Poe, ever the wanderer, had already melted into the throng, muttering something about his flask running dry before vanishing toward the shadowed edges of the gym where the drinks table lurked under dimmer lights. Rey found herself adrift for a moment, swaying solo amid the red haze, her red silk dress clinging to her curves from the heat of the dance, the mask's feathers tickling her cheek as she tilted her head back.

The buzz hummed through her fully now, a warm current that softened the world's sharp corners, making the red lights pulse like heartbeats against her closed eyelids. She wrapped her arms around herself, hugging her waist as if to hold onto the sensation, her body rocking gently side to side. The silk whispered against her skin, cool where sweat had dried, and she let out a soft sigh, lost in the spin of tipsiness that turned the crowd's murmurs into a distant roar.

Then the music shifted again, seamless and sultry, the opening chords of 'Play with Fire' slinking through the speakers like smoke. The track's slow build wrapped around her, lyrics curling in the air about temptation and burn, the melody coaxing her hips into a lazy roll. Rey's eyes stayed shut, her arms tightening just a fraction as she savored the isolation in the chaos, the buzz amplifying every throb of the bass until it settled low in her core.

But the solitude didn't last. As the song deepened, bleeding into the next track without pause, 'Insane Inside' unfurled its hooks—the vocals husky and urgent, starting with that line: 'The danger gets me high.' Rey swayed deeper into it, her feet tracing small circles on the sticky floor, the danger in the lyrics mirroring the thrill coiling in her chest. A hand brushed hers then, warm and deliberate, fingers curling around her wrist with a gentle pull that spun her outward and back in one fluid motion. Her eyes snapped open, the world tilting for a beat before steadying on the figure before her.

He was tall, towering over her even in the crowd's press, his frame broad and commanding under the dark fabric of his suit. Dark brown eyes locked onto hers through the slits of a full-face mask—black and unyielding, covering everything from forehead to chin, leaving only those intense eyes visible, shadowed but piercing. No words passed between them, just the silent pull as his hands settled on her hips, thumbs pressing into the silk just above her pelvis, drawing her flush against him. Rey's breath hitched, her body yielding instinctively as they began to move, his lead firm and unhurried, guiding her into the song's slow grind.

Her hands landed on his chest, palms flattening against the crisp shirt, feeling the steady rise and fall beneath, the heat radiating through the fabric. It was Ben—she knew it in an instant, the subtle scent of him cutting through the haze of punch and sweat: clean soap edged with something woodsy, familiar and intoxicating, the cologne she'd buried her face in during stolen nights.

Her pulse quickened, a rush that had nothing to do with the alcohol now, as recognition bloomed hot in her veins. She glanced up, her eyes searching his, and he was already looking down at her, those dark brown depths holding hers with an intensity that stripped away the mask's anonymity. No flicker of surprise, just a quiet possession in his gaze, as if he'd been waiting for this exact moment amid the red-lit chaos.

Rey's hand lifted slowly, trembling just a touch from the buzz and the weight of it all, her fingers grazing the edge of the mask before settling there, tracing the cool line of it against his jaw. She didn't pull it away—didn't need to. Instead, she leaned in, laying her head against his chest, ear pressing to the thrum of his heartbeat syncing with the music's low pulse. Her eyes fluttered shut again, the world narrowing to this: his hands gripping her hips, pulling her closer with each sway, their bodies moving in tandem—slow, deliberate steps that brushed thigh to thigh, her breasts pressing soft against his torso as he dipped her subtly into the rhythm.

The song wrapped around them like a secret, lyrics murmuring about the thrill of the edge, the high of risk, and Rey melted into it, her free hand sliding up to curl at the nape of his neck, fingers threading into the short hairs there. Ben's grip tightened on her hip, his other hand rising to span the small of her back, holding her steady as they turned in a lazy circle, the crowd fading to irrelevance. She could feel the tension in him—the controlled power in the way his muscles flexed under her touch, the subtle shift of his hips against hers that sent sparks skittering across her skin. No words, just the dance: his thigh nudging between hers for a beat, guiding her roll; her body arching faintly into his hold, silk sliding against wool. The buzz amplified it all, turning every contact into electricity, her closed eyes painting the moment in vivid strokes—his scent enveloping her, the mask's edge rough under her fingertips, the steady pump of his heart against her cheek.

They moved like that for what felt like eternities compressed into minutes, the music's build pulling them deeper into the intimacy. Rey's head stayed pillowed on his chest, her breaths evening out to match his, the earlier ache of distance dissolving in the slow press of their forms.

The DJ's voice cut through the pulsing haze of the gym, warm and inviting over the fading echoes of the previous track.

"This one is for everyone out there, with someone you love. Pull them close, and enjoy this one," he announced, the words hanging in the crimson-lit air like an invitation meant just for them. The opening guitar strums of 'Hero' by Enrique Iglesias filled the space, smooth and soulful, the melody wrapping around the crowd in a gentle swell that slowed the frenzy of the dance floor to a tender drift. Bodies drew nearer, whispers softening amid the red glow, the bass now a subtle heartbeat rather than a throb.

Rey felt the shift in the music before she fully registered the announcement, her body still pressed close to Ben's, their sway unbroken from the previous song. She lifted her head slowly from the warmth of his chest, her cheek brushing against the crisp fabric of his shirt as she tilted her chin up. Her eyes met his again through the mask's slits, those dark brown depths holding her gaze with a quiet intensity that made her breath catch. The red lights played across his features, casting soft shadows that accentuated the line of his jaw hidden beneath the black covering, but it was the unspoken pull between them that rooted her in place. So much swirled in her chest—words about the silence that had stretched between them, the ache of unanswered messages, the fear of what his distance meant for them. She wanted to spill it all, to demand why he'd pulled away, to confess how every hour without him had carved deeper into her heart. But the lyrics started then, Enrique's voice crooning about being a hero, about standing by through the storm, and the vulnerability in the song mirrored her own too closely, choking the words back in her throat.

Instead, a single tear escaped, tracing a warm path down her cheek, glistening under the crimson lights before it fell onto the collar of his shirt. Rey blinked rapidly, but another followed, her emotions cresting like a wave she couldn't hold at bay. She buried her face back against his chest, pressing her forehead to the steady rise and fall of his breathing, inhaling the familiar scent of him—woodsy cologne mixed with the faint trace of his skin—that flooded her senses and grounded her all at once. She had missed everything: the solid feel of his arms around her, the way his presence made the world feel smaller and safer, the quiet strength in his touch that had always steadied her storms. Her hands clutched at the back of his jacket, fingers digging into the wool as if to anchor herself, her body molding closer to his in their slow sway.

Ben's response was immediate, instinctive. His hand, which had been firm on her hip, slid upward with deliberate care, fingers threading into her hair at the nape of her neck. He stroked softly, his palm cupping the back of her head as his thumb traced gentle circles against her scalp, the motion soothing and unhurried. It was a gesture so tender it unraveled her further, the warmth of his touch seeping through her like sunlight breaking through clouds. They danced like that, bodies aligned in a rhythm that matched the song's languid pace—his thigh brushing hers with each step, her hips swaying in sync as he guided her through the crowd. The red haze blurred the edges of the room, turning strangers into indistinct shadows, leaving only the two of them in this intimate pocket of the night.

Rey's emotions battled within her, a tangle of relief and longing that made her chest tighten even as she clung to him. The tear tracks cooled on her skin, but fresh warmth bloomed where his hand rested, his fingers combing through her strands with a rhythm that echoed the melody's chorus. She nuzzled closer, her lips grazing the edge of his shirt button, tasting the salt of her own tears mixed with the fabric's clean crispness. Ben's other arm tightened around her waist, pulling her flush against him, his chin dipping to rest lightly atop her head, the mask's edge cool against her hair. No words passed between them yet, just the shared silence of the dance, the lyrics weaving through the air like confessions they weren't ready to voice: promises of protection, of being there no matter the pain.

As the song built, Enrique's voice rising in that heartfelt plea, Rey's sway deepened, her body relaxing into Ben's hold despite the storm inside. She tilted her head just enough to press her cheek against his heartbeat again, feeling it quicken slightly under her ear—a mirror to her own racing pulse. His stroking hand never faltered, fingers sifting through her hair with a possessiveness softened by care, each pass easing the knots of her anxiety one by one. The romantic tension hummed between them, electric and unspoken, in the way her fingers traced the line of his spine through his jacket, in the subtle press of his hips guiding hers, in the shared breaths that synced with the music's flow. She missed the sound of his voice murmuring her name, the brush of his lips against her temple, the way he'd hold her gaze for hours without needing to speak. But here, in this masked reunion, it was enough—the dance, the touch, the quiet assurance that he was here now, holding her through the ache.

The crowd around them faded further, Rose and Finn's laughter a distant echo somewhere in the throng, Poe's flask likely refilling in some corner, but none of it intruded on their bubble. Ben's hand in her hair tightened just a fraction during the bridge, his thumb grazing the sensitive skin behind her ear, sending a shiver down her spine that had her arching closer. Rey's arms wrapped around his waist fully now, her palms flattening against the small of his back, feeling the flex of muscle as he moved. The song's climax swelled, the vocals pouring out vulnerability and devotion, and Rey let another quiet sob escape into his chest—not from pain, but from the overwhelming sweetness of this moment after days of silence. His stroking resumed, slower now, as if to coax her back from the edge, his body a steady anchor in the sway.

As 'Hero' wound toward its close, the guitar fading into soft echoes, Rey lifted her head once more, her eyes searching his through the mask. The tear-streaked paths on her cheeks caught the light, but her gaze held a mix of raw emotion and tentative hope, the romantic tension coiling tighter in the space between them. Ben's dark eyes softened, his hand sliding from her hair to cup her cheek, thumb brushing away the remnants of her tears with a gentleness that made her heart stutter. They slowed to a near standstill amid the shifting crowd, foreheads almost touching, breaths mingling in the humid air. No rush to speak, just the lingering press of bodies, the unspoken words hanging heavy and sweet, promising that whatever came next, they would face it together in this red-tinted night.

The final notes of 'Hero' lingered in the air like a fading promise, the crowd's murmurs rising as the DJ transitioned to the next track, but Rey and Ben remained locked in their slow sway, the world narrowing to the space between their bodies. Ben's hand, still cupping her cheek, tilted her face upward just enough for his lips to brush near her ear, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver racing down her spine despite the humid press of the gym. He leaned in closer, his masked face hovering inches from hers, the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the sweat and perfume of the dance floor.

"I do love you," he whispered, his voice low and rough, laced with a vulnerability that cracked through the tension she'd carried for days. The words washed over her like rain on parched earth, soaking into the raw edges of her heart.

Rey's eyes fluttered closed, her lashes damp against her skin as another tear slipped free, carving a fresh trail down her cheek. It caught on the curve of her jaw before dropping onto the collar of his shirt, a silent testament to the storm she'd weathered in his absence. She leaned into the heat of his body, her forehead resting against his shoulder, the steady thrum of his pulse under her palm grounding her as emotions swirled—relief crashing against the lingering hurt, love blooming fierce and unyielding. His confession hung between them, intimate and unguarded, pulling her closer even as the song faded completely.

"I'm sorry," Ben continued, his voice dropping to a murmur that vibrated against her ear, his breath hot and uneven, stirring the fine hairs at her temple. "I was just angry." The admission carried the weight of his regrets, the frustration from his failed interview, the fear of dragging her into uncertainty, all spilling out in that quiet corner of the crowded room. His free hand tightened on her waist, fingers splaying possessively over the silk of her red dress, as if afraid she'd slip away before he could make it right. Rey's breath hitched, her chest rising and falling against his, the romantic pull between them thickening the air like the humid prelude to a storm outside.

Without another word, Ben shifted, his fingers intertwining with hers in a firm grip that sent a spark up her arm. He led her through the throng of masked dancers, their bodies parting like waves before them, the red lights casting elongated shadows that danced across the floor. Rey followed without resistance, her hand warm in his, the simple act of holding on reigniting the connection she'd feared lost. They slipped past the drinks table where Poe was laughing with a group, Rose and Finn lost in their own rhythm somewhere in the crowd, but Rey barely registered them—her focus narrowed to the man beside her, the unspoken promises in his touch.

The gym doors swung open with a whoosh, and they stepped out into the night, the crisp February air hitting them like a slap after the stifling warmth inside. The Valentine's dance had masked the changing weather, but now the sky had unleashed a sudden downpour, rain sheeting down in relentless curtains that turned the campus paths into glistening rivers. Droplets splattered against Rey's bare shoulders, soaking through the thin straps of her dress almost instantly, the chill raising goosebumps on her skin. Ben didn't hesitate; he tugged her hand sharper, pulling her along the slick pavement toward the shadowed edge of the building, away from the glow spilling from the gym windows.

They rounded the corner into a narrow alcove formed by the gym's brick wall and an overhanging tree, the rain drumming a muffled rhythm on the leaves above, shielding them in a semi-private veil of water and darkness. Alone now, the distant bass from the party a faint throb, Ben turned to her, his dark eyes locking onto hers through the mask's slits, intense and searching. Water beaded on his broad shoulders, darkening his shirt to cling to the contours of his chest, but he ignored it, shrugging off his jacket with quick, deliberate movements. The fabric was still warm from his body heat as he draped it over her shoulders, enveloping her in his scent—earthy and familiar, a shield against the cold.

Rey pulled the jacket tighter around herself, the sleeves swallowing her hands, but it was his nearness that warmed her most. He stepped closer, crowding her gently against the wall, his hands coming up to frame her face, thumbs tracing the paths of her tears now mingled with raindrops. The downpour isolated them further, a silvery curtain that blurred the world beyond, leaving only the two of them in this charged moment.

"Rey," he breathed, his voice barely audible over the rain, forehead pressing to hers as water trickled between them. Her heart pounded, the romantic tension coiling like a spring—forgiveness hovering on her lips, desire flickering in the way her fingers curled into his shirt, drawing him nearer. The anger that had divided them felt distant now, washed away by the storm, replaced by the sweet ache of reconciliation, their breaths syncing in the wet night air.

Rey’s fingers trembled as they rose to the edge of her mask, the rain-slicked feathers catching on her lashes before she tugged it free. The cool air kissed her exposed face, mingling with the downpour that plastered her dark hair to her cheeks and neck, strands curling wildly in the humidity. She let the mask dangle from her loose grip, the weight of it pulling her arm down to her side, forgotten against the damp wool of Ben’s jacket that still enveloped her shoulders. Her eyes, wide and unguarded now, met his through the slits of his own mask—those deep brown depths that had haunted her dreams and her waking hours alike. The vulnerability hit her like the chill seeping through the brick at her back, stripping away the anonymity of the night.

“Ben,” she whispered, her voice cracking on the single syllable, raw and frayed from days of silence and unspoken pleas. It was a sound laced with everything she’d bottled up—the ache of his distance, the fire of their last fight, the desperate pull of love that refused to dim. The rain pattered relentlessly around them, a veil that muffled the distant echoes of the party, leaving only the ragged rhythm of their breaths to fill the space. Her free hand lifted instinctively, hovering near his chest before pressing flat against the soaked fabric of his shirt, feeling the rapid beat of his heart mirroring her own. Water trickled down her wrist, cold against her warming skin, but she didn’t pull away; instead, she leaned into the contact, her body seeking the reassurance only he could give.

Ben’s masked gaze softened, the tension in his jaw easing as he watched her unmask herself—baring not just her face, but the storm of emotions she’d hidden beneath the silk and feathers. His hands, still framing her face, thumbs brushing away the rivulets of rain and tears that blurred her features, tightened just enough to hold her steady. He reached up with one hand, fingers hooking under the edge of his own mask, and pulled it away in a slow, deliberate motion. The black fabric peeled from his skin, revealing the sharp lines of his jaw, the stubble shadowing his cheeks, and those intense eyes that locked onto hers without barrier. Rain beaded on his forehead, dripping from the dark waves of his hair that clung to his temples, but he didn’t flinch, his focus entirely on her.

He stepped impossibly closer, his body shielding hers from the worst of the rain, the heat radiating from him cutting through the wet chill like a promise. His forehead pressed to hers again, noses brushing in the intimate press, water pooling at the bridge between them.

“I meant every word in there.” The confession hung heavy, his breath warm against her lips, so close now that she could taste the faint salt of rain on the air between them. One hand slid down her neck, fingers tracing the column of her throat where her pulse fluttered wildly, while the other gripped her waist, pulling her flush against him. The silk of her red dress clung transparently to her curves in the wet, outlining the swell of her breasts and the dip of her hips, but in that moment, it was the emotional nakedness that left her breathless.

She swallowed hard, the break in her voice echoing in her chest as fresh tears welled, mixing with the rain.

“You shut me out,” she said, the words tumbling out despite the quiver in her tone, her hand fisting in his shirt to anchor herself. “After everything—I thought you didn’t want this anymore. Us.”

Her body trembled, not just from the cold, but from the flood of feelings crashing over her: the betrayal of his silence, the heartbreak of imagining a future without him, the longing that had twisted into something fierce and needy. Yet even as she spoke, her hips shifted forward unconsciously, pressing into his, seeking the solid reality of him to chase away the doubts.

Ben’s eyes darkened, a flicker of pain crossing his features before resolve hardened them. He tilted his head, lips grazing her temple in a feather-light touch that sent sparks skittering across her skin.

“I was scared,” he admitted, his voice rough, hand at her waist sliding lower to splay across the small of her back, fingers digging in just enough to claim. “The job fell through, and I... I didn’t want to hold you back. But pushing you away? That was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

His mouth hovered near her ear again, breath hot and uneven, as he nuzzled into the wet strands of her hair. The rain drummed on, but the alcove felt smaller, warmer, their bodies entwined in a tangle of soaked clothes and unspoken desires. He pulled back just enough to search her face, his thumb tracing her lower lip, swollen from biting it in uncertainty.

“Forgive me, Rey. Let me make it right.”

Her breath caught, the plea unraveling the last threads of her resistance. She nodded, the mask slipping from her fingers to the puddle at their feet, forgotten in the rising tide of need.

“Yes,” she breathed, her voice steadier now, laced with the heat building low in her belly. Her hands roamed up his chest, nails scraping lightly over the fabric clinging to his muscles, feeling the hard planes beneath.

The romantic pull between them ignited, the storm outside paling against the one brewing in their touches—the way his thigh nudged between hers, pressing against her core through the drenched silk, eliciting a soft gasp from her lips. Ben’s mouth descended then, capturing hers in a kiss that started tender, lips brushing softly at first, tasting of rain and redemption, before deepening into something hungry. His tongue swept in, claiming her with a groan that vibrated through them both, hands roaming possessively—one tangling in her hair to angle her head, the other hiking the hem of her dress just enough to slide his palm along her thigh, fingers teasing the edge of her lace panties.

The kiss broke only for air, their foreheads resting together again, breaths mingling in pants as the rain continued its relentless song. Rey’s body arched into him, the ache between her legs throbbing in time with her heartbeat, her fingers threading through his wet hair to pull him back down.

“Take me home,” she whispered against his lips, the words a plea wrapped in desire, her hips grinding subtly against his growing hardness. Ben’s eyes flared with heat, a low growl escaping his throat as he nodded, scooping her up effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her through the downpour toward his car parked just beyond the shadows.

Chapter 36

The front door of Ben's house flew open with a bang, the wood rattling against the frame as Rey and Ben stumbled inside, their mouths fused in a desperate, devouring kiss. Rain from the storm outside dripped from their clothes, pooling on the hardwood floor, but neither cared—the heat between them burned away any chill. Rey's fingers clawed at the buttons of his shirt, popping them free one by one with frantic urgency, exposing the broad expanse of his chest dusted with dark hair. She shoved the fabric aside, nails raking down his skin, leaving faint red trails that made him hiss into her mouth. Ben's hands roamed everywhere, greedy and possessive: one palm cupping her ass through the soaked silk of her dress, squeezing hard enough to lift her slightly off the ground, while the other tangled in her wet hair, yanking her head back to deepen the kiss. His tongue plunged in, stroking hers with rough, demanding strokes that mirrored the throb building in his cock, already straining against his pants.

He kicked the door shut behind them with his heel, the thud echoing through the dim entryway, sealing them in their private world. The house was dark, lit only by the faint glow of a streetlamp filtering through the windows, casting long shadows that danced across the walls. Ben broke the kiss just long enough to growl low in his throat, his lips brushing her jaw as he nipped at the sensitive skin there.

"Fuck, Rey," he muttered, voice gravelly with need, his breath hot against her neck. She moaned in response, her hands shoving his shirt off his shoulders entirely, letting it fall to the floor in a wet heap. Her own body arched into him, breasts pressing against his bare chest.

Without warning, Ben hooked his arms under her thighs and hoisted her up, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. She gasped, the sudden lift pressing her core right against the hard ridge of his erection, and she ground down on it shamelessly, the friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting through her. He captured her mouth again, kissing her roughly—teeth clashing, lips bruising—as he started up the stairs. Each step jolted them together, his grip tightening on her ass, fingers digging into the flesh as he carried her higher. Rey's arms looped around his neck, one hand fisting his damp hair to hold him close, the other sliding down to palm the bulge in his pants, stroking him through the fabric until he groaned against her lips.

"You're mine," he rasped between kisses, his voice a dark promise that made her pussy clench with anticipation. She nodded, breathless, nipping at his lower lip.

"Always."

The stairs creaked under his weight, but Ben didn't slow, his mouth trailing fire down her throat as he reached the landing. He kicked open the bedroom door—his bedroom, with the king-sized bed dominating the space, sheets rumpled from earlier neglect—and backed her against the wall just inside. The impact knocked a picture frame askew, but he pinned her there, one hand bracing beside her head while the other shoved up her dress, bunching the silk around her hips. His fingers found her lace panties, soaked not just from the rain, and he tore them aside with a rip that echoed in the quiet room. Rey whimpered, her hips bucking forward as he plunged two fingers into her slick heat, curling them deep to stroke that spot that made her see stars.

"So wet for me," he murmured, pumping in and out with deliberate thrusts, his thumb circling her clit until her thighs trembled around him.

She clawed at his belt, fumbling with the buckle in her haste, finally yanking it free and shoving his pants down just enough to free his cock. It sprang out, thick and heavy, the tip already leaking pre-cum that she smeared with her thumb, making him buck into her hand. Ben withdrew his fingers, bringing them to her lips; she sucked them clean without hesitation, tasting herself on his skin, eyes locked on his darkened gaze. With a guttural curse, he gripped her thighs again, positioning himself at her entrance, and thrust up hard, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke. Rey cried out, the stretch burning so good, her walls clenching around his length as he filled her completely. He didn't give her time to adjust, pulling back only to slam in again, setting a punishing rhythm that had the wall thumping against her back.

Their bodies slapped together, wet and urgent, his cock dragging along her inner walls with each deep plunge, hitting that perfect angle that made her toes curl. Ben's mouth found her breast through the dress, sucking hard on the fabric until it was translucent, teeth grazing her nipple as he fucked her against the wall. Rey's head fell back, moans spilling from her lips—raw, needy sounds that spurred him on.

"Harder," she begged, nails digging into his shoulders, and he obliged, hips snapping forward with enough force to lift her higher. Sweat mixed with rain on their skin, the room filling with the obscene sounds of their coupling: the squelch of her pussy taking him, his grunts, her gasps.

Finally, he spun them away from the wall, still buried inside her, and staggered to the bed, dropping her onto the mattress with him on top. The springs protested as he drove into her again, knees bracketing her hips, one hand pinning her wrist above her head while the other gripped her hip, holding her steady for his relentless pounding. Rey wrapped her legs around him, heels digging into his ass to pull him deeper, her free hand roaming his back, tracing the flex of muscles as he chased their release. "Come for me, baby. Show me you still love me" he commanded, his voice breaking on the words, thumb finding her clit to rub tight circles. The pressure built, coiling tight in her belly, until it snapped—her orgasm crashing over her in waves, pussy spasming around his cock, milking him as she screamed his name.

Ben held back, his cock throbbing deep inside Rey's clenching pussy, but he didn't let go—not yet. The urge to spill into her was overwhelming, but he fought it, wanting to draw this out, to savor every second of reclaiming her after the days of silence and pain. He slowed his thrusts, rolling his hips in a deliberate, grinding rhythm that dragged his thick length along her sensitive walls, hitting every nerve with precision. Her body was still quivering from the first orgasm, slick and hot around him, but he kept her pinned beneath him on the bed, his weight a grounding force as he leaned down, lips brushing her ear.

"Fuck, I missed you," he groaned, voice rough and low, laced with the raw ache of those lost days. His breath fanned hot against her skin, sending shivers down her spine. He pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes dark with regret and hunger, then thrust in slow, deep, burying himself to the hilt before easing out almost completely, only to sink back in. "Every fucking day." Each word punctuated a languid stroke, his cock stretching her wide, the head nudging that spot inside her that made her gasp.

Rey's hands clutched at his back, nails digging into the muscles there as she arched up to meet him, her legs locked around his waist. The slower pace built the tension anew, coiling tighter in her core, her pussy fluttering around him with every measured plunge. Ben's hand slid up to cup her face, thumb tracing her swollen lips before he captured them in a deep kiss—tender this time, contrasting the filth of their joining. His tongue slid against hers, tasting the salt of their sweat, as he murmured against her mouth between thrusts.

"I'm so sorry, Rey. For the silence, for pushing you away."

His words washed over her like balm, easing the fractures in her heart even as his body reignited the fire in her veins. She kissed him back fiercely, pouring her forgiveness and longing into it, her hips rising to take him deeper. The apology in his voice, the vulnerability cracking through his dominance, pushed her toward the edge again. Ben's pace stayed unhurried, his cock sliding in and out with wet, obscene sounds, his balls brushing her ass on each inward push. He broke the kiss to trail his lips down her neck, sucking marks into her skin—possessive brands that said she was his, always.

Rey's breath hitched, the pleasure building relentlessly, her clit grinding against his pubic bone with every roll of his hips.

"Ben," she whimpered, her voice breaking as the second orgasm crested. He kissed her again, swallowing her cries, and that was it—she shattered, body trembling violently beneath him, pussy spasming in tight, rhythmic pulses that gripped his cock like a vice. Her eyes rolled back, lids fluttering shut as waves of ecstasy ripped through her, toes curling, thighs quaking around him. The sight of her lost in it, the feel of her milking him so desperately, snapped Ben's control.

With a guttural roar, he slammed into her one last time, burying himself deep as his cock pulsed, hot cum erupting in thick spurts that flooded her core. He ground against her, prolonging the release, every twitch drawing out more until he was spent, collapsing forward to brace on his elbows so he wouldn't crush her. Their breaths mingled, ragged and synced, as the aftershocks faded. Ben pressed his forehead to hers, still sheathed inside her, unwilling to pull away.

"I love you," he whispered, the words heavy with truth, sealing the mended cracks between them. Rey's arms wrapped around him, holding tight.

 

They lay tangled on the rumpled sheets, bodies still humming from the intensity of their reunion, the air thick with the scent of sweat and satisfaction. Rey's head rested on Ben's chest, her ear pressed to the steady thump of his heartbeat, a rhythm that grounded her after the storm of pleasure and emotion. His arm curled around her waist, fingers idly stroking through her damp hair, tracing lazy patterns along her scalp. The world outside felt distant—the faint patter of rain against the window a soft counterpoint to their shared silence. For a long moment, neither spoke, content in the simple press of skin on skin, the rise and fall of his breathing syncing with hers.

But the questions lingered, shadows from the days of silence creeping back in. Rey shifted slightly, her fingers splaying across his ribs, feeling the warmth of him beneath her palm.

"Who were you with, Ben?" she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper, laced with the vulnerability she couldn't quite hide.

Ben's hand stilled for a beat, then resumed its gentle caress, his thumb brushing her temple. He didn't hesitate, his tone straightforward, no evasion in the low rumble of his confession.

"I was with my ex," he said, exhaling slowly as if releasing a weight. "And my ex-best friend. They both saw me coming out of the interview. Apparently, my ex-mate works there now." He shrugged against the pillow, the motion subtle but enough to jostle her slightly. "Somehow they talked me into drinks, and I was getting another round when she picked up your call." He admitted it all, his voice rough with regret, eyes fixed on the ceiling as memories replayed. "I was drunk and angry that I didn't get the job. I shouldn't have spoken to you the way I did. And then Monday, I was even more pissed with myself, and I don't know what happened, Rey. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that."

His arms tightened around her, pulling her closer until her body molded fully against his side, a protective hold that spoke of his remorse. She could feel the tension in his muscles, the way he held her like she might slip away if he let go. Rey's heart twisted—not with fresh anger, but with the ache of understanding, the pieces of his absence finally clicking into place. She nuzzled into him, breathing in the familiar musk of his skin, letting his words settle.

Ben tilted her chin up gently with his free hand, his dark eyes locking onto hers, intense and unguarded.

"Then this morning, they called me," he said, his gaze steady, searching her face for every flicker of reaction. "They told me they had a rethink and offered me the job."

Rey lifted her head fully, propping herself on one elbow to meet his stare, her hair tumbling over her shoulder in messy waves. The surprise widened her eyes, chasing away the last remnants of hurt.

"You got the job?"

A small, genuine smile tugged at his lips, softening the sharp lines of his face. "I got the job."

"Oh my god, Ben, this is amazing."

The words burst from her in a rush of joy, and before he could respond, she lunged forward, straddling his hips in an instant. Her hands framed his face, thumbs brushing his jaw as she crashed her lips against his in a fierce, celebratory kiss. It started joyful, all teeth and laughter muffled between them, but deepened quickly—her tongue sweeping into his mouth, tasting the salt of their earlier passion. Ben's hands gripped her thighs, holding her steady as he kissed her back with equal fervor, a low hum of approval vibrating in his chest. The world narrowed to this: her weight on him, the spark reigniting between them, promises of futures unfolding in the press of their bodies.

Rey's lips curved into a wide, breathless smile against Ben's mouth, her words tumbling out between the heated press of kisses, joy bubbling up like champagne in her veins.

"You'll be coming with me to L.A.?" she murmured, nipping at his lower lip, her hands sliding up his chest to tangle in his hair, pulling him deeper into the moment.

Ben's response came low and firm, his breath hot against her skin as he captured her mouth again, tongues sliding together in a slow, claiming dance.

"I am," he promised, his voice rough with desire and certainty. "You'll have me all summer till I start in September." His hands roamed her back, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips, anchoring her as she shifted atop him.

She sank fully into him then, her body melting against the hard planes of his, breasts pressing to his chest as she kissed him rougher, all urgency and fire. Her thighs squeezed his sides, the heat between her legs brushing his growing hardness. Pulling back just enough to speak, her eyes sparkled with mischief and hunger.

"I have an idea how I'll be spending that summer," Rey whispered, rolling her hips deliberately, grinding her slick pussy along the length of his cock, feeling it twitch and thicken beneath her.

A deep groan rumbled from Ben's throat, his grip tightening on her ass, kneading the flesh as he fought for control.

"Don't, Rey," he warned, his voice a gravelly edge, but his hips bucked up instinctively, seeking more friction. "I have two weeks of making up for," he growled, the words laced with raw need. "You were ill. Then all this week." He surged up to capture her bottom lip between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to sting, drawing a gasp from her as he soothed it with his tongue.

Rey moaned, the sharp bite sending sparks straight to her core, her body arching into him. She ground down harder, circling her hips to drag her wet folds over his shaft, coating him in her arousal.

"Where is the problem, professor?" she groaned, her voice husky and teasing, challenging him as she dove back in for another kiss, her tongue plunging deep, tasting the salt of his skin.

Ben's restraint cracked like thin ice under pressure. He flipped them in one fluid motion, pinning her beneath him on the bed, his weight pressing her into the mattress. His cock nestled hot and heavy against her thigh now, throbbing with the need she'd ignited.

"The problem," he rasped, trailing bites along her jaw to her neck, sucking a mark into the sensitive skin there, "is that I want to fuck you slow, make you beg for every inch until you're screaming my name." His hand slid between them, fingers finding her clit and circling it firmly, drawing out a whimper as he watched her face contort in pleasure. "But if you keep grinding like that, I'll pound into this tight pussy right now and not stop until you're raw and filled with my cum."

She bucked up against his hand, nails raking down his back, urging him on. The air between them crackled, the promise of endless summer nights unfolding in every touch, every heated glance.

Rey's breath hitched as Ben's fingers worked her clit in tight, insistent circles, the pressure building a fire low in her belly. She whispered against his ear, her voice a sultry rasp,

"Both sound very good," before shifting her weight, pushing up from beneath him with surprising strength. In a fluid twist, she straddled his hips again, reclaiming her position atop him, her knees bracketing his waist as she ground down hard onto his hand, trapping his fingers against her soaked pussy.

She gave him the full view he craved, arching her back in a deep, sinuous curve that thrust her breasts forward, the soft swells bouncing slightly with each roll of her hips. Her hands roamed up her own torso, fingers pinching and twisting her nipples, tugging them into stiff peaks that begged for his mouth. The sight of her like this—wild, unashamed, lost in her own pleasure—drove Ben to the edge of madness, his cock straining against her thigh.

"But you have been slacking, professor," she teased, her tone playful yet edged with challenge, eyes locking onto his with a wicked gleam. "So maybe you don't deserve my pussy." She slowed her grinding to a torturous drag, lifting just enough to let his fingers slip free, slick with her juices, before hovering over him, denying him the heat he craved.

Ben's hands shot to her thighs, gripping the soft flesh hard enough to leave faint bruises, his control fraying as he bucked up toward her.

"Fuck, Rey," he growled, voice thick with frustration and lust, his dark eyes devouring every inch of her arched form. "I've been waiting too long for this. Don't make me take it." But even as he warned her, his hips jerked, his thick cock sliding along her inner thigh, desperate for entry.

Rey's whine escaped her lips like a needy plea, her body undulating atop Ben as she declared,

"Oh, you won't be taking anything, professor, if I deny you." Her fingers trailed down her sweat-slicked skin, dipping between her thighs to rub her swollen clit in firm, deliberate strokes. She ground her pussy against his thigh now, the slick folds sliding over his muscle, coating him in her arousal while she chased her own building pleasure, her hips circling with shameless intent.

Ben's breath came in harsh pants, his hands clamping onto her ass cheeks, spreading them wide as he tried to pull her down onto his throbbing cock. The head nudged insistently at her entrance, but she lifted just enough to keep him at bay, her fingers working faster now, dipping inside her wet hole before circling back to her clit.

"Rey, goddamn it," he groaned, his voice rough and edged with desperation, hips bucking up futilely. He could feel the heat radiating from her core, smell the musky scent of her excitement filling the air, and it only made his shaft twitch harder, veins pulsing against her skin.

She tossed her head back, a moan spilling out as her free hand returned to her breast, pinching the nipple hard enough to make her gasp. Her grinding grew erratic, pussy lips dragging along his leg, leaving a trail of wetness that cooled in the air.

"That's right," she taunted breathlessly, eyes half-lidded with lust as she watched his face contort in frustration. "You have to earn this tight little pussy. Show me how bad you want to fuck me." Her fingers plunged deeper into herself, two digits thrusting in and out with wet, obscene sounds, her thumb flicking her clit in rhythm with her rolls against him.

Ben's control snapped a fraction; he surged up, capturing her wrist to still her hand, bringing her soaked fingers to his mouth. He sucked them clean, tongue lapping at her taste greedily, eyes locked on hers with feral hunger.

"I'll earn it by making you scream my name," he rasped, releasing her hand only to flip their positions in one powerful move, pinning her beneath him. His cock pressed hot and heavy against her thigh, but he held back, grinding the length along her folds instead, teasing her entrance without penetrating. "Now spread those legs wider. Let me see how wet you are for your professor."

He shifted lower on the bed, his mouth leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along her sternum, tongue flicking out to taste the salt of her skin. Rey arched beneath him, her breath hitching as his lips brushed the underside of her breast, then closed around the pebbled nipple, sucking hard enough to draw a sharp cry from her throat. He grazed his teeth over the sensitive peak, tugging lightly before soothing it with a swirl of his tongue, his stubble scraping deliciously against her flesh.

Lower still, his kisses grew hungrier, nipping at the soft plane of her stomach, his hands pushing her thighs apart wider to make room for his broad shoulders. Rey's fingers tangled in his dark hair, urging him on, but he captured her hand and pinned it to the mattress, his grip unyielding.

"Patience," he murmured against her navel, his breath ghosting over her skin like a promise of torment. He hooked one leg over his shoulder, exposing her completely, her pussy glistening with need, folds swollen and parted slightly from her earlier teasing.

Ben's gaze locked on her core, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he leaned in, inhaling her scent deeply. His tongue darted out first, a flat, broad lick from her entrance up to her clit, lapping at the slick essence coating her. Rey's hips bucked involuntarily, a whimper escaping her as pleasure sparked through her nerves. He didn't give her time to adjust; two thick fingers plunged into her heat without warning, curling upward to stroke that spongy spot inside her that made her walls clench around him. His mouth descended fully then, lips sealing around her clit, sucking with rhythmic pulls while his fingers pumped in and out, the wet sounds of her arousal filling the room.

She writhed under his assault, her free hand fisting the sheets as the coil in her belly tightened rapidly.

"Ben—oh fuck, yes," she gasped, her thighs trembling against his ears. He worked her mercilessly, tongue circling her nub in tight, insistent loops, fingers thrusting deeper, faster, scissoring to stretch her. Her breaths came in ragged pants, body coiling like a spring, so close she could taste the edge of release. But just as her pussy began to flutter, walls gripping his digits in warning, Ben pulled back abruptly. His fingers slipped free with a lewd pop, leaving her empty and aching, his mouth hovering just out of reach as she hovered on the brink.

Rey keened in frustration, her hips grinding against empty air, chasing the friction he'd denied her.

"Don't stop—please," she begged, voice breaking, but he only smirked, wiping his chin with the back of his hand before trailing feather-light kisses along her inner thigh, nipping at the tender skin there. He waited until her shudders subsided, her body cooling from the near-climax, then dove back in with renewed vigor. This time, he added a third finger, stretching her wider as he thrust them in a slow, deliberate rhythm, his tongue lashing her clit with precise flicks that built the fire anew.

Her moans grew louder, uninhibited, echoing off the walls as he devoured her, his free hand pressing down on her lower abdomen to heighten the pressure inside. He hummed against her folds, the vibration sending shockwaves through her, and she felt the orgasm building again, hotter, fiercer. Her toes curled, back bowing off the bed, breaths turning to desperate sobs.

"I'm—Ben, I'm gonna—" But he stopped once more, fingers withdrawing slowly, torturously, his lips brushing her thigh as he lifted his head to watch her squirm, her pussy clenching around nothing.

"Not yet," he rasped, voice thick with his own restraint, his cock throbbing against the mattress, leaking onto the sheets. He repeated the cycle twice more, each time driving her higher, fingers plunging deep and curling just right, mouth sucking and licking until she was a babbling mess, tears of frustration pricking her eyes. On the third edge, her body was hypersensitive, every nerve alight, her clit pulsing visibly under his gaze as he pulled away yet again. Rey thrashed beneath him, legs shaking uncontrollably, her hands clawing at his shoulders to pull him back.

"Beg for my cock, Rey," he demanded, his tone commanding, eyes burning into hers as he positioned himself between her legs, the thick head of his shaft nudging her entrance but not entering, teasing her with the barest pressure. "Tell me how much you need it inside you, filling this greedy pussy. Beg like the desperate little slut you are for your professor."

Rey's chest heaved with ragged breaths, her body a live wire of unfulfilled need, every inch of her skin flushed and slick with sweat. The air between them crackled with tension, her pussy throbbing emptily, clenching around the void he'd left behind. She stared up at Ben, his dark eyes gleaming with predatory satisfaction as he hovered over her, his cock heavy and rigid, the tip brushing teasingly against her soaked folds but denying her the penetration she craved. Tears of frustration welled in her eyes, spilling over as she writhed beneath him, hips canting upward in a futile attempt to capture him.

"Please, Ben," she whispered at first, voice trembling, but it cracked into a desperate plea. "I need you. I need your cock inside me—filling me up, stretching me. I've been so good for you, taking everything you gave, but I can't... I can't take this anymore. Fuck me, please. Pound into my pussy until I can't think straight." Her words tumbled out in a rush, raw and unfiltered, her hands reaching for him, fingers digging into his biceps as if she could pull him down by sheer will.

Ben didn't move, didn't give her an inch. He simply watched, his gaze raking over her like she was a feast he intended to savor slowly. The way her breasts rose and fell with each pant, nipples hard and begging for attention; the quiver in her thighs as they strained to close around him; the slick mess between her legs, her arousal dripping onto the sheets. It fueled the fire in his veins, his own restraint a thin thread holding back the beast inside him. Her desperation was intoxicating, a drug that made his cock twitch against her entrance, but he held back, drinking in every whimper, every broken syllable.

"More," he growled low, his voice a rumble that vibrated through her. "Beg like you mean it, Rey. Tell me how empty you feel without me buried deep."

She shattered then, the dam breaking as sobs mixed with her pleas.

"Ben, god, I'm so empty—your fingers weren't enough, your mouth wasn't enough. I need your thick cock splitting me open, ramming into me until I scream. Please, I'll do anything. Ride you, suck you, whatever you want—just fuck me now. I love you, I need you so bad it hurts. Don't make me wait anymore; claim me, own this pussy that's yours."

Her voice rose in pitch, frantic and hoarse, body arching off the bed as another wave of denied pleasure crashed through her. She bucked against him, the head of his shaft slipping just inside her entrance before he pulled back, eliciting a wail from her throat. "Ben! Fuck, please—I'm yours, all yours. Stretch me, fill me, make me cum on your cock. I can't... I beg you..."

Her words washed over him like gasoline on flames, stoking the dark hunger that twisted in his gut. The raw vulnerability in her eyes, the way she bared her soul alongside her body—it was everything he craved, the power of her submission feeding his dominance. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered his head, his lips brushing the inside of her knee first, a soft contrast to the torment he'd inflicted. He kissed upward, languid and teasing, tongue flicking out to taste the salt on her skin as her begs continued to spill from her lips in a nonstop torrent.

"Yes, Ben—oh god, yes, take me," she gasped as his mouth trailed along her inner thigh, nipping at the sensitive flesh there. Her hands flew to his hair again, tugging weakly, but he batted them away, pinning one wrist above her head with his free hand. His kisses grew firmer, hotter, moving inch by inch over the curve of her hip, across the dip of her waist. Each press of his lips drew fresh whimpers from her, her body undulating beneath him, pussy grinding against the air in desperation.

He paused at her breast, sucking the nipple into his mouth with a wet pull, teeth grazing just enough to make her cry out.

"Harder—please," she begged, voice breaking on a sob. "I want bruises from your grip, your cock bruising my insides. Don't hold back; ruin me for anyone else." Ben's response was a low hum against her skin, the vibration shooting straight to her core as he licked a path up her collarbone, savoring the way her pulse hammered under his tongue.

Her desperation only intensified his arousal, his cock leaking steadily now, the scent of her need mingling with his own musk in the air. He kissed the hollow of her throat, feeling her swallow convulsively around her pleas.

"Ben, I'm dying here—your cock, I need it deep, pounding, making me yours forever. Please, love, fuck your desperate girl." The words were music to him, dark and sweet, pushing him closer to the edge of control.

Finally, he reached her mouth, his body aligning fully with hers, the heat of his chest pressing down on her breasts. Her eyes locked on his, wide and pleading, lips parted on another breathless beg.

"Now—please, now—" But he silenced her with a fierce kiss, claiming her mouth in a brutal clash of lips and teeth. His tongue plunged inside, dominating the kiss, tasting her whimpers as they vibrated against him. One hand snaked up to wrap around her throat, fingers splaying across the delicate column of her neck, squeezing just enough to make her gasp into his mouth. The pressure was possessive, a reminder of his control, her pulse racing under his palm like a trapped bird.

Rey moaned into the kiss, her body going pliant under his hold, submission flooding her veins even as her hips jerked upward. Ben's free hand gripped her hip, angling her just right, and with a single, powerful thrust, he buried his cock to the hilt inside her. The stretch was immediate and overwhelming—her walls, slick and swollen from his earlier teasing, clamped down around his thick length like a vice, pulling him deeper. He groaned against her lips, the sound guttural, as her heat enveloped him completely, her pussy fluttering wildly around the intrusion.

She cried out, the sound muffled by his mouth, her nails raking down his back as pleasure-pain exploded through her. He didn't give her time to adjust; his hips snapped forward again, pulling out halfway before slamming back in, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the room. His hand tightened on her throat, not choking but holding, grounding her as he set a punishing rhythm—deep, relentless thrusts that hit that spot inside her over and over, driving her toward the orgasm he'd denied her so many times.

Rey's begs dissolved into incoherent moans, her body arching to meet each plunge, legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer. The kiss broke only for air, but he dove back in, devouring her as his cock pistoned in and out, stretching her, filling her until she felt split open and whole all at once. The coil in her belly wound tighter with every stroke, her walls rippling around him, and Ben felt it—the telltale clench signaling her impending release. He released her throat to brace on his forearms, pounding harder, faster, chasing his own peak as her desperation finally tipped into ecstasy.

"Cum for me, Rey," he rasped against her lips, voice strained with his building climax. "Milk my cock like the good girl you are." And she did, shattering around him with a scream, her pussy convulsing in waves that dragged him over the edge with her. He thrust deep one last time, spilling hot cum inside her, ropes of it painting her walls as they rode out the bliss together, bodies locked and trembling in the aftermath.

Ben's thick cock slid free from Rey's drenched pussy with a slick, audible pop, a warm gush of his seed spilling out to coat her inner thighs and soak into the rumpled sheets beneath them. Her walls clenched around nothing, still fluttering from the brutal rhythm he'd set moments ago, leaving her body humming with residual pleasure that bordered on ache. He shifted onto his side, the powerful lines of his frame settling close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his skin, his chest rising and falling in sync with her own ragged breaths. The air in the room hung heavy with the scent of their joining—sweat, sex, and the faint metallic tang of exertion.

His hand, large and steady, reached out to sweep a sweat-dampened lock of hair from her forehead, his touch feather-light now compared to the iron grip he'd had on her hips earlier. Rey turned her head toward him, her eyelids heavy-lidded, and caught his stare—those deep, stormy eyes that always unraveled her. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, satisfied and predatory, as he traced the curve of her cheek with his knuckles.

"You are so goddamn beautiful when you beg for me," he said, his voice a gravelly murmur that sent a fresh shiver racing down her spine. She held his gaze, her lips parting on a soft exhale, the bliss still glazing her features like a veil. "But that look right now, that twinkle of bliss—is something to die for."

The words wrapped around her heart, squeezing tight, and Rey felt a swell of emotion rise in her chest, mixing with the languid warmth pooling in her limbs. She propped herself up slightly, the sheets whispering against her bare skin, and leaned in to press her mouth to his. It was a simple kiss, unhurried and sweet, her lips molding softly to his, tasting the salt of their shared exertion. Her tongue darted out just once, brushing his in a gentle tease before she drew back, reluctant but content.

Ben didn't let the distance linger. His arm hooked around her waist, hauling her body against his with effortless strength, her curves fitting perfectly into the hard planes of his torso. She nestled into him, her cheek against the steady thud of his heartbeat, one arm draping lazily over his ribs while her leg hooked over his thigh. His embrace tightened, arms banding around her like steel cables, holding her so securely that she could feel every inch of him pressed to her—the coarse hair on his chest tickling her breasts, the semi-hard length of his cock nestled against her hip, still slick from their release. His hand roamed her back in slow, possessive strokes, fingers splaying wide to cover as much of her as possible, while his breath stirred the hair at her temple.

Time blurred in the cocoon of their bodies, the outside world reduced to irrelevance. Rey's eyelids drifted shut, her fingers idly sketching circles on his abdomen, dipping lower now and then to trace the V of muscle leading to his groin. The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of a bedside lamp, casting long shadows that danced with their subtle shifts. Minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity of quiet intimacy, broken only by the soft sounds of their breathing and the occasional sigh escaping her lips. Ben's free hand toyed with the ends of her hair, twisting strands around his fingers, as if anchoring himself to her in this fragile peace.

Chapter 37

Notes:

Okay slight time jump because I am wrapping this story up soon. Ready for christmas time, got a few christmas stories lined up.

The spring air carried a crisp edge as April waned, the campus blooming with the tentative greens of new leaves and the buzz of impending freedom. Months had slipped by in a haze of stolen moments and quiet routines, the chaos of earlier tensions dissolving like morning fog. Rey and Ben had carved out a rhythm that felt almost too perfect—lazy afternoons tangled in his office chair after hours, her skirt hiked up around her waist as he thrust into her from behind, desk papers scattering like confetti. Those quick, heated encounters grounded him, chased away the shadows that sometimes lingered in his eyes, leaving him steadier in front of the classroom. Lectures flowed without a hitch, students hanging on his every word, and Rey found herself thriving too, her grades soaring as the weight of uncertainty lifted. No more late-night arguments or silences; just the two of them, navigating the secrecy with a thrill that kept the fire alive.

But now, with graduation looming just over a week away, the end of it all crashed in like a wave. The end of April hit hard, a whirlwind of final exams, cap-and-gown fittings, and the electric hum of farewells. Today marked yearbook photo day, the ritual that made everything feel achingly real. The group had gathered in the cafe, a familiar haunt with mismatched wooden tables, the rich aroma of fresh coffee beans mingling with the faint sweetness of pastries cooling on wire racks. Sunlight slanted through the wide windows, warming the worn leather booths where they sprawled, legs bumping under the table in comfortable chaos.

Rey sat wedged between Rose and Ben, her thigh pressed discreetly against his under the cover of the tablecloth, a subtle reminder of the heat they'd shared in his office the night before. She sipped her iced latte, the condensation beading on the plastic cup, while Rose animatedly scrolled through her phone, showing off senior quote ideas with bursts of laughter. Poe lounged across from them, his arm slung casually over the back of the booth, Finn beside him nursing a black coffee that steamed lazily. The cafe hummed with similar groups—clusters of students in hoodies and jeans, flipping through yearbooks or practicing poses, the barista calling out orders with a cheerful lilt. A chalkboard sign by the counter announced "Senior Send-Off Specials," and the playlist overhead crooned soft indie tracks, underscoring the bittersweet vibe.

Their names hadn't been called yet for photos, so the conversation meandered from cap toss predictions to wild post-graduation party plans. Ben, ever the composed one, leaned back with a half-smile, his dark eyes flicking to Rey now and then, a private spark passing between them that made her cheeks warm. He'd been lighter these days, the job in L.A. secured and the future stretching out like an open road—him starting in September, her following after wrapping up loose ends here. Rose, vibrant in her oversized sweater and jeans, nudged Rey's elbow.

"Okay, but seriously, what's your pose gonna be? The classic peace sign, or something fierce like a warrior stance?"

Before Rey could answer, Poe cleared his throat dramatically, exchanging a loaded glance with Finn. The table quieted, forks pausing mid-air over shared scones. Poe's usual grin widened, but there was a nervous edge to it, his fingers drumming on the table.

"Alright, we've got news. Finn and I... we both got into Ohio State."

The words hung in the air for a beat, then exploded into a mix of cheers and stunned silence. Rose's eyes widened first, her phone clattering to the table as she let out a squeal, half-joyful, half-disbelieving.

"Ohio State? Like, actual Buckeyes? That's huge! Oh my god, you guys!" She lunged across the table to pull them into a group hug, her arms flailing in excitement, knocking over a sugar packet that scattered white grains like confetti.

Rey felt a pang twist in her chest, sharp and unexpected. She forced a smile, reaching out to squeeze Poe's hand, but the sadness bloomed quick—Ohio was hours away, a whole different world from the sun-soaked sprawl of L.A. where she and Rose were headed. No more impromptu cafe hangs, no more late-night study sessions that devolved into gossip marathons, no more Poe's endless supply of bad jokes to lighten the mood. Finn caught her eye, his expression softening with understanding, and she swallowed hard, the lump in her throat making her latte taste bitter.

"That's... that's amazing, you two. Seriously. We're so proud."

Rose pulled back, her enthusiasm dimming as reality sank in. She slumped against the booth, her lower lip caught between her teeth, eyes glistening just a touch.

"Wait, Ohio! We won't see you guys every day? Or, like, ever?" Her voice cracked on the last word, the casual facade slipping to reveal the raw edge of loss. They'd all been a unit since freshman year—Rose with her fierce loyalty, Rey with her quiet determination, Poe's charisma holding them together, Finn's steady presence the glue. The thought of scattering felt like ripping pages from a favorite book.

Poe leaned forward, his voice dropping to that earnest tone he reserved for real talks.

"Hey, come on. It's not like we're vanishing into the ether. Ohio's a drive, sure, but breaks? We're coming straight to L.A. Every chance we get—Thanksgiving, spring break, summer if we can swing it. Beaches, tacos, crashing on your couches. You won't shake us that easy." He winked, but his eyes held a promise, serious and unwavering.

Finn nodded, his hand finding Poe's under the table in a subtle show of solidarity.

"Yeah. We've already talked about it. Road trips, flights—whatever it takes. L.A.'s gonna be your new playground, right? Rose with her art scene dreams, Rey diving into whatever adventure you chase next. We'll visit, crash your parties, make you regret inviting us." He chuckled, but it was soft, laced with the same undercurrent of reluctance. The group had weathered so much together—parties that got too wild, heartbreaks, triumphs—and this felt like the first real fracture.

The sadness lingered, a quiet undercurrent as they clinked mugs in a toast, laughter bubbling up to chase it away. Rose wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, smudging her mascara just a bit.

"Fine, but you're buying the first round of In-N-Out when you show up. And no excuses— we've got a group chat for life now."

"Rey Kenobi? Rey for photos!" It echoed slightly, pulling Rey from the warmth of the booth and the tangle of emotions swirling around the table. She blinked, setting down her drink with a soft clink, her fingers lingering on the cool glass for a beat longer than necessary. The group's eyes turned to her—Rose with an encouraging grin, Poe flashing a thumbs-up, Finn nodding steadily, and Ben's gaze holding hers with that quiet intensity that always sent a subtle thrill down her spine.

"Alright, wish me luck," Rey said, sliding out of the booth with a playful roll of her eyes. She smoothed her hands over her jeans, the denim hugging her hips just right, and tugged at the hem of her fitted sweater, suddenly hyper-aware of how the fabric clung to her curves. Graduation loomed so close now, the air thick with that mix of nostalgia and nerves, and this photo felt like a snapshot of it all—her on the edge of everything changing. She grabbed her ID from the table, waving it like a flag as she headed toward the hall, the wooden floorboards creaking under her sneakers.

The corridor outside stretched long and familiar, lined with lockers painted in the school's faded blue, posters for the upcoming ceremony curling at the edges from the humidity of spring. Sunlight filtered through high windows, casting elongated shadows that danced with the faint draft from an open door. As Rey rounded the corner toward the makeshift photo studio—a converted conference room with a draped backdrop and portable lights—she caught sight of Ben just ahead. He was striding purposefully down the hall, his broad shoulders filling out the crisp button-down shirt that tapered to his waist, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle from those weekend hikes he dragged her on. His dark hair was tousled just enough to look effortless, and he carried a stack of papers under one arm, probably grading notes or lesson plans for the last week of classes.

Their eyes met for a split second across the space—his darkening with that familiar heat, a silent acknowledgment of the secrets they shared in these very walls. Ben's office was just beyond the studio, tucked at the end of the hall like a hidden promise. He gave a subtle nod, the corner of his mouth quirking up before he pushed open his door and disappeared inside, the latch clicking shut with a soft finality. Rey's pulse quickened, a flush creeping up her neck. The memory of their last 'meeting' there flashed unbidden—her bent over his desk, his hands gripping her thighs as he drove into her, muffling her gasps against his palm. She shook it off, forcing her focus back to the task at hand, but the anticipation lingered like a low hum in her veins.

Turning resolutely toward the photo room, Rey pushed through the door into a brighter space buzzing with organized chaos. A photographer in a vest dotted with lens caps directed a line of seniors, the air smelling of fresh ink from Sharpies on name tags and the faint ozone tang of camera flashes.

"Next up, Rey Kenobi," the woman called, waving her over with a clipboard in hand. Rey stepped forward, her sneakers squeaking on the linoleum, and settled into the folding chair positioned against the blue-draped backdrop. The lights were hot on her face, making her skin prickle, but she adjusted quickly, crossing her legs and tilting her head just so.

"Whenever you're ready—give me your best senior smile," the photographer instructed, adjusting the lens with a whir. Rey took a breath, letting the weight of the moment settle. This was it: the girl who'd juggled classes, heartbreak, and stolen nights with her professor, emerging stronger, ready for L.A. and whatever came next. She lifted her hand, fingers forming a peace sign near her cheek, and curved her lips into a cute, genuine smile—eyes crinkling at the corners, a spark of mischief in her expression that captured the joy bubbling beneath the surface. The flash popped twice, bright and blinding, then the photographer nodded approvingly.

"Perfect. That's a keeper."

Rey blinked away the spots, standing with a stretch that arched her back slightly, easing the tension from sitting.

"Thanks," she murmured, grabbing her ID from the side table and slipping out the door before the line could shuffle forward. The hall felt quieter now, the distant murmur of voices from the cafe blending with the tick of wall clocks marking the minutes until freedom. Her feet carried her instinctively down the corridor, away from the main flow of students, toward Ben's office. She glanced over her shoulder—no one watching, just the empty stretch of hall and the faint echo of her steps. Dipping low to avoid any stray glances from open doors, she moved with purpose, her heart picking up tempo as she approached the familiar wooden panel marked

She paused outside, hand hovering over the knob, a grin tugging at her lips despite the flutter in her stomach. The door was solid oak, scarred from years of use, and she could almost feel the warmth radiating from within, or maybe that was just her imagination running wild. With a quick knock—three sharp raps that were their secret code—she twisted the handle and pushed inside, the door swinging shut behind her with a decisive click. The office enveloped her like an embrace: bookshelves crammed with leather-bound volumes and dog-eared paperbacks, the desk cluttered with red pens and half-finished syllabi, the air carrying that blend of his cologne—sandalwood and something earthier—and the faint mustiness of old pages.

Ben looked up from where he leaned against the desk, arms crossed over his chest, that predatory glint in his eyes already sharpening as he took her in. "Rey," he drawled, voice low and laced with amusement, pushing off to close the distance in two strides. "Skipping the group celebration for a private consultation?" His hand found her waist, pulling her flush against him, the heat of his body seeping through their clothes. Rey's breath hitched, her peace-sign fingers now curling into his shirt as she tipped her head back, lips brushing his jaw.

"Photo's done. Cute smile, peace sign—the whole senior package," she whispered, her free hand sliding up his arm, nails grazing the skin exposed by his rolled sleeve. "But I figured you could use a break from all that grading. Or maybe I could help you out" Ben pulls her in close and smashes his lips to hers.

Rey's fingers tangled in the fabric of Ben's shirt, pulling him deeper into the kiss as their mouths moved with urgent hunger. His hands gripped her hips, thumbs pressing into the soft give of her skin through her sweater, but she had other plans—plans that burned hot in her core, fueled by the thrill of sneaking into his office during what should have been a mundane school day. She broke the kiss with a gasp, her lips swollen and tingling, and placed her palms flat against his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath.

"Sit," she murmured, her voice husky, eyes locked on his with a mischievous glint that made his breath hitch.

Ben's dark gaze flickered with surprise and desire, but he let her guide him backward, his boots scuffing softly against the carpet as she steered him toward the desk. The edge of the wooden surface bumped against the back of his thighs, stopping him just short of the chair. Rey's hands slid down his torso, tracing the hard lines of his abdomen, before she gave a firm push. He sank into the worn leather seat with a low grunt, his legs spreading instinctively as she stepped between them. The office air felt thicker now, charged with the scent of his arousal mingling with the faint leather polish from the chair.

She dropped to her knees without hesitation, the carpet rough against her skin through her jeans, but she didn't care—the heat pooling between her thighs drowned out any discomfort. Her fingers worked quickly at his belt, the metal buckle clinking as she unfastened it, then tugged the leather strap free with a swift yank. Ben's hands hovered at his sides, fists clenching as he watched her, his chest rising and falling faster.

"Rey," he whispered, voice rough like gravel, but there was no protest, only raw need etched into his features.

The zipper of his pants rasped down next, her hands delving inside to free him from the confines of his boxers. His cock sprang out, thick and heavy, already hard and throbbing in the cool office air. Rey licked her lips, a soft hum escaping her as she wrapped her fingers around the base, feeling the velvety heat of him pulse against her palm. She stroked once, slow and deliberate, watching his head tip back against the chair with a stifled groan. Her breath ghosting over the sensitive skin before her tongue flicked out to lap it up, savoring the salty tang.

Ben's hand came down to thread through her hair, not pushing but anchoring, as she parted her lips and took him in. Her mouth enveloped the head first, sucking gently while her tongue swirled around the ridge, drawing a sharp hiss from him. She hollowed her cheeks, sliding down further, inch by inch, until he filled her mouth completely. The stretch was familiar, intoxicating, and she moaned around him, the vibration making his thighs tense under her hands. She bobbed her head, setting a rhythm—up and down, her lips sealed tight, saliva coating him as she worked him deeper with each pass.

His hips jerked slightly, chasing the wet heat of her mouth, but he restrained himself, fingers tightening in her hair. Rey's free hand cupped his balls, rolling them gently, adding to the building pressure as she sucked harder, her tongue pressing flat against the underside of his shaft. The sounds were obscene in the quiet room: the slick slide of her mouth, his ragged breaths, the occasional pop when she pulled back for air before diving down again. She could feel him swelling further, twitching against her throat, and it spurred her on, her own arousal soaking through her panties as she imagined him losing control right there in his professor's chair.

Halfway through, just as Rey was hollowing her cheeks for a particularly deep suck, a sharp knock echoed through the office door. Ben froze, his body going rigid, eyes snapping open wide with panic.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, his hand clamping down on her shoulder as he shoved her gently but urgently toward the floor. Rey's heart slammed in her chest, a thrill of danger mixing with the lust as she scrambled under the desk, knees scraping the carpet. The desk was large enough to shield her, the wooden panel hanging low enough to hide her form if she stayed low, but it was a tight fit—her back pressed against the cool metal of the filing cabinet, Ben's legs framing her space like a cage.

She didn't stop. Couldn't stop. The risk ignited something wild in her, and as Ben straightened his shirt with trembling hands and called out,

"Come in," she leaned forward again, taking his cock back into her mouth without missing a beat. He was still rock-hard, slick from her saliva, and she sucked quietly, muffling any sounds with careful precision.

The door creaked open, and footsteps approached—heavy, deliberate.

"Ben? Got a minute?" The voice belonged to Mr. Kalonia, one of the biology teachers, a lanky man in his forties with a perpetual squint and a habit of wandering into offices unannounced. Rey could see his loafers from her vantage point, polished but scuffed, stopping just beyond the desk's edge.

"Yeah, sure, what's up?" Ben replied, his voice steady but strained, like he was forcing it through gritted teeth. Under the desk, Rey's lips slid down his length again, her tongue tracing the vein along the underside, and she felt him twitch violently in response. His hand dropped to the edge of the desk, knuckles white as he gripped the wood.

Kalonia cleared his throat, leaning against the doorframe casually.

"I was prepping for that poetry night— you know, metaphors all that jazz. Got a question about some Shelley lines. 'The fountains mingle with the river, and the rivers with the ocean...' How do you tie that to natural selection without sounding like a pretentious ass?"

Ben shifted in his chair, his knee brushing Rey's shoulder as he tried to angle away, but she followed, her mouth working relentlessly. She took him deeper, throat relaxing to swallow around him, the quiet gluck of her efforts barely audible over the hum of the air conditioner. Precum leaked steadily now, coating her tongue, and she hummed softly, the vibration shooting straight through him. Ben coughed to cover a gasp, his free hand fisting at his side.

"Uh, right. Shelley. That's... from 'Love's Philosophy.' You could, ah—" He paused as Rey's teeth grazed him lightly, a teasing scrape that made his cock jerk. "You could frame it as... interconnectedness in ecosystems. Rivers feeding oceans, species adapting through symbiosis."

Kalonia chuckled, oblivious, stepping closer to peer at the papers scattered on the desk.

"Symbiosis, yeah, that works. But what about the romantic angle? Feels a bit forced for bio kids—they'll roll their eyes." Rey's hand pumped the base of his shaft in time with her sucks, twisting slightly, and Ben's thigh muscle quivered against her cheek. She could smell him—musk and sweat and the faint trace of his soap—mixed with the confined space under the desk making her heady.

"They'll get it if you... relate it to real examples," Ben managed, his voice pitching higher for a split second as Rey deep-throated him fully, nose brushing his pubic hair. He cleared his throat again, louder this time. "Like, mutualism in pollination. Bees and flowers—necessary exchange." Sweat beaded on his forehead, visible to Kalonia, who tilted his head curiously.

"You okay, man? Look a bit flushed. Allergies acting up?"

Ben forced a laugh, short and bark-like, as Rey's tongue swirled around the head while her hand squeezed his balls. He was close—she could feel it in the way he throbbed, the tension coiling in his body.

"Just... grading hangover. Long day." Under the desk, Rey quickened her pace, sucking with wet, insistent pulls, determined to push him over the edge right there, hidden in the shadows.

Kalonia nodded, jotting something on a notepad he'd pulled from his pocket.

"Fair enough. Thanks for the input—saves me from butchering it in class tomorrow." He turned toward the door. The door clicked shut behind Kalonia, footsteps fading down the hall, and Ben's control shattered. His hand slammed down on the desk, the other flying to her hair as he thrust shallowly into her mouth.

"Fuck, Rey—" The words dissolved into a guttural groan as he came, hot spurts flooding her throat. She swallowed greedily, milking him through it, her own body aching with unfulfilled need as his cock pulsed and softened in her grasp.

Panting, Ben slumped back, pulling her up from under the desk with shaky hands. Her lips were red and glossy, chin damp, and he hauled her onto his lap, crushing her against his chest in a fierce kiss that tasted of salt and release.

"You're insane," he murmured against her mouth, but his eyes burned with adoration and lingering hunger.

Rey's lips curved into a sly smile against Ben's mouth. She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, her voice a soft whisper laced with teasing challenge.

"Maybe, but you love me."

Before he could respond, she slipped from his lap, her bare feet padding across the carpet toward the office door. The click of the lock echoed in the quiet space, sealing them away from the prying eyes of the school hallway. Her heart raced with the thrill of it all—the risk still fresh from moments ago, now amplified by this bold step. She turned back to him, fingers already working the button of her jeans, popping it open with deliberate slowness. The zipper rasped down, and she hooked her thumbs into the waistband, shoving the denim down her hips in one fluid motion. They pooled at her ankles, and she kicked them aside, standing there in just her shirt, knickers, and socks, her skin prickling in the cool office air.

Ben's gaze darkened, raking over her exposed legs, the curve of her thighs leading up to the damp spot on her black cotton knickers. He leaned forward in the chair, elbows on his knees, watching her like a predator sizing up prey. But Rey wasn't done. She reached for the hem of her shirt, peeling it up and over her head, her breasts bouncing free as she tossed it onto the floor. No bra today—another small rebellion that made her nipples harden instantly under his stare. Her hands moved to her knickers next, sliding them down her legs, the fabric clinging slightly to her wet folds before she stepped out of them. Naked now except for her socks, she stood tall, unashamed, her body flushed with arousal, pussy already slick and aching from the earlier tease.

"Now bend me over your desk and fuck me, professor," she demanded, her voice low and commanding, eyes locked on his with fiery intent. She sauntered back toward the desk, hips swaying, and placed her palms flat on the wooden surface, arching her back to present herself to him. Her ass lifted invitingly, the bird tattoo on her shoulder visible.

Ben rose from the chair slowly, his pants still open, cock semi-hard and glistening from her mouth. He stepped up behind her, hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave faint marks, pulling her back against him.

"You have no idea what you're asking for," he growled, his breath hot on her neck as he ground his hips forward, his thickening shaft pressing between her ass cheeks. One hand slid up her spine, tangling in her hair to yank her head back gently, exposing her throat. He nipped at the skin there, teeth grazing, before soothing with his tongue. "But fuck, I want to give it to you."

He released her hair and used both hands to spread her legs wider, her feet shifting apart on the carpet. His fingers traced the curve of her ass, dipping between her thighs to find her soaked pussy. He stroked her folds roughly, thumb circling her clit while two fingers plunged inside, curling to hit that spot that made her knees buckle. Rey gasped, pushing back against his hand, her walls clenching around the intrusion.

"Please," she whimpered, the demand turning to plea as he pumped his fingers faster, the wet sounds filling the room.

Ben withdrew his hand abruptly, leaving her empty and whining, and positioned himself at her entrance. His cock was fully hard now, the head nudging her slick lips apart. He teased her for a moment, sliding up and down her slit, coating himself in her juices, before gripping her hips again and thrusting in with one deep, forceful stroke. Rey cried out, her body jolting forward against the desk, the edge digging into her stomach. He filled her completely, stretching her tight pussy around his girth, the sensation bordering on too much but exactly what she craved.

"Quiet," he ordered, voice strained as he pulled back almost all the way out, then slammed back in, setting a brutal pace. His hips snapped against her ass, skin slapping skin, each thrust driving deeper, hitting her cervix with a delicious ache. Rey bit her lip to stifle her moans, but they escaped anyway—sharp, needy sounds that made Ben's control fray. He reached around to cover her mouth with one hand, the other sliding down to rub her clit in tight circles, matching the rhythm of his pounding.

The desk creaked under their weight, papers scattering to the floor as Rey braced herself, nails scratching the wood. Ben's free hand roamed her body—squeezing her breast, pinching her nipple until she arched higher, then trailing down to slap her ass lightly, the sting blooming into heat that made her pussy flutter around him.

"That's it," he grunted, leaning over her to whisper in her ear. "Take my cock like the good girl you are. So fucking tight for me."

Rey pushed back to meet his thrusts, grinding her hips in circles to feel him everywhere inside her. The pressure built fast, coiling in her belly. She sucked on his palm, tongue swirling, tasting the salt of his skin as muffled whimpers vibrated against it. Ben's pace faltered for a second, his own release approaching, balls tightening as her walls gripped him like a vice.

He straightened up, both hands now on her hips, pulling her onto him harder, faster. The angle changed, his cock dragging against her g-spot with every plunge, and Rey shattered. Her orgasm crashed over her, pussy spasming, juices squirting around his shaft as she shook, vision blurring. Ben followed seconds later, burying himself to the hilt and groaning low as he came, hot cum flooding her depths, marking her from the inside.

They stayed like that for a moment, panting, his chest heaving against her back. Slowly, he pulled out, a mix of their fluids trickling down her thigh. Ben turned her around gently, lifting her onto the desk so she sat on the edge, legs wrapped around his waist. He kissed her deeply, tongues tangling, hands cupping her face. "God, I love you," he murmured when they broke apart, foreheads pressed together. "Insane or not."

Rey slid off the desk with a satisfied sigh, her body still humming from the afterglow, thighs sticky with their combined release. She bent down to scoop up her discarded knickers first, the black cotton damp and clinging to her fingers as she stepped into them, pulling them up her legs with a wiggle of her hips. The fabric settled against her sensitive pussy, a reminder of Ben's cock stretching her just moments ago, and she bit her lip to stifle a soft moan at the friction. Next came her jeans, the denim rough against her flushed skin as she tugged them over her ass, buttoning them with quick, efficient movements. Her shirt followed, slipping over her head and falling into place, covering the faint red marks Ben's hands had left on her breasts.

Ben watched from where he leaned against the desk, his pants zipped but shirt still untucked, cock softening but his eyes dark with lingering hunger. He crossed his arms over his chest, a smirk playing on his lips as he took in the sight of her dressing—her curves shifting, the way her hair tumbled messily around her shoulders.

"You're leaving already?" he asked, his voice low and rough, laced with mock disappointment. He pushed off the desk, closing the distance between them in two strides, his hand reaching out to trace a finger down her arm, sending shivers across her skin.

Rey turned to face him fully, her cheeks still pink, a playful glint in her eyes as she smoothed her shirt down.

"Yeah, I got a graduation speech to go write," she said, winking at him with that cheeky confidence that always made his pulse quicken. She stepped closer, rising on her toes to press a quick kiss to his jaw, her lips soft and warm against his stubble. "One more week and me and you. We're free. No more hiding. No more secrets." Her words came out happy, light with excitement, her hands sliding up his chest to rest on his shoulders, fingers squeezing gently as if to seal the promise.

Ben's expression softened, the possessive edge in his gaze melting into something deeper, more tender. He caught her waist, pulling her flush against him one last time, his cock twitching faintly through his pants at the feel of her body molding to his.

"A week feels like forever," he murmured, his breath ghosting over her ear as he nuzzled into her hair, inhaling the scent of her shampoo mixed with the musk of their sex. His hands roamed down to cup her ass, giving it a firm squeeze that made her gasp and arch into him. "But imagining you up there, owning that stage, talking about your future... fuck, it's going to be hot. And then you'll be mine, out in the open. No more sneaking around offices or stolen glances in the halls."

She laughed softly, the sound vibrating against his chest, her fingers threading through his hair to tug him down for a proper kiss. Their lips met slowly this time, not the frantic clash from before but a deep, lingering press—tongues sliding together lazily, tasting the remnants of each other. Rey's body responded instinctively, her nipples hardening under her shirt as she pressed her breasts against him, but she pulled back before it could escalate, her hands on his chest to create space.

"Save that energy for next week, Professor," she teased, her voice husky. "I need to focus on not tripping over my words during the speech. Can't have everyone knowing I'm daydreaming about your cock instead of diplomas."

Ben chuckled, a low rumble that made her core clench, but he let her go, stepping back with visible reluctance. He adjusted himself in his pants, watching as she grabbed her bag from the floor, slinging it over her shoulder. The office felt smaller now, charged with the weight of what was coming—the end of restrictions, the start of something real. "Go write that speech," he said, his tone affectionate but firm. "Make it good. And text me when you're done. I want details—every word that makes you sound like the brilliant woman I know you are."

Rey nodded, blowing him a kiss from the doorway before unlocking it and slipping out, the click of the latch echoing behind her. As the door closed, Ben sank back into his chair, running a hand through his hair, already counting down the days. One more week, and she'd be his completely—no walls, no fears, just them.

Chapter 38

The school cafe hummed with the subdued energy of a late-spring evening, its fluorescent lights casting a soft, even glow over the mismatched tables and vinyl booths that had seen better days. The air carried the familiar mix of greasy fries, overcooked burgers, and the faint tang of industrial cleaner, a scent that had become synonymous with hurried lunches, whispered secrets, and the occasional food fight during their high school years. On this night before graduation, the place felt both comforting and confining, like a well-worn jacket that no longer fit quite right. Rey, Rose, Finn, and Poe had squeezed into their usual corner booth near the vending machines, the one with the cracked seat cushion that always made Poe complain but never enough to move. Trays cluttered the table: half-eaten slices of pizza with congealing cheese, a pile of limp fries doused in ketchup, and a shared basket of onion rings that had gone cold but no one minded.

Rey paused, her plastic fork hovering over a forkful of cafeteria mac and cheese, the noodles clumped together in a gooey mass that she poked at absentmindedly. She glanced up from her food, her gaze sweeping over her friends' faces illuminated by the harsh overhead lights. Rose was mid-bite into a chicken tender, her dark hair tied back in a messy ponytail, while Finn methodically dipped a fry into ranch dressing, his broad frame making the booth feel smaller. Poe, ever the restless one, drummed his fingers on the edge of his tray, his curly hair tousled from an earlier game of frisbee on the quad.

"You know, this is the last time we'll be eating like this? Here, I mean, all four of us," Rey said, her voice laced with a wistful edge as she set her fork down. "Tomorrow, we all leave this shithole." She chuckled, the sound light but tinged with the ache of finality, her brown eyes lingering on the scuffed Formica tabletop scarred from years of carved initials and spilled sodas. The weight of impending goodbyes pressed on her—LA awaited with its sun-soaked promise and Ben's hand in hers, but this chapter, these faces across from her, would scatter like leaves in the wind.

Rose swallowed her bite, wiping her mouth with a napkin that came away smudged with sauce. She leaned back, her expression softening into something vulnerable, the usual spark in her eyes dimmed by the moment.

"I'm going to lowkey miss it," she admitted, her fingers twisting the straw in her soda cup, the ice rattling softly. Rose had been the glue holding their group together through breakups, exams, and everything in between, but tonight, the admission hung heavy, a quiet confession amid the clatter of trays from nearby tables where underclassmen lingered, oblivious to the milestone looming for the seniors.

"Same. More just you guys than the school—the school sucks," Finn chimed in, his deep voice steady as he nodded, pushing his tray aside to rest his elbows on the table. He flashed a grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes, but there was a flicker of sincerity beneath it. Finn had always been the rock, the one organizing group study sessions in the library or driving them to the lake on weekends, his easy reliability a constant in their chaotic lives. Ohio State called to him and Poe with visions of tailgates and new beginnings, yet the thought of dorms without these late-night rants left a hollow spot.

Poe nodded in agreement, snagging the last onion ring from the basket and crunching into it with a satisfying snap.

"Yeah, what he said. This place? Total drag. But you lot? Irreplaceable."

He leaned forward, his animated gestures nearly knocking over Rose's drink, his laughter bubbling up to cut through the nostalgia. Poe's infectious energy had fueled countless adventures—from sneaking into the rooftop for stargazing to belting out karaoke at the local dive bar. His path to college mirrored Finn's, but the separation from Rey and Rose to the Midwest tugged at him, evident in the way he scanned their faces, committing the moment to memory.

The cafe's overhead speakers crackled faintly with an old pop song, barely audible over the murmur of voices and the occasional burst of laughter from the kitchen staff wrapping up their shift. A few stragglers milled about—a couple of freshmen playing cards, a teacher grabbing coffee to grade papers—but their booth felt like its own world, insulated by years of shared history. Rey traced a finger along the edge of her tray, her thoughts drifting to the ceremony tomorrow: the gowns, the speeches, the handshakes that would launch them into the unknown. Ben's presence lingered in her mind, a secret thrill amid the farewells, but she kept it tucked away, focusing on the here and now.

"Everyone done their speeches?" Rose asked, breaking the reflective pause as she speared a stray fry, her tone shifting to practical curiosity. She glanced around the table, her bracelet catching the light as it slid down her wrist, a subtle reminder of the friendship tattoos she shared with Rey.

Rey nodded, a small smile curving her lips as she recalled the late nights revising her words in the quiet of her dorm.

"Yup. Mine's locked and loaded—kept it real, no fluff." She took a sip from her water bottle, the cool liquid grounding her, a surge of anticipation mixing with the bittersweet air. Delivering it on stage would feel like closing a book, one filled with triumphs and heartaches alike.

"Finishing it tonight," Poe said with a dramatic sigh, rubbing his temple as if already battling writer's block. "I've got the outline scribbled on a napkin from chem lab, but turning it into gold? That's a post-dinner grind." He chuckled, the self-mockery drawing sympathetic eye-rolls, his flair for the theatrical promising a speech that would have the audience roaring.

"Had mine written for months," Finn said, his tone matter-of-fact but proud, leaning back with arms crossed over his chest. "Practiced it in the mirror like a pro athlete pre-game. No way I'm fumbling up there." His quiet confidence shone through, the product of meticulous planning that defined him, from football plays to life goals.

"Okay, so just me who hasn't started. Cool, cool," Rose chuckled, her laugh bright and self-deprecating as she threw her hands up in exaggerated defeat. "No pressure. I'll channel my inner Shakespeare or just ramble about how we survived this madness—crowd'll eat it up either way." The table dissolved into easy laughter, the sound weaving through the cafe like a thread pulling them closer, chasing away the shadows of tomorrow.

The laughter from Rose's self-deprecating quip still echoed softly around the booth, mingling with the distant clink of dishes being cleared by the cafe staff. The air felt thicker now, laced with the unspoken weight of endings, but the warmth of their camaraderie kept the melancholy at bay. Poe leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with that trademark mischief as he fixed his gaze on Rose, who was still fiddling with her straw, her cheeks flushed from the banter.

"You'll nail it," Poe said to Rose, his voice brimming with genuine encouragement. He reached across the table to give her shoulder a playful nudge, nearly toppling the empty soda cup in the process. Poe's optimism was infectious, the kind that turned doubts into fuel, and in that moment, it wrapped around Rose like a safety net.

Finn nodded emphatically, setting down his fork with a decisive clatter. He wiped his hands on a napkin, his broad smile revealing the easy confidence that had always made him the group's unofficial cheerleader.

"Everyone loves you here. You could go up and just start singing and people will cheer you," he added, his tone light but sincere. The image of Rose belting out a tune on stage drew a fresh round of chuckles, visions of her animated energy captivating the auditorium flashing through their minds. Finn's words carried the truth of their shared history—Rose's charisma had lit up more than one assembly, turning ordinary moments into memorable ones.

Rey nodded in agreement, her lips curving into a soft, affirming smile as she pushed her tray aside, the remnants of her mac and cheese forgotten. She met Rose's eyes across the table, the bond between them unspoken but palpable.

"You could just peace out and people would go mad," Rey added, her voice warm with affection. The idea of Rose simply waving goodbye and sparking chaos among the crowd felt spot-on, a testament to how deeply she was woven into the fabric of their school life. Rey's heart tugged at the thought, her own speech revisions paling in comparison to the effortless way Rose connected with everyone.

The conversation shifted seamlessly into reminiscences, the kind that unfolded like a well-worn photo album, each story pulling them deeper into the past. Poe kicked it off, recounting the infamous homecoming prank from sophomore year when he and Finn had rigged the principal's chair with whoopee cushions during the pep rally.

"Remember how the whole gym erupted? We thought we were done for, but he just laughed it off," Poe said, his hands gesturing wildly as if reliving the chaos. The table buzzed with overlapping voices—Rose jumping in to describe how she'd covered for them by distracting the crowd with an impromptu cheer, her face alight with the memory.

Finn leaned back, arms crossed, as he took his turn with the tale of their junior year road trip to the state fair, where a malfunctioning Ferris wheel had stranded them at the top for nearly an hour.

"Rey was freaking out about heights, but then she spotted that cotton candy stand below and started negotiating with the operator like a pro," he said, grinning at Rey, who rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her smile. Rose piled on, mimicking Rey's determined shouts down to the ground crew, her impression so spot-on that they all dissolved into laughter again, the booth shaking with the force of it.

Rey sighed then, the sound heavy with the pull of what was slipping away. She rested her chin on her hand, gazing at the group with a mix of fondness and sorrow.

"I'm gonna miss all of us together," she admitted, her voice quieter now, the words carrying the ache of separation. The admission hung in the air, raw and real, acknowledging the chasm that loomed after tomorrow—paths diverging to colleges, cities, and lives yet to unfold. Rey's thoughts flickered briefly to Ben, to the sun-drenched future in LA that promised reinvention, but here, in this moment, it was these faces that anchored her.

Poe's expression softened, his usual energy tempered by empathy as he reached over to squeeze her arm.

"But L.A., Rey—you and Rose are gonna own it," he said, injecting a note of excitement to lift the mood. His words painted a picture of palm-lined streets and endless possibilities, a rallying cry for the adventures ahead. Poe had always been the dreamer, spinning silver linings from goodbyes, and his enthusiasm sparked a glimmer of hope in Rey's eyes.

Rey tilted her head, a thoughtful smile playing on her lips as she traced the rim of her cup.

"She is... I don't even know what I want yet," Rey confessed, her tone laced with uncertainty but not defeat.

Finn nodded sagely, his deep voice steady as he leaned in, drawing them all into his circle of reassurance. "Well, L.A. is the city of dreams," he said, the phrase rolling off his tongue with a poetic lilt. "Seems fitting to find your own dreams there." His words encapsulated the optimism of youth, the belief that reinvention waited just beyond the horizon.

The cafe's fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead as the group lingered in their booth, the weight of impending goodbyes settling like a soft fog around them. Rose pushed her chair back with a determined scrape against the tiled floor, her backpack slung over one shoulder, the strap digging into the fabric of her faded denim jacket. She smoothed down her skirt, a nervous habit that betrayed the flutter of anxiety beneath her confident exterior, and glanced around the table with a mix of resolve and reluctance.

"Well, I should start that speech," Rose said, her voice carrying a forced brightness that didn't quite mask the tremor of stage fright. She had been agonizing over her valedictorian address for weeks, scribbling drafts on napkins during study hall and practicing in front of the dorm mirror until her throat grew hoarse. The words were meant to inspire, to capture the essence of their shared journey, but in this moment, they felt like a daunting mountain she had to climb alone. Rose extended a hand toward Rey, her fingers wiggling invitingly. "Rey, you coming?"

Rey looked up from her half-hearted doodle on the edge of a napkin—a swirling pattern of palm trees and city skylines that represented her LA dreams—and managed a small nod. The sadness in her eyes was unmistakable, a quiet storm brewing behind her warm brown gaze. Graduation loomed like a finish line she wasn't sure she wanted to cross, pulling her away from the familiar rhythms of school life and toward an uncertain horizon.

"Yeah," she replied softly, sliding out of the booth with a grace that belied the heaviness in her chest. "I just gotta clear out my locker. I still have to pack up most of my room." Her words trailed off into a sigh, the reality of dismantling her space—a sanctuary of posters, textbooks, and mementos—hitting her like a wave. The dorm room she shared with Rose was a chaotic archive of their friendship: fairy lights strung haphazardly, stacks of shared novels, and a corkboard pinned with photos from every milestone.

Poe, ever the glue holding their group together, leaned back in his seat with his arms crossed, his easy smile a beacon in the dimming cafe. He had already shouldered his own bag, the one emblazoned with a faded Buckeyes logo in anticipation of Ohio State, and now he tilted his head thoughtfully.

"Breakfast tomorrow before grad starts?" he suggested, his tone light but laced with the same underlying nostalgia. It was a simple proposal, but it carried the promise of one last ritual, a final gathering before the ceremony swallowed them whole. Poe's mind was already racing ahead to the drive home, the empty dorms, and the quiet that would follow, but he masked it with his usual optimism, hoping to etch one more moment into their collective history.

Rose chuckled, the sound bubbling up like a release valve for the tension coiling in her shoulders. She looped her arm through Rey's, giving a gentle tug to help her up from the booth, their friendship a tangible force that steadied them both.

"Of course—who else will we be eating with?" she quipped, her laughter drawing a reluctant grin from Rey and a nod from Finn, who was already stacking their trays with efficient motions. The group rose in a loose formation, jackets zipped against the evening chill that seeped through the cafe's glass doors, and they shuffled toward the exit.

Outside, the campus paths were bathed in the golden hue of streetlamps, the air crisp with the scent of blooming lilacs from the nearby quad. They parted ways at the fork in the path, Rose heading straight to their dorm with a wave and a reminder to not stay out too late.

"Don't forget the boxes—I grabbed extras from the RA's office," she called over her shoulder, her figure receding into the shadows of the residence hall. Rey watched her go for a moment, the solitude wrapping around her like a familiar cloak, before turning toward the row of lockers that lined the humanities wing. The hallway was nearly deserted now, the echoes of slamming doors and muffled conversations from earlier in the day faded into silence. Lockers stood like sentinels, dented and sticker-covered from years of use, each one a repository of forgotten notes, gum wrappers, and the occasional contraband snack.

Rey stopped at hers, she twisted the combination lock with practiced ease and the door swung open with a metallic creak, revealing the organized chaos within: a jumble of notebooks with dog-eared pages filled with Ben's essay prompts, a spare hoodie that still carried the faint trace of his cologne, and a cascade of loose pens that clattered to the floor as she began emptying the shelves. Her movements were methodical but tinged with melancholy, each item a thread connecting her to this place, to the late afternoons spent lingering after English class, stealing glances at Ben across the room.

She paused, her hand hovering over a crumpled syllabus from the fall semester, the one where his handwriting had looped elegantly around the margins. It was his last day two days ago—Friday's final bell had rung out like a punctuation mark on their hidden chapter here—but they hadn't seen each other since. The distance had been deliberate, a necessary space to navigate the end of term without drawing eyes, but it left an ache in her chest that no amount of packing could fill. Ben had promised to be there tomorrow, though, his voice low and reassuring during their last stolen call, weaving assurances of forever amid the static of uncertainty. Rey leaned against the cool metal of the adjacent locker, her gaze drifting down the hall to the closed door of his English classroom. The frosted glass panel was dark, the room beyond empty of his presence, but she could picture it vividly: the worn oak desk piled with graded papers, the chalkboard smudged with quotes from Shakespeare, the window overlooking the quad where they'd shared so many unspoken moments.

A soft smile curved her lips, unbidden and tender, as she stood there in the quiet hallway, the weight of her backpack forgotten on the floor. The school felt like a sleeping giant now, halls hushed and lights dimmed for the night, but tomorrow it would awaken in a frenzy of caps and gowns, cheers and tears.

"One more sleep," she whispered to the empty air, the words a mantra against the flutter of nerves in her stomach. It was more than just the ceremony—it was the bridge to LA, to Ben's arms without the shadow of secrecy, to a life where their love could breathe freely under sunlit skies.

With renewed purpose, Rey swept the last of her belongings into her arms—a textbook on Romantic poets, a friendship bracelet from Rose that had frayed at the edges, and a single wildflower pressed between the pages of her journal, a memento from a springtime walk. She clicked the locker shut, the sound echoing sharply in the stillness, and secured the padlock one final time. The hallway stretched before her, leading back to the dorms where Rose would be waiting, probably already drafting her speech on her laptop amid a nest of blankets. Rey shouldered her bag, the straps biting into her shoulders, and started down the path, the campus lights casting long shadows that danced with her steps.

 

The heavy dorm door clicked shut behind Rey with a soft finality, the sound echoing faintly in the narrow hallway lined with similar doors, each one a portal to someone else's winding down chapter. She paused for a moment, adjusting the strap of her backpack that dug into her shoulder, the weight of her emptied locker contents shifting inside like unsettled thoughts. The air in the residence hall carried the familiar mix of lingering microwave dinners, fresh laundry, and the faint, underlying mustiness of a building on the cusp of summer emptying out. Footsteps from other students—some hurried, others meandering—faded into the distance as she made her way to room, her sneakers padding softly against the worn carpet that had seen countless late-night treks.

Pushing the door open, Rey was met with the stark transformation of their shared space. What had once been a vibrant cocoon of college life now resembled a half-abandoned shell, stripped of its personality and warmth. Rose was in the midst of packing, her movements efficient and purposeful as she folded a stack of sweaters into a cardboard box labeled 'Clothes - Donate?' in her neat, looping handwriting. The room's plain white walls, once plastered with polaroids of beach trips, concert tickets from their freshman year, and a massive world map dotted with pins marking dream destinations, now stood bare and unforgiving under the harsh glow of the overhead light. Posters had been carefully rolled and stored, leaving only faint adhesive ghosts—pale rectangles where color had once bloomed. The twin beds, pushed against opposite walls, were stripped of their colorful quilts; sheets lay neatly folded at the foot, exposing the plain blue mattresses that sagged slightly from years of use.

Rose looked up from her task, her dark hair tied back in a messy ponytail that had strands escaping like rebellious thoughts, and offered a tired but genuine smile. Sweat beaded lightly on her forehead from the effort, and a smudge of marker ink streaked her cheek from labeling boxes earlier.

"Hey, you made it back. How was the locker purge? Find any ancient artifacts?" she asked, her voice light despite the underlying fatigue, as she taped shut the flap of her current box with a satisfying rip.

Rey dropped her backpack by the door and let out a small laugh, the sound a bit forced but warming the chill of the emptying room.

"Just the usual—old notes from psych that I'll never read again, and that hoodie I thought I'd lost. It's all in here." She gestured to her bag before crossing the room to Rose's side, her eyes scanning the progress. The desk they shared—scarred with pen marks from frantic study sessions—had been cleared of books and lamps, its surface wiped down to a sterile shine. Empty shelves gaped like missing teeth, the ones that had once held Rose's collection of succulents (now relocated to the windowsill for their final days) and Rey's array of scented candles, their wicks blackened from romantic evenings that had spilled into whispered confessions.

Without a word, Rey knelt beside Rose and picked up an empty box from the stack near the closet, its edges crisp and smelling faintly of the cardboard factory. She began packing her side of the room, starting with the bottom drawer of her dresser. Layers of socks, mismatched and balled up from hasty mornings, went in first, followed by the tangle of scarves and belts that had accumulated over seasons. Each item she handled stirred a flicker of memory: the red scarf Ben had draped around her neck during a snowy campus walk, its wool soft against her skin as he'd pulled her close. She worked methodically, folding t-shirts with care, stacking them to maximize space, her mind a quiet whirl of nostalgia amid the rustle of fabric and tape.

Rose glanced over occasionally, her hands mirroring Rey's motions as she tackled the closet—hangers clinking as she bundled dresses and jackets into garment bags.

"This place is going to feel like a ghost town by tomorrow," Rose murmured, pulling out a pair of jeans that had seen better days. "Remember that time we turned this into a fort with all the blankets during finals week? Hid from the world with pizza and bad rom-coms." Her chuckle was soft, laced with the bittersweet edge of endings.

Rey nodded, a smile tugging at her lips as she sealed her first box.

"How could I forget? You cried during the pizza scene in that one movie—the one with the talking cat."

They shared a laugh, the sound bouncing off the bare walls, filling the void left by their possessions. Rose finished her side sooner, her organizational skills shining through as always; she stood, stretching her arms overhead with a groan, her tank top riding up to reveal the sliver of toned midriff earned from weekend hikes.

"Alright, I'm calling it on this half. Need a shower—smell like a mix of dust and desperation." She grabbed her towel and toiletries caddy from the bathroom door, flashing Rey a wink. "Don't pack my secret stash of chocolate without me."

The bathroom door clicked shut behind her, and soon the steady hiss of the shower filled the background, a rhythmic white noise that underscored Rey's continued efforts. She moved to the shelves next, dusting off the empty wood before stacking the few remaining knick-knacks— a ceramic mug from their road trip to the coast, chipped but cherished; a framed photo of the four of them at prom, arms linked and grins wide under twinkling lights. The drawers followed, yanked open one by one: the top one with its jumble of jewelry, chains and earrings that caught the light like stars; the middle with notebooks filled with half-finished poems inspired by Ben's classes, words that now felt prophetic in their themes of longing and new beginnings. She emptied them all, the space growing emptier with each sweep of her arm, until the dresser stood hollow, its mirrors reflecting back a room transformed.

Finally, with her side complete, Rey stepped back, surveying the scene. Boxes lined the floor like soldiers ready for departure, labeled in her own scrawled hand: 'Kitchen Stuff,' 'Books for LA,' 'Memories - Keep.' The walls were stark white canvases, devoid of the chaos that had defined their sanctuary. Shelves hung empty, their brackets casting odd shadows in the lamplight she'd plugged into the single outlet. Drawers gaped open like silent invitations, waiting for nothing. She lowered herself onto the edge of her bed, the mattress dipping under her weight, the bare frame creaking in protest. The room felt vast now, echoes of absence amplifying the quiet patter of the shower from the adjoining bathroom.

Rey let her gaze wander, tracing the contours of the space that had been her home for four whirlwind years. Here, in this unassuming box of a room, they'd built a world: late nights bent over textbooks, Rose's head on her shoulder as they dissected plot twists in novels; mornings waking to the smell of instant coffee brewed on their hot plate, gossiping about crushes and campus scandals while sunlight filtered through the thin curtains. Laughter had rung from these walls during impromptu dance parties to playlists of indie rock and pop anthems, bodies swaying in the cramped space until they collapsed in giggles. Tears had fallen too—over failed exams, heartbreak from fleeting flings, the ache of homesickness that bound them closer. And Ben... oh, the secrets whispered in the dark. This place had witnessed it all: the forging of friendships that felt eternal, the unraveling of doubts, the spark of dreams that now propelled them forward.

A soft sigh escaped her lips as she hugged her knees to her chest, the cool air raising faint goosebumps on her arms. They weren't leaving for L.A. till the weekend—graduation tomorrow would be the ceremonial send-off, caps tossed into the air like confetti marking the end—but the anticipation thrummed in her veins like a live wire. Rose's parents had a place out there already, a sunny condo in Echo Park with views of the Hollywood hills, spacious enough for both girls to crash until they found their footing. Ben had finalized his apartment weeks back, a cozy two-bedroom in Silver Lake that he'd described, a balcony overlooking the reservoir, space for her and his overflowing bookshelves. Everything was ready to go—leases signed, boxes prepped for the moving truck, itineraries mapped on shared Google docs.

Excitement bubbled up through the melancholy, warming her from within like the first sip of morning coffee. L.A. wasn't just a city; it was freedom—their love unshadowed by classroom walls and prying eyes, sun-soaked days blending into nights of possibility. Rey could already picture it: mornings tangled in Ben's sheets, the scent of ocean air drifting through open windows; afternoons exploring with Rose, hunting vintage shops and street art; evenings with the whole crew via video calls, promising visits during breaks. The future stretched out like the Pacific horizon, vast and inviting, erasing the small-town constraints that had once felt suffocating.

The shower cut off with a sputter, and Rose emerged moments later, wrapped in a towel, her skin flushed pink and hair dripping onto the tile floor. She padded over, droplets trailing behind her, and plopped down beside Rey on the bed, the mattress bouncing lightly.

"Deep thoughts or just zoning out?" she asked, nudging Rey's shoulder with her own, a conspiratorial grin splitting her face.

Rey turned, her eyes brightening as she met her friend's gaze. "A bit of both. This place... it's been everything. But yeah, mostly excited. L.A.'s waiting."

Rose nodded, squeezing her arm. "Hell yeah, it is. New adventures, no more 8 a.m. lectures. Though I'll miss our fort-building days." They sat there in companionable silence, the empty room around them a testament to closures and the promise of openings, as the night deepened outside their window.

Rose lingered on the bed for a moment longer, her towel-clad form radiating the fresh, soapy scent of lavender body wash that mingled with the stale air of the emptying room. She tilted her head, studying Rey's face with that intuitive gaze that had always cut through pretenses during their late-night heart-to-hearts.

"You okay? Really?" she pressed gently, her voice a soft anchor in the quiet.

Rey managed a nod, unfolding her legs and standing with a stretch that popped a few joints from the day's emotional weight.

"Yeah, just... processing. But in a good way. Tomorrow's the big one—graduation, then freedom." She forced a brighter smile, the kind that reached her eyes just enough to reassure her friend. Rose accepted it with a squeeze of her hand before hopping up to rummage through her suitcase for pajamas, the fabric whispering as she pulled out a worn tank top and shorts.

The room's bareness amplified every small sound now: the distant hum of a vacuum from the hall as RAs prepped for turnover, the faint tick of the wall clock they'd decided to leave behind, marking time like an indifferent sentinel. Rey turned back to her boxes, spotting a few last bits scattered like forgotten punctuation in their story. A lone hair tie looped around her wrist caught her eye first—she slipped it off and tucked it into the 'Misc' box, its elastic stretched from years of ponytail battles during study marathons. Next, a crumpled syllabus from her final English seminar peeked from under the bed; she fished it out, smoothing the creases before folding it neatly and adding it to the stack of papers destined for recycling. Memories flickered with each item: the syllabus's margins filled with doodles of hearts and stars during Ben's lectures, his voice droning on about symbolism while her mind wandered to the way his fingers gripped the chalk.

She moved to the windowsill, where the last succulent—a stubborn jade plant Rose had named 'Spike'—sat in its terracotta pot, leaves dusted with the fine layer of dorm grime. Rey watered it one final time from the half-empty bottle on her nightstand, the soil drinking it up greedily. "You're coming with us," she murmured to the plant, as if it could hear, picturing it thriving on Ben's sun-drenched balcony in Silver Lake. The thought sent a warm flutter through her chest, chasing away the chill of nostalgia. A forgotten bookmark—leather-bound with 'Dream Big' embossed in gold—lay wedged in the frame of her mirror; she pried it free, running her thumb over the worn edges, a gift from Poe during sophomore year to combat her reading slumps.

With those final touches complete, the room achieved a skeletal cleanliness, every surface echoing with the ghosts of occupancy. Boxes stood sentinel along the walls, taped and labeled, ready to go. Rey's side felt lighter, unburdened, mirroring the lift in her spirit as the weekend's promise loomed. She grabbed her shower caddy from the shelf—a plastic bin overflowing with shampoo, conditioner, and that eucalyptus-scented body scrub Rose had sworn by for stress relief—and her towel, the soft blue one embroidered with her initials from home.

"I'm hitting the shower now," Rey announced, pausing at the bathroom door where steam still lingered from Rose's turn, fogging the small mirror above the sink. Rose, now dressed and cross-legged on her bed scrolling through her phone, looked up with a thumbs-up.

"Take your time. I'll probably crash soon—gotta be bright-eyed for tomorrow's chaos." The door clicked shut behind Rey, sealing her into the tiny tiled space that had hosted countless rituals of renewal: post-party rinses, pre-exam pep talks shouted over the spray, tears washed away under hot streams.

She stripped off her clothes, the fabric pooling at her feet in a heap of denim and cotton, her skin prickling in the cooler air before the water roared to life. Twisting the knob, she stepped under the cascade, letting the heat envelop her like a comforting embrace. Rivulets traced paths down her body, easing the tension from her shoulders, her neck, as she lathered soap across her arms, stomach, and legs. The steam rose in thick clouds, blurring the world to a hazy cocoon where thoughts could roam unchecked. She replayed the day's fragments: the laughter at dinner with the group, the ache of impending goodbyes to Finn and Poe, the solid certainty of Ben's plans aligning with hers. His apartment—finalized weeks ago, as he'd texted her excitedly one night after a virtual tour—featured hardwood floors she imagined padding across barefoot, a kitchen where they'd cook disastrous but loving meals, a bedroom with a king-sized bed for lazy Sundays tangled in sheets.

Shampoo suds foamed between her fingers as she massaged her scalp, eyes closed against the sting, her mind drifting to tomorrow. Graduation: the march across the stage, the toss of the cap, the hugs and photos that would immortalize this chapter. And Ben— he'd be there, in the crowd, his dark eyes finding hers amid the sea of faces, a secret smile just for her. The water rinsed away the suds, leaving her clean, renewed, the faint scent of eucalyptus clinging to her skin like optimism.

Toweling off, she dressed in her favorite sleep set: a soft cami and boy shorts, the fabric cool against her warmed body. Back in the room, Rose was already under her covers, the lamp casting a golden pool over her book—an old favorite romance novel she'd reread for comfort.

"Night, Rey. Dream of palm trees and celebrities," Rose mumbled, her eyes heavy.

"Night," Rey whispered back, flicking off the main light and climbing into her own bed. The mattress, now bare of its usual pillows and throw blankets, felt stark but familiar. She pulled the thin sheet up to her chin, the room plunging into darkness save for the sliver of moonlight sneaking through the blinds. Her phone lay on the nightstand, screen dark but tempting. Propping herself on an elbow, she unlocked it, the blue glow illuminating her face as she opened her messages.

Ben's thread was the last one, filled with a mix of sweet nothings and logistical plans:

"Apartment keys arrive Tuesday. Can't wait to show you around."

Her thumbs hovered, then typed swiftly:

"cant wait for tomorrow." She hit send, the whoosh confirming it, a small thrill bubbling as she imagined his phone lighting up wherever he was—probably in his own space, packing or grading final papers, his broad shoulders hunched over a desk.

No immediate reply came, but she didn't expect one this late; tomorrow would bring his voice, his touch, in the light of day. Setting the phone face-down, Rey sank back into the pillows, her eyelids growing heavy. The room's silence wrapped around her, broken only by Rose's soft breathing across the way and the occasional creak of the building settling. Sleep tugged at her gently, visions of the ceremony blending with dreams of sunlit streets in L.A., Ben's hand in hers, the future unfolding like an open road. As her breaths evened out, the weight of the day dissolved, leaving only anticipation for the dawn.

Chapter 39

Sunlight pierced through the thin gaps in the blinds like insistent fingers, casting striped patterns across the bare dorm room floor. The air hung heavy with the remnants of last night's quiet anticipation, a faint trace of lavender from Rey's shower lingering like a half-remembered dream. Rey stirred beneath her sheet, her body heavy with the deep sleep of exhaustion, dreams of sun-soaked balconies and Ben's warm hand in hers fading into the haze of wakefulness. She felt the mattress dip slightly, then a firm hand on her shoulder, shaking her with increasing urgency.

"Rey! Rey, wake up!" Rose's voice cut through the fog, laced with a mix of panic and that irrepressible energy she always carried, even in crisis. Rey's eyelids fluttered, her mind sluggish as she registered the pressure on her arm. Rose shook harder, her nails digging in just enough to jolt.

"Rey, we slept in! We packed the damn alarm clock last night. We have thirty minutes before graduation starts!"

Rey's eyes shot open, wide and disbelieving, the world snapping into sharp focus. Her heart lurched into her throat, a surge of adrenaline flooding her veins like ice water.

"What?" The word escaped as a croak, her voice thick with sleep. She bolted upright, the sheet tangling around her legs for a split second before she kicked it free. The room spun briefly—boxes stacked neatly by the door, the stripped beds, the emptiness that screamed finality—but there was no time to dwell. Graduation. Now. Thirty minutes. Her mind raced, piecing together the timeline: the ceremony in the auditorium, caps and gowns, Ben in the crowd, their future waiting just beyond this chaotic morning.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet hitting the cool linoleum with a slap that grounded her. Her graduation cloak and hat lay draped over the chair beside her nightstand, where she'd placed them meticulously the night before, a talisman against the nerves. Rey snatched them up, the black fabric whispering as she shook it out, the square cap's tassel swaying like a pendulum counting down the seconds. Underneath, her clothes from yesterday—a simple white blouse and black skirt—were rumpled but serviceable; she yanked them on with frantic efficiency, buttons flying through holes by muscle memory alone. The skirt zipped up crookedly at first, but she tugged it straight, her fingers trembling slightly from the rush.

Across the room, Rose was already a whirlwind of motion, her own gown half-on, one arm shoved through a sleeve while she balanced on one foot to pull up her tights.

"I can't believe this," Rose muttered, her dark hair a wild halo as she raked a brush through it. "We were so on top of everything yesterday. How did we forget the alarm?" She glanced at the nightstand. Rose's phone, propped against a water bottle, blinked with missed notifications: group chats exploding with last-minute excitement from Finn and Poe, reminders from the school app about lineup times.

Rey darted to the small mirror propped against the wall, the one they'd used for countless outfit checks and tear-streaked pep talks. Her reflection stared back—hair a tousled mess of waves, eyes puffy from sleep, a faint crease from the pillow on her cheek.

"Hair first," she decided aloud, grabbing her brush from the edge of the dresser. She attacked the tangles with vigor, the bristles scraping her scalp as she yanked it into a hasty ponytail, securing it with the hair tie from her wrist. Stray strands escaped, framing her face in soft rebellion, but it would do. Makeup next: she swiped on mascara in quick, uneven strokes, blinking against the wand to avoid smudges, then a hasty layer of lip gloss that tasted like cherries and haste. Her hands shook as she applied blush, cheeks already flushed from the adrenaline, blending it with her fingertips until it looked natural enough.

Rose, meanwhile, had commandeered the desk chair, twisting to reach the back of her head with a curling iron plugged into the lone outlet. The scent of singed hair filled the air as she worked, creating loose waves that cascaded down her back.

"Pass the eyeliner," she demanded, and Rey tossed it over without looking, the tube sailing through the air to land in Rose's palm. Rose lined her eyes with bold precision, even in the frenzy, her movements practiced from years of turning heads at dances and parties. She slipped into her gown fully now, the fabric settling over her curves like a second skin, the mortarboard perched jauntily on her head.

"You look fierce, by the way. Ben's gonna lose it when he sees you up there."

The mention of Ben sent a fresh spark through Rey's chest, cutting through the panic like a lifeline. She imagined him in the audience, his tall frame squeezed into a folding chair, those dark eyes scanning the stage until they locked on her. No time for doubt or the lingering shadows of past hurts; today was theirs. Rey straightened her cloak, the polyester smooth under her palms, and adjusted the hat so the tassel hung straight.

"We can do this," she said, more to herself than Rose, grabbing her phone and slipping it into her pocket. A quick check: 8:35 AM. Fifteen minutes to get across campus. The auditorium was a ten-minute jog at best, but with gowns billowing, it might take longer.

Rose nodded, smacking her lips after a final gloss application, her makeup complete in a whirlwind of powders and potions. She shoved her feet into sensible flats—heels were a post-ceremony luxury—and grabbed her ID lanyard, the plastic badge swinging as she moved.

"Let's move! Finn and Poe are probably already lining up, wondering where we are." The door banged open as they burst into the hallway, the sound echoing off the empty walls of the dorm, now a ghost town of departing students. Other grads rushed past, gowns flapping like dark wings, laughter tinged with nerves mingling with the scuff of shoes on tile.

 

The auditorium loomed like a colossal beast under the morning sun, its stone arches framing wide double doors that swung open and shut with the ebb and flow of arriving graduates and their families. Rey and Rose burst through the final stretch of the quad, their gowns billowing behind them like black sails caught in a frantic wind, the square caps threatening to slip from their heads with every pounding step. The campus paths, usually dotted with leisurely strollers and coffee-sipping students, were now a chaotic river of motion: parents in pressed suits and floral dresses clutching programs and cameras, siblings darting underfoot with balloons bobbing overhead, the air thick with the scent of fresh-cut grass, perfume, and the faint, greasy promise of concession stand hot dogs from a nearby tent. Laughter and chatter swelled around them, a symphony of excitement undercut by the occasional frantic shout—"Hurry, the procession starts soon!"—but Rey barely registered it, her lungs burning as she matched Rose's relentless pace.

They cut across the lawn at a diagonal, skirts hiking up slightly to free their legs, flats slapping against the dew-kissed turf. Rey's ponytail had come half-undone during the sprint, loose waves whipping across her face, sticking to her sweat-dampened cheeks; she swiped them away with one hand while clutching her cap with the other, the tassel tangled in her fingers like a lifeline. Rose, ever the picture of determined grace even in disarray, pumped her arms with athletic precision, her waves bouncing wildly, a few curls plastered to her neck from the exertion.

"Almost there," Rose gasped between breaths, her voice ragged but laced with that unshakeable optimism. "I can see the doors—don't stop now!" The distance blurred: the library's clock tower chimed a warning quarter-hour, its bells tolling like a heartbeat syncing with Rey's own thundering pulse. Twenty minutes gone; ten left until the dean called the lineup to order. Adrenaline sharpened everything—the cool bite of the breeze on her flushed skin, the metallic tang of fear-sweat on her tongue, the way her blouse clung uncomfortably to her ribs.

They hit the pavement leading to the entrance at full tilt, dodging a cluster of teary-eyed moms snapping selfies with their grads. Rey's chest heaved, each inhale a shallow stab as she pushed through the doors, the sudden shift from outdoor clamor to the auditorium's muffled roar hitting her like a wall. The space inside was a cavern of polished wood and vaulted ceilings, rows upon rows of cushioned seats stretching out in terraced waves, already half-filled with a sea of faces turned expectant toward the stage. Banners in school colors—crimson and gold—draped from the balconies, fluttering gently from the AC vents overhead. The air hummed with anticipation: low murmurs blending into a constant buzz, the shuffle of programs being passed, the distant twang of a microphone test echoing from the podium where faculty in academic regalia milled about, adjusting notes and robes. Spotlights warmed the stage, illuminating the backdrop of the university seal and a massive screen displaying the class motto: "Forge Ahead, Unbound."

Rey and Rose skidded to a halt just inside the foyer, both doubling over with hands on knees, gulping air in desperate heaves. Rey's vision spotted at the edges, her throat raw as she straightened slowly, one hand pressed to her side where a stitch knifed deep. Sweat trickled down her temple, and she wiped it away, tasting salt on her lips.

"Holy... crap," she wheezed, her voice a hoarse whisper, the cap now askew on her head. Rose leaned against the wall for support, her chest rising and falling in rapid bursts, a laugh bubbling up through the gasps—half-hysterical, half-relieved.

"We... made it. Barely. I think my lungs are on fire." She tugged at her gown's collar, fanning herself, her makeup holding strong but her cheeks a vivid pink from the run. Around them, stragglers streamed in: a guy adjusting his tie mid-stride, a group of girls linking arms and whispering excitedly, the faint scent of hairspray and cologne mingling with the polished oak of the floors.

Before Rey could catch her breath fully, a familiar voice cut through the din from the seating area ahead.

"Rey! Rose! Over here—hurry up, you two!" It was Finn, waving frantically from a cluster of seats about midway down the aisle, his broad grin splitting his face even as he craned his neck to spot them. Beside him, Poe leaned forward, one arm slung over the back of the empty chair next to him, his dark hair tousled under his cap as he beckoned with equal urgency.

"Come on, before they lock the doors! We saved your spots!" Their voices carried over the heads of the crowd, drawing a few amused glances from nearby families, but in the chaos, it blended right in.

Rey exchanged a quick, breathless nod with Rose, the shared adrenaline sparking a grin between them despite the exhaustion. They wove through the throng, gowns swishing against legs as they navigated the narrow aisles. Apologies spilled from their lips—"Excuse us, sorry!"—as they squeezed past knees and purses, the seats creaking under shifting weights. The auditorium's energy pulsed around them: a father dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief, a sibling snapping covert photos, the overhead lights casting warm halos on the assembled caps and gowns. Rey's heart still raced, not just from the run but from the weight of it all—the sea of black robes like a graduating army, the stage waiting like a threshold to whatever came next.

They reached the row just as an usher began herding the last few into place, Finn and Poe scooting over to make room. Finn clapped Rey on the back as she dropped into the seat beside him, his touch solid and reassuring, his own gown rumpled from the wait.

"You look like you ran a marathon. What happened—alarm clock betrayal?" He chuckled, his eyes crinkling with that easy warmth that had anchored their group through every crisis. Poe, on Rose's other side, leaned across to fist-bump her lightly.

"We were about to send out a search party. Thought you'd bailed for L.A. early." His tone was teasing, but his gaze flicked appreciatively over their flushed faces, the camaraderie unspoken but palpable. Rose slid in next to him, still panting lightly as she tucked her legs under the folding seat.

"Close call. Dorm life strikes again." The four of them settled, shoulders brushing in the tight row, the vinyl seats sticky against their skin from the building heat of so many bodies.

From their vantage, the auditorium sprawled out in a breathtaking arc: the first rows filled with wide-eyed freshmen volunteers and staff, the middle buzzing with families waving discreetly, the upper balconies dotted with overflow seating where latecomers now crammed in. Rey scanned the crowd instinctively, her pulse quickening at the thought of Ben—would he be here, tucked among the faculty section up front, his dark eyes finding hers across the distance? The stage lights gleamed on the rows of chairs where dignitaries would sit, microphones at the ready, diplomas stacked in neat piles behind the podium. A hush began to ripple through the space as ushers dimmed the house lights slightly, the brass band in the wings striking up a muffled prelude that vibrated through the floor.

 

The auditorium's murmurs tapered into a respectful hush as the house lights dimmed further, casting the stage in a soft, golden glow from the spotlights. A ripple of anticipation spread through the crowd, seats creaking faintly as bodies shifted in unison, programs rustling like dry leaves in a breeze. Rey felt the weight of the moment settle over her like a warm blanket, her earlier adrenaline from the sprint now mellowed into a quiet thrill that buzzed in her veins. Beside her, Rose sat up straighter, her hand finding Rey's in a brief, squeezing grip—solidarity in the sea of black gowns. Finn and Poe flanked them, their postures relaxed but alert, Finn's knee bouncing subtly with that pent-up energy he always carried, Poe's fingers drumming a silent rhythm on his thigh. The air held a charged stillness, laced with the faint hum of the AC and the distant coughs echoing from the balconies above.

From the wings, a figure emerged: the headmaster, Mr Thorne, striding purposefully to the podium with the measured gait of someone who had presided over countless ceremonies like this. He was a tall man in his late fifties, his silver hair neatly combed, his academic robes flowing like deep blue waves over his broad frame. The mortarboard perched on his head cast a shadow across his lined face, but his eyes—sharp and kind behind wire-rimmed glasses—swept the audience with genuine warmth. He adjusted the microphone with a soft tap that boomed through the speakers, drawing a collective intake of breath from the assembly. Families leaned forward in their seats, cameras poised, while graduates exchanged nervous glances, the reality of the occasion pressing in like the rising tide.

"Ladies and gentlemen, honored guests, faculty, families, and most importantly, the graduating class of this remarkable year," Mr. Thorne began, his voice resonant and steady, carrying the polished cadence of years spent addressing crowds. He paused, letting the words hang, his hands resting lightly on the podium's edges as if drawing strength from it. "Today, we gather not just to mark the end of an era, but to celebrate the extraordinary journey that has brought you here. From the first tentative steps into our halls—wide-eyed freshmen navigating lockers and lectures—to the bold strides you've taken in classrooms, laboratories, and late-night study sessions, you have grown into individuals who embody the spirit of inquiry, resilience, and camaraderie that defines our institution."

A soft wave of applause rippled through the auditorium, polite but heartfelt, and Rey felt a lump rise in her throat. She glanced at Rose, whose eyes glistened slightly under the dim lights, her free hand clutching the edge of her gown. Finn nodded along, his grin subdued but proud, while Poe's drumming fingers stilled, his expression one of quiet reflection. Mr. Thorne continued, his tone warming as he gestured broadly toward the sea of caps and gowns. "I am immensely proud of each of you. You've faced challenges—academic rigors, personal triumphs, the uncharted territories of self-discovery—and emerged not just wiser, but unbreakable. As you cross this stage today, remember that the knowledge you've gained here is a foundation, but it's your passion, your friendships, and your unyielding curiosity that will carry you forward into the world."

He paused again, his gaze lingering on the graduates, as if meeting each pair of eyes in turn. "To the families who have supported them, the faculty who have guided them, and the friends who have walked beside them—thank you. This is your victory as much as theirs. And to our graduates: Forge ahead, unbound. The future is yours to shape." His words landed like a benediction, simple yet profound, and the applause swelled fuller now, a thunderous wave that vibrated through the floorboards. Whistles pierced the air from the upper rows, and a few whoops escaped from excited siblings, but the core of it was sincere, a collective exhale of pride and nostalgia. Rey joined in, clapping steadily, her heart swelling with the shared emotion. It was a nice moment, suspended in time—a bridge between what had been and what was to come, the auditorium's vastness shrinking to the intimacy of that unified breath.

As the applause faded, Mr. Thorne stepped back slightly, signaling to an assistant offstage who handed him the first scroll from a polished wooden box. The screen behind him flickered to life, displaying the program order, and a hush fell once more, expectant and electric. "We begin with our valedictorians and selected speakers," he announced, his voice cutting clear. 'First, Finn."

Finn's name echoed through the speakers, and a spotlight swung to their row, bathing him in warm light. He froze for a split second, his eyes widening in surprise before a broad, genuine smile broke across his face. The audience erupted in cheers—familial whoops from the middle sections, claps from friends scattered throughout—and Rey squeezed his arm as he stood, her voice lost in the din but her pride shining through.

"Go get 'em," she mouthed, and Rose blew him a playful kiss, Poe thumping his back with an enthusiastic

"That's my boy!" Finn smoothed his gown with a quick tug, his cap slightly crooked, and made his way down the aisle, steps measured but quick, weaving past knees and bags with apologetic nods.

The path to the stage felt eternal under the gaze of hundreds, the carpeted stairs creaking softly under his weight as he ascended. Mr. Thorne greeted him at the podium with a firm handshake, the scroll—a thick, embossed tube tied with crimson ribbon—passed into Finn's hands. He accepted it with a deep bow, his head dipping low in a gesture of respect that drew appreciative murmurs from the crowd. The scroll's weight was substantial, a tangible emblem of four years' labor, and Finn held it close to his chest for a moment, his dark eyes scanning the faces below—finding Rey, Rose, and Poe in the glow of the lights, their waves and thumbs-ups a beacon.

Straightening, Finn approached the microphone, clearing his throat with a soft, self-deprecating chuckle that rippled laughter through the assembly.

"Thank you, Mr. Thorne, faculty, families, and all my fellow graduates," he started, his voice steady but laced with that warm, infectious energy that had made him the heart of their group. "Standing here, holding this scroll, it's hitting me how fast it all went. I remember my first day—lost in the halls, spilling coffee on my syllabus, thinking I'd never figure this place out. But then I met people who turned strangers into family: late-night cram sessions that devolved into pizza fights, road trips that tested our patience but strengthened our bonds, and those quiet moments when we lifted each other up without a word."

He paused, his gaze sweeping the audience, lingering on his section where cheers erupted again. Rey felt tears prick her eyes, the words weaving through her own memories like threads pulling everything together. Finn continued, his tone earnest and light. "We've laughed through the chaos, cried over the heartbreaks, and dreamed big about what's next—Ohio State for some, L.A. adventures for others. But no matter where we go, what we've built here endures. So, to my friends: Rey, Rose, Poe—thank you for being my anchors. To everyone: Chase those dreams fiercely, but don't forget to look back and smile at the journey. We've got this."

His speech wrapped with a simple, uplifting note, no grand flourishes, just raw sincerity that left the crowd on their feet, applause roaring as he bowed once more and descended the stage, scroll tucked under his arm like a trophy.

Finn returned to his seat amid backslaps and hugs, sliding in next to Rey with flushed cheeks and a breathless grin.

"Nailed it," Poe whispered, fist-bumping him, while Rose pulled him into a quick side-hug. The energy lingered, a spark that ignited the room further.

Mr. Thorne's voice rose again, the next name rolling out with equal gravitas. "Next, Poe Dameron."

Another spotlight hit, and Poe sprang up with theatrical flair, his cap tipping jauntily as he acknowledged the immediate cheers—louder this time, fueled by Finn's momentum and Poe's reputation for charisma. His family in the front rows stood, clapping wildly, and he flashed them a wink before turning to the group.

"Wish me luck," he quipped to Rose, who rolled her eyes affectionately, and Rey, who mouthed 'You've got this' with a supportive smile. Finn clapped him on the shoulder, the camaraderie a visible thread binding them.

Poe's walk to the stage was confident, almost swaggering, his gown swirling with each step, drawing whistles and laughs from scattered friends. He shook Mr. Thorne's hand with a firm grip, accepting the scroll with a flourish—holding it aloft briefly to the delight of the crowd before bowing deeply, his dark hair peeking from under the cap as he dipped low. The gesture was respectful yet playful, earning chuckles, and he straightened with a grin that lit up the podium.

At the microphone, Poe leaned in, his voice smooth and engaging, carrying the easy confidence of someone born to command attention. "Mr. Thorne, esteemed faculty, families, and the best damn class I've ever known—thank you," he began, his words drawing immediate applause. "Graduation feels like the end of a blockbuster movie: the credits rolling on all the plot twists, the epic wins, and yeah, a few plot holes we laughed off. I came here thinking college was just classes and parties—turns out it was so much more. It was dissecting frogs in bio at dawn, debating history until the library kicked us out, and forging connections that feel like lifelines."

He gestured animatedly, his free hand sweeping out to encompass the auditorium. "To my crew—Finn, my brother from another mother; Rose, the spark that keeps us going; Rey, the quiet strength we all lean on— you've made this ride unforgettable. And to everyone heading to Ohio State, L.A., or wherever the wind takes you: Life's not a straight line; it's a series of detours that make the story worth telling. So let's write the sequels with heart, humor, and a little rebellion. Here's to us—the unbound class of tomorrow." His speech ended on a high note, witty yet poignant, sparking a standing ovation that shook the rafters, whistles and cheers cascading down. Poe bowed with a dramatic sweep, scroll in hand, and made his way back, the crowd's energy peaking as he rejoined the group, high-fives exchanged all around.

Rey watched it all with a mix of joy and ache, the speeches stirring the pot of her emotions—pride for her friends, a pang for the endings, and a quiet hope flickering for her own turn.

The auditorium's applause for Poe still echoed faintly off the high ceilings, a lingering vibration that hummed through the rows like a shared heartbeat. Rey sat rigid in her seat, her fingers twisting the edge of her program into a crumpled fan, the paper slick with the nervous sweat of her palms. The spotlight's residual warmth lingered on the stage, casting long shadows across the crimson banners, and the air felt thicker now, charged with the progression of names that brought her turn inexorably closer. Finn leaned over, his shoulder brushing hers in silent encouragement, while Poe settled back with a satisfied exhale, his scroll propped against his knee like a scepter. Rose, beside her, squeezed Rey's hand under the cover of their gowns, her touch a quick anchor—"You've got this," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the settling murmurs.

Mr. Thorne's voice cut through the hush once more, steady and resonant as he consulted the list on the podium. "Our next graduate, Rey Kenobi." The announcement landed like a stone in still water, ripples of cheers spreading from their row outward—familial claps from scattered relatives, whoops from friends in the upper sections, and a swell of support that made Rey's stomach twist into knots. Her name boomed from the speakers, echoing her own pounding pulse, and she felt every eye in the vast hall pivot toward her. Heat flooded her cheeks beneath the cap, her gown suddenly constricting like a second skin, the tassel swaying mockingly as she rose on unsteady legs.

She stood slowly, deliberately, her knees locking for a moment before she forced them to bend and straighten. The vinyl seat sighed in relief as she pushed up, and she reached up to adjust her cap, fingers trembling as they smoothed the mortarboard into place. The square fabric felt precarious, as if it might topple at any second, mirroring the chaos in her chest—nerves coiling like live wires, a mix of terror and exhilaration that made her breath come in shallow bursts. Finn gave her a thumbs-up, his grin steadying her; Poe mouthed 'Kill it,' with that irreverent wink; Rose's eyes shone with unwavering pride. Rey managed a nod, her lips curving into a tight smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, and turned toward the aisle. The path stretched out like an eternity, rows of faces blurring into a sea of black and color, the carpet muffling her heels as she navigated past outstretched legs and whispered encouragements.

Each step amplified her anxiety—the creak of the stairs to the stage, the cool draft from the wings brushing her ankles, the weight of expectation pressing down. Her mind raced with fragments of her speech, rehearsed a hundred times in the dorm mirror but now jumbled like scattered puzzle pieces. What if she forgot the words? What if her voice cracked? The spotlight hit her full-force as she crested the top step, blinding and warm, turning the audience into silhouettes against the dimmed house lights. Mr. Thorne waited at the podium, his expression kind and expectant, the next scroll extended in his steady hand—a elegant tube of vellum, sealed with the school's crest in gold wax.

Rey approached, her gown whispering against the polished wood of the stage floor, and accepted the scroll with both hands, her fingers brushing his in the exchange. The weight of it grounded her momentarily, solid and real, a testament to the late nights poring over texts, the essays scribbled in Ben's office under the guise of extra credit, the quiet victories that had led here. She looked up at Mr. Thorne, summoning a genuine smile that softened the edges of her nerves.

"Thank you, Mr. Thorne," she said, her voice clearer than she expected, carrying just a hint of the tremor that rattled her insides. He nodded, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses.

"Well deserved, Rey. The stage is yours."

She turned to the crowd, clutching the scroll to her chest like a shield, and the sea of faces resolved into focus under the lights. Her gaze swept the middle rows first, locking onto Finn, Poe, and Rose—their faces alight with cheers, Finn pumping a fist, Poe whistling sharply, Rose clapping with both hands raised high. The sight of them, her unbreakable quartet, eased the knot in her throat just enough to breathe. But then her eyes drifted further, scanning the edges of the auditorium, the shadowed back wall where faculty and latecomers mingled. And there he was—Ben, standing tall against the far railing, his dark suit impeccable under the partial gloom, arms crossed loosely over his chest. His eyes met hers across the distance, intense and unwavering, a private spark in the public glare that made her world narrow to just that point of connection.

A wild, big smile broke across Rey's face unbidden, raw and radiant, chasing away the last shadows of doubt. It was for him as much as the crowd, a silent 'I see you' that pulsed with all the unspoken promises between them—the stolen moments, the future in L.A. waiting just beyond this day. The audience responded with a fresh wave of applause, misinterpreting her joy as stage fright melting into triumph, but Rey held Ben's gaze a beat longer, her heart leaping in her chest like a caged bird finally freed.

She stepped to the microphone, the podium cool under her palms, and drew a deep breath that steadied her voice. "Mr. Thorne, faculty, families, friends, and my incredible classmates," she began, the words flowing smoother now, laced with the emotion that had built over years of growth and grit. "Today feels like standing on the edge of a cliff—terrifying, exhilarating, with the wind of possibility rushing up to meet you. I came here four years ago as a girl who felt like she was piecing herself together from fragments: lost dreams, quiet doubts, the ache of not quite belonging. But this place—this community—taught me that belonging isn't found; it's built, one connection, one challenge, one late-night revelation at a time."

Her voice gained strength, rising with the sincerity that made it beautiful, emotional threads weaving through the hall like sunlight piercing clouds. She gestured subtly toward her friends, her eyes flicking back to them.

"To Finn, whose laughter turned storms into stories; Poe, whose fire lit the way through the dark; Rose, my sister in every sense, who reminded me that strength is shared. You've been my compass, my chaos, my home. And to everyone here: We've stumbled, we've soared, we've held each other through the falls. As we leave these halls, carry that with you—the messy, magnificent bonds that make us whole. The world is vast, but we're ready. Thank you." The speech ended on a note of quiet power, no grand theatrics, just heartfelt truth that hung in the air, drawing tears from more than a few eyes in the crowd. Applause erupted, thunderous and enveloping, families rising in waves, whistles cutting through the din. Rey bowed deeply, the cap dipping forward, her smile lingering as she drank in the moment—the scroll warm in her hands, the weight lifting from her shoulders.

Descending the stage felt like floating, her heels light on the stairs, heart pounding in her chest like a drumbeat echoing the cheers. She wove back to her seat amid backslaps and hugs—Finn pulling her into a bear hug, Poe ruffling her tassel with a "Beautiful, Rey," and Rose enveloping her in a fierce embrace, whispering "Proud of you" against her ear. Rey sank into her spot, breathless and glowing, the scroll balanced on her lap as the adrenaline ebbed into a warm afterglow. Ben's presence at the back lingered in her periphery, a secret thrill that made her pulse race anew.

The energy in the auditorium crested higher as Mr. Thorne returned to the podium, his voice steady amid the fading claps.

"And now, Rose Tico."

Cheers exploded immediately—louder, more raucous from their row and the clusters of friends who knew her spark—drawing Rose to her feet with a mix of nerves and excitement. She straightened her cap with a quick pat, her bun slightly askew from the earlier rush, and flashed the group a grin that was all confidence masking the butterflies.

"Here we go," she said to Rey, squeezing her hand one last time before striding down the aisle, her gown swirling with purposeful steps.

Rose ascended the stage with poise, the spotlight catching the escaped curls framing her face, turning her into a figure of vibrant determination. Mr. Thorne handed her the scroll with a warm smile, and she accepted it gracefully, her fingers steady as she bowed low, the gesture elegant and sincere.

"Thank you, Mr. Thorne," she said clearly, her voice carrying that natural lilt of enthusiasm. Straightening, she turned to the crowd, her eyes scanning until they found Rey, Finn, and Poe—their waves fueling her own bright smile.

"Mr. Thorne, teachers who've shaped us, families who've cheered us on, and my fellow graduates—the dreamers, the doers, the ones who made this wild ride worth every second," Rose started, her tone warm and infectious, pulling the audience in like a storyteller around a fire. "Graduation isn't just about diplomas; it's about the people who turn ordinary days into legends. I think back to the first time I walked these halls—overwhelmed, underprepared, but full of fire. And then I found my tribe: adventures that tested us, like that infamous road trip where the car broke down but the stories didn't; quiet nights fixing each other's hearts; and the push to chase what scares us most."

She paused, her free hand gesturing animatedly, drawing laughs with a light anecdote. "To Rey, my rock and my rebel; Finn, the heart that keeps us beating; Poe, the spark that ignites it all—you've made me braver, bolder, better. And to everyone: As we step out, remember—the best chapters aren't written alone. Let's write ours with courage, kindness, and a whole lot of joy. Thank you." Her speech wrapped with uplifting grace, emotional depth shining through her words, sparking a standing ovation that filled the hall with roaring approval. Rose bowed once more, her cheeks flushed, and descended the stage with the scroll held high, rejoining the group in a flurry of hugs and cheers—Finn lifting her off her feet briefly, Poe declaring it 'epic,' Rey pulling her close with tears of shared pride stinging her eyes.

 

The auditorium thrummed with a crescendo of anticipation as the final graduate's name echoed from the podium, the young woman—Elena Vasquez—stepping forward amid a ripple of polite applause from her family in the front rows. She accepted her scroll from Mr. Thorne with a poised nod, her speech a concise reflection on perseverance that drew appreciative murmurs from the crowd. The lights seemed brighter now, the air heavier with the collective exhale of a milestone reached, as the last echoes of her words faded into the vaulted ceiling. Rows of caps shifted restlessly, tassels swaying like pendulums marking the end of an era, and the graduates in their black gowns sat a little straighter, the weight of their folded programs forgotten in laps.

Mr. Thorne returned to center stage, the microphone picking up the soft tap of his fingers against the podium as he adjusted his notes one final time. His face, lined with the wisdom of decades in education, softened under the spotlight, glasses glinting as he surveyed the sea of faces—proud parents dabbing at eyes with tissues, faculty nodding in quiet satisfaction, and the graduates themselves, a mosaic of relief, joy, and the faint undercurrent of uncertainty about what lay beyond these walls. He cleared his throat, the sound amplified and steady, drawing the hall into a respectful hush. The banners overhead fluttered slightly from the air conditioning, crimson folds emblazoned with the school's motto: "Forge the Path Unseen."

"Ladies and gentlemen, families, faculty, and most importantly, our remarkable Class of 2024," Mr. Thorne began, his voice resonant and warm, carrying the gravitas of tradition laced with genuine emotion. He paused, letting the words settle, his hands gesturing broadly to encompass the entire assembly. "As we stand here today, on the threshold of your next chapter, I am reminded of the countless moments that have shaped you. You've navigated storms we could never have anticipated: the disruptions of a world in flux, personal challenges that forged your resilience, and the quiet victories of growth that only you can truly measure."

His gaze swept the rows, lingering on clusters of graduates—Finn's easy grin, Poe's animated whisper to the side, Rey's hand clasped with Rose's in a subtle show of solidarity.

"To the parents and families who have cheered from the sidelines, thank you for your unwavering support. To the faculty who have poured their passion into these young minds, your legacy endures in every step they take forward. And to you, our graduates: You leave these halls not as the students who arrived, but as architects of your own destinies. Carry the lessons of curiosity, compassion, and courage. The world awaits your mark upon it. Congratulations, Class of 2024—you've earned this day, and so much more."

The closing words ignited the room like a spark to dry tinder. Applause erupted in a thunderous wave, swelling from polite claps to a full-standing ovation that shook the rafters. Families rose first, then faculty, the noise a cacophony of whoops, whistles, and heartfelt cheers that reverberated off the walls. Graduates surged to their feet as one, gowns billowing like sails in a sudden wind, caps clutched in fists or balanced precariously on heads. Mr. Thorne raised his arms in benediction, his smile broad and paternal, before stepping back as the house lights brightened fully, signaling the ceremony's end. The stage crew bustled in the wings, folding banners and dimming spots, while the organist struck up a triumphant recessional march—bold brass notes that urged the crowd toward the exits.

In the midst of the chaos, Rey felt the surge of finality hit her like a warm tide, her heart still racing from her own speech but now buoyed by the collective release. She turned to Rose, their eyes meeting in a shared glance of exhilaration, before linking arms with Finn and Poe as the four of them rose together. The aisle became a river of movement—gowns brushing, scrolls tucked under arms, flashes from cameras popping like stars in the periphery. Laughter bubbled up from every direction, snippets of conversation overlapping:

"Can't believe it's over,"

"What now?"

"Party tonight?" R

ey's gaze flicked once more to the back of the hall, where Ben stood unmoving amid the flow, his dark eyes fixed on her with that intense, private pride. He gave a subtle nod, a promise in the tilt of his head, before the crowd carried her away.

The grand double doors at the end of the auditorium loomed like a portal to freedom, ornate wood carved with the school's founding date, now flanked by ushers directing the exodus. As the front rows emptied, the energy built to a fever pitch—the graduates clustering in excited packs, parents weaving through to claim hugs, the air thick with the scent of fresh flowers from bouquets thrust forward and the faint, celebratory tang of confetti cannons primed in the lobby beyond. Rey, Rose, Finn, and Poe hung back just enough to stay together, their steps syncing in the press of bodies, elbows linked in a loose chain that wove through the throng.

They burst through the doors as a unit, the heavy panels swinging wide with a dramatic whoosh that released them into the sun-dappled lobby. The outside world filtered in through tall arched windows—midday light streaming across marble floors polished to a gleam, casting golden pools that danced with the movement of the crowd. Laughter spilled from them unbidden, a burst of pure, unfiltered joy that cut through the general murmur like a clarion call.

"We did it!" Poe shouted first, his voice cracking with glee as he pumped a fist skyward, his cap already askew from the earlier hugs. Finn echoed him with a booming

"Hell yeah!" his broad shoulders shaking with chuckles, while Rose threw her head back in a full-throated laugh, the sound bright and infectious, her scroll waving like a flag of victory.

The four of them huddled instinctively in the center of the lobby, a tight knot amid the swirling chaos—parents snapping photos, faculty offering congratulations with handshakes and pats on the back, the distant hum of car horns from the parking lot signaling the start of summer freedoms. Rey's cheeks ached from smiling, her gown's fabric warm against her skin from the auditorium's heat, the tassel dangling like a medal of honor. They formed a circle, faces close and flushed, the bond of four years crystallizing in that moment: Finn's steady warmth, Poe's irreverent spark, Rose's unyielding spirit, and Rey's quiet fire, all intertwined.

Without a word, as if on cue from some unspoken ritual, they stepped back just enough to create space.

"On three," Rose declared, her eyes sparkling with mischief, holding her cap high. "One... two... three!" The caps soared upward in a synchronized arc, black squares tumbling end over end against the vaulted ceiling, tassels trailing like comet tails. They caught the light, spinning lazily before descending in a joyful rain—Poe snatching his mid-air with a whoop, Finn letting his land on his shoulder with a grin, Rose's fluttering to the floor where she left it forgotten. Rey's cap bounced off Poe's head before she grabbed it, the group dissolving into peals of laughter that doubled them over, hands on knees, tears pricking at the corners of eyes from the sheer absurdity and elation.

Hugs followed the caps—fierce, lingering embraces that squeezed the breath from lungs and mended any lingering threads of doubt. Finn pulled Rey into a bear hug first, lifting her off her feet briefly with a "Proud of you" his voice thick with emotion. Poe slung an arm around Rose's shoulders, ruffling her hair despite her protests, declaring,

As the laughter ebbed into breathless smiles, Rey glanced toward the doors they'd emerged from, catching a final glimpse of Ben slipping into the flow outside, his presence a quiet anchor amid the revelry. The group lingered in their huddle a moment longer, arms linked once more, the world expanding around them like an open road—graduation not an end, but the spark of everything yet to come.

The lobby's exuberance lingered like a living pulse, the air humming with fragmented conversations and the shuffle of feet on marble as families dispersed toward the sunlit parking lot outside. Caps dotted the floor in haphazard clusters, forgotten relics of the ceremony's pomp, while the scent of fresh-cut flowers from congratulatory bouquets mingled with the faint, salty tang of joyful tears. Rey stood at the edge of their huddle, her chest still heaving from laughter, the group's arms loosely linked in a final, affirming circle. Poe wiped a hand across his brow, his grin wide and unrepentant, while Finn slung a casual arm around Rose's shoulders, pulling her close with a contented sigh. The weight of their gowns felt lighter now, symbols shed like old skin, and Rey's fingers toyed absently with the tassel dangling from her cap, her mind drifting to the uncertain horizon ahead—LA's sprawl, new beginnings, and the man who anchored her amid it all.

A subtle shift in the crowd drew her eye, a ripple like water parting around a stone. She glanced behind her, past the throng of embracing relatives and chattering graduates, and there he was: Ben, standing just beyond the lobby's arched threshold, his tall frame silhouetted against the blinding afternoon light filtering through the glass doors. He hadn't joined the chaos inside; instead, he lingered on the periphery, hands shoved into the pockets of his dark slacks, his button-down shirt slightly rumpled from the day's tension, sleeves rolled to his elbows revealing forearms corded with quiet strength. His dark brown eyes locked onto hers immediately, intense and unwavering, a soft curve touching his lips that spoke volumes without a word—the pride, the longing, the unspoken vow they'd forged in shadowed moments.

Rey's breath caught, a warm flush creeping up her neck as the world narrowed to that single point of connection. Her smile bloomed slow and radiant, blooming from the corners of her mouth like dawn breaking, her eyes sparkling with a mix of relief and unbridled affection. She turned around deliberately, the motion fluid and unhurried, her gown swirling around her legs in a whisper of fabric. The cap slipped from her fingers unnoticed, tumbling to the floor with a soft thud that blended into the lobby's din, rolling to a stop against a forgotten program. Her heart hammered in her chest, a wild rhythm urging her forward, and then she ran—light steps quickening to a sprint across the polished marble, her scroll clutched loosely in one hand, the other outstretched as if to bridge the distance that had kept them apart for so long.

Ben's eyes widened fractionally, but he didn't retreat; instead, he straightened, arms unfolding from his pockets in anticipation. Rey launched herself at him the moment she was close enough, her body colliding with his in a surge of momentum that he met solidly, his hands snapping to her waist to steady her. She jumped, legs wrapping around his hips in a vise of eager limbs, her thighs clamping tight against his sides as her arms looped around his neck. Her fingers plunged into his thick, dark hair, tangling deep and pulling him down as her lips crashed against his. It was their first free public kiss—no hiding in offices or stolen glances across lecture halls, no fear of prying eyes or consequences—just raw, unfiltered passion laid bare under the open sky.

Their mouths moved in a fierce tangle, lips bruising with the force of pent-up desire, tongues sliding and pressing in a heated duel that left them both breathless. Rey's body molded to his, her chest heaving against the solid wall of his torso, the heat of him seeping through their clothes like a promise of more intimate battles to come. Ben's hands gripped her firmly, one splayed across the small of her back to hold her flush against him, the other cupping her thigh where it hooked around his hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh with possessive urgency. He kissed her back with equal fervor, a low growl rumbling in his throat as he tilted his head to deepen the contact, nipping at her lower lip before soothing it with a sweep of his tongue. The world around them blurred—the cheers and chatter fading to a distant roar—as they lost themselves in the rough battle of lips and breath, her hands tugging strands of his hair to angle him closer, his hold tightening to keep her elevated and secure.

From their spot in the lobby, Poe and Finn froze mid-laughter, their heads whipping toward the spectacle with identical expressions of slack-jawed shock. Poe's cup of post-ceremony punch halted halfway to his mouth, liquid sloshing precariously over the rim, while Finn's arm slipped from Rose's shoulders, his eyes bulging in disbelief. The sight of Rey— their Rey, the quiet firecracker of their group—wrapped around the brooding professor like a vine claiming its trellis hit them like a thunderclap, mouths dropping open in unison.

"What the fuck," Poe blurted, his voice a hoarse whisper that carried over the lobby's hum, his free hand gesturing wildly as if to ward off the impossible. He blinked rapidly, cap still clutched in his other fist, the tassel swinging like a pendulum of confusion.

Finn recovered a beat later, a slow grin cracking his stunned facade, but before he could chime in, Rose burst into action. She clapped her hands together sharply, the sound cutting through the air like a celebratory crack, her face alight with unfiltered delight.

"Hell yeah, Rey!" she called out, pumping a fist in the air and drawing a few curious glances from nearby families. Her laughter bubbled up, bright and triumphant, as she bounced on her toes, utterly unfazed by the revelation unfolding before them.

Poe rounded on her, his brows shooting up as he set his cup down on a nearby ledge with a clunk. "Wait, you knew about that?" he demanded, his tone a mix of accusation and awe, glancing back at the entwined pair as if expecting them to vanish like a mirage.

Rose shrugged, her chuckle light and knowing, a mischievous glint in her eye as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Yeah, for months," she admitted, her voice laced with amusement, watching Rey and Ben with the satisfaction of a secret well-kept.

Finn let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head as he clapped Poe on the back.

"Man, we've been clueless. But damn, go Rey!"

The group edged closer, drawn by the magnetic pull of the moment, the lobby's energy shifting subtly around the unexpected display. Parents murmured in hushed tones, some smiling indulgently at the young love on show, while a few faculty members raised eyebrows but said nothing, the ceremony's afterglow granting a temporary amnesty to such bold affections.

Ben finally eased Rey down, his hands lingering on her hips as their lips parted with a final, lingering press, both of them flushed and breathing hard. Her legs unfolded reluctantly, feet touching the ground, but she stayed pressed against him, one hand trailing down to rest on his chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heart mirroring her own. He brushed a thumb across her swollen lip, his gaze dark and heated, whispering something low that made her smile widen.

Rey lingered in the circle of Ben's arms, her body still humming from the intensity of their kiss, the lobby's ambient chatter and distant laughter filtering back into focus like a radio tuning in after static. Her feet were planted firmly on the cool marble now, but she pressed close to him, one hand splayed flat against the firm plane of his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall beneath her palm. The flush on her cheeks hadn't faded, and her lips tingled from the rough press of his, slightly swollen and sensitive. She tilted her head back, gazing up at him with eyes that shone bright, a soft, triumphant smile curving her mouth as the weight of secrecy lifted like fog burning off in the sun.

"Finally," she breathed, the word slipping out on a quiet exhale, laced with relief and a hint of laughter that bubbled up from deep in her chest. It wasn't just the kiss—it was the end of hiding, the start of something unapologetic, their connection no longer confined to stolen nights or whispered promises in empty rooms. Her fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring herself to the moment, the scent of his cologne—warm cedar and faint spice—mingling with the faint salt of their shared breath.

Ben's dark eyes held hers, intense and softened at the edges by the same surge of emotion. A low chuckle rumbled from him, his hand sliding up her back to cup the nape of her neck, thumb tracing a gentle arc along her jawline. "Yeah," he murmured, voice roughened by the kiss, leaning down to brush his nose against hers in a tender nuzzle. "No more waiting." His other arm stayed firm around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer, as if to seal the vow with the heat of their bodies. The world outside their bubble felt distant—the sun slanting through the glass doors in golden shafts, casting long shadows across the floor—but here, with her, everything aligned.

"Rey?"

She froze, the name pulling at her like a hook in her gut. Slowly, she turned, her body pivoting on instinct before her mind caught up. There, standing a few feet away amid the milling crowd, was a man she hadn't seen in what felt like a lifetime. Tall and weathered, his face etched with lines that spoke of too many regrets and not enough repairs, he wore a rumpled suit jacket over a faded button-down, his salt-and-pepper hair tousled as if he'd driven straight from wherever he'd been hiding. His eyes—hazel, just like hers—locked onto her with a mix of pride and something sharper, more desperate.

"Dad?" The word escaped her lips in a whisper, confusion knitting her brows as she blinked, half-convinced this was some graduation-induced hallucination. Her grip tightened on Rose's arm, the world narrowing to this impossible figure from her past.

He took a tentative step forward, hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders hunched against the weight of the moment. A small, awkward smile tugged at his mouth, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Why are you here?" Rey asked, her voice pitching higher, laced with disbelief. The question hung between them, sharp as a blade, drawing stares from Poe and Finn, who exchanged uneasy glances.

"You think I'd miss this?" he replied, his tone aiming for light but landing heavy, like gravel underfoot. He gestured vaguely at the auditorium behind them, the banners still fluttering in the breeze. "My daughter's graduation? Come on, kiddo."

Rey's laugh was bitter, short and devoid of humor, bubbling up from a place deep and raw. She released Rose's arm, stepping forward just enough to close the gap without inviting him closer. Her cheeks flushed not from joy now, but from a surge of old wounds ripping open.

"Yeah, actually, I do," she snapped, the words flying out like sparks from flint. "I haven't heard from you in over a year and a half. The fuck are you here for now?" Her voice cracked on the last syllable, anger mingling with the hurt she'd buried under layers of independence and new beginnings. The profanity slipped out unfiltered, a testament to the storm brewing inside her—years of unanswered calls, ignored birthdays, and the echoing silence of his absence.

Her father's face fell, the forced smile crumbling into something more genuine, pained. He shifted his weight, glancing down at the scuffed toes of his shoes before meeting her gaze again.

"Rey, I... I know I've been a ghost. Work, life—it got complicated. But I couldn't stay away from this. You're my girl. I had to see you up there, hear that speech. You were incredible."

She crossed her arms over her chest, the gown's fabric whispering against her skin, a barrier against his words. Around them, the quad's energy dimmed for their little circle; Rose hovered protectively at Rey's side, her hand brushing Rey's elbow in silent support, while Poe and Finn hung back, giving space but ready to intervene. Ben, though—Ben stood silent and still beside her, his broad frame a quiet wall of solidarity, dark eyes fixed on the man with an intensity that bordered on protective.

Her father noticed him then, his gaze flicking past Rey to the tall figure at her shoulder. Ben's arm had instinctively settled at the small of her back, a subtle claim that spoke volumes in the tension. The older man straightened, his expression shifting from contrition to scrutiny, brows furrowing as he pointed a weathered finger toward Ben.

"Who is this?"

Rey's response was immediate, a whip-crack of defiance.

"None of your business," she snapped back, her tone brooking no argument. She leaned slightly into Ben's touch, drawing strength from the warmth of his palm through her gown. The words were a shield, slamming the door on any intrusion into this part of her life—the part she'd built without him, the part that included Ben, her friends, her hard-won future.

Her father recoiled as if slapped, his hand dropping to his side. The quad seemed to hold its breath, the distant cheers fading into a hush.

"Rey, come on," he pressed, voice dropping lower, pleading now. "I'm trying here. Just... introduce me. Is he—?"

"No," she cut him off, her eyes flashing with a fire that had been smoldering for years. "You don't get to waltz in after all this time and start demanding answers. You vanished when I needed you most. And now, because it's convenient, you're here? For what? A photo op? To ease your guilt?" Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, hot and unwelcome, but she blinked them back, refusing to let them fall in front of him.

Ben's fingers tightened gently at her back, a silent reassurance, his presence grounding her as the emotions swirled. He didn't speak—didn't need to—his jaw set in quiet resolve, ready to back her play whatever it was. Rose stepped up then, her voice calm but firm.

"Maybe give her some space, sir. This is her day."

Her father exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, the gesture achingly familiar from childhood memories she'd tried to forget.

"I get it, Rey. I screwed up. Big time. But I'm here now. I drove all night from Chicago just to make it. Can we... talk? Later? Dinner, maybe? Just us?"

Rey hesitated, the offer dangling like a frayed rope—tempting in its familiarity, terrifying in its uncertainty. The group watched her, the weight of their support palpable: Poe's easy grin masking concern, Finn's nod of encouragement, Rose's unwavering solidarity, Ben's steady gaze that said she'd never face this alone. The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows that stretched toward them like fingers from the past.

"I don't know," she said finally, her voice softer but no less guarded. "This isn't the time. Not today." She turned slightly toward Ben, seeking his eyes, finding in them the promise of escape, of choice. Her father nodded slowly, defeat etching deeper lines into his face, but he didn't push further.

"Fair enough," he murmured, pulling a worn business card from his pocket and holding it out. "My number. If you change your mind. I'm proud of you, kiddo. Really." He lingered a moment longer, as if memorizing her face, then stepped back, melting into the crowd with a final, wistful glance.

Rey watched him go, her chest tight with a whirlwind of relief and unresolved ache. The group's chatter resumed tentatively, Poe clapping a hand on her shoulder with a lighthearted quip about surprise guests, but she leaned into Ben, letting his arm wrap fully around her waist. The confrontation had cracked open old scars, but in the warmth of the fading light and the circle of those who mattered now, she felt the edges beginning to mend. Graduation wasn't just an end—it was a reclaiming, and whatever came next, she'd face it on her terms.

Chapter 40

The late afternoon light filtered through the wide windows of the cozy coffee shop on the edge of campus, casting a warm, golden glow over the worn wooden tables and mismatched chairs. The air hummed with the low murmur of conversations, the hiss of the espresso machine, and the rich, earthy scent of freshly ground beans mingling with hints of cinnamon from the pastry display. Rey sat alone at a corner table, her backpack slung over the back of her chair, a half-empty water glass sweating condensation onto the scarred surface. Her fingers drummed an erratic rhythm against the tabletop—tap-tap, pause, tap-tap-tap—like the unsteady beat of her heart, betraying the calm she was trying to project. She glanced at her phone for the third time in as many minutes: 4:15 PM. He was late, but then again, punctuality had never been his strong suit.

She'd agreed to this meeting on a whim, or maybe out of some lingering thread of hope she hadn't fully acknowledged. Graduation was behind her now, the caps and gowns folded away like relics of a chapter closing, and tomorrow she'd board a flight to L.A. with Rose and Ben, their apartment keys already in her possession, a new life unfolding like a promise. But before that, this—facing the ghost of her past one last time. The decision had gnawed at her during the packing frenzy, the late-night talks with Ben about boundaries and healing, but here she was, waiting in this neutral ground of lattes and laptops.

The door chimed, pulling her gaze up. There he was, her father, stepping in with the hesitance of someone re-entering a room they'd long vacated. He looked much as he had at the ceremony: rumpled shirt tucked unevenly into khakis, hair a bit more disheveled from the wind outside, carrying the faint weariness of a man who'd chased too many detours. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on her, softening with a mix of relief and apprehension. He nodded once, a small acknowledgment, before heading to the counter.

Rey watched as he ordered—two medium coffees, black for him, a splash of cream for hers, just how she used to take it as a kid. The barista handed over the steaming cups, and he balanced them carefully on a tray, weaving through the scattered patrons to her table. He set the tray down with a soft clink, sliding her coffee across before claiming the seat opposite, the chair creaking under his weight. Up close, the lines around his eyes seemed deeper, etched by years she hadn't shared, and his hands—calloused from whatever job kept him afloat—fidgeted with the lid of his cup.

"Hey, kiddo," he started, his voice rough around the edges, like it hadn't been used for apologies in a while. He took a sip, wincing slightly at the heat, buying a moment to gather his words. Rey didn't respond immediately, her fingers stilling on the table as she met his gaze. The coffee's aroma wafted up, comforting yet bittersweet, a reminder of simpler mornings long gone.

"I know this is awkward," he continued, setting his cup down and leaning forward, elbows on the table. "And I don't blame you for being pissed. Hell, I'd be furious if I were you. Showing up out of nowhere after... everything." He paused, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes dropping to the steam curling from his drink. "But I meant what I said at graduation. I'm sorry, Rey. Truly. For all of it."

She wrapped her hands around her mug, the warmth seeping into her palms, grounding her against the chill of old memories surfacing.

"Sorry for what, exactly?" Her tone was even, measured, but laced with the edge she'd honed over years of self-reliance. "For disappearing? For not calling on my birthday? For acting like I didn't exist?" She took a sip, the cream softening the bitterness, but it did nothing to ease the knot in her chest.

He exhaled slowly, the sound heavy in the space between them.

"For everything. Starting from the beginning, I guess." His gaze lifted to hers, holding steady now, vulnerability cracking through his facade. "When your mom left... God, Rey, it broke me. She just packed a bag one night, said she was done, and ran off with that guy from her office. Some slick lawyer type who promised her the world. I came home from work, and you were sitting on the stairs, all wide-eyed and confused, asking where Mommy was. I didn't have answers. I didn't have anything."

Rey's throat tightened, the image flashing unbidden: her eight-year-old self clutching a stuffed bear, the house echoing with silence after the door slammed for the last time. She'd pieced together the story over the years from snippets—her mother's affair, the sudden departure, the divorce papers that arrived by mail. But hearing it from him now, raw and unfiltered, stirred the dust of buried pain.

"I couldn't cope," he admitted, voice dropping lower, as if the confession might shatter if spoken too loudly. "Every time I looked at you, I saw her. Your eyes, your smile—it was like a punch to the gut. Reminded me of the lies, the betrayal. I was drowning in it, drinking too much, snapping at work. So I... I sent you to that boarding school. Thought it was best for you, away from the mess I was making. Clean slate, right? But it was cowardice. I shipped you off so I wouldn't have to face what I'd lost—or what I was failing at."

The words hung there, heavy as the rain starting to patter against the windowpane outside. Rey's fingers traced the rim of her cup, her mind reeling. Boarding school had been her prison and her salvation: the rigid schedules, the forced friendships, the ache of holidays spent in empty dorms. She'd told herself it was for her education, a ticket to independence, but deep down, she'd always known it was exile.

"And then?" she prompted, her voice quieter now, the anger simmering beneath curiosity. "What happened after? You just... forgot?"

He winced, nodding as if the truth physically pained him.

"Yeah. Pretty much. I threw myself into work—long hours, overtime to numb it out. Met someone new after a year or so. Linda. She's good people, steady. We got a place in Chicago, built a life. But in all that, I let you slip away. Holidays came and went; I told myself you were fine, thriving even. Sent the tuition checks, figured that was enough. But it wasn't. I see that now. I was selfish, Rey. Too wrapped up in rebuilding to remember I had a daughter who needed her dad."

Tears welled in her eyes, hot and insistent, but she blinked them back, refusing to let them fall here, in this public confessional. The coffee shop buzzed on around them—a couple laughing at the next table, the barista calling out an order—but their corner felt isolated, a bubble of reckoning.

"Do you know what that felt like?" she whispered, her voice trembling despite her efforts. "Seeing my friends getting christmas cards from 'friends or family,' while I sat with nothing. I spent Christmases alone on campus." She looked down at her drink, a tear dropping onto the table. "Do you know what thats like? Lonely dad. Really fucking lonely and honestly scary. I graduated high school without a single call from you, do you know that. It was always texts and then it was nothing." Her head shot up looking back at him "I called so many times to tell you about college letters, of them wanting me—colleges I didn't even apply to. They wanted me and I got to deny them. I wanted to scream them at you, make you proud, but who was there to hear? No one."

Her father's face crumpled, his hands clenching into fists on the table.

"I know. Christ, I know. If I could go back... I'd fight harder. For us. But I can't. All I can do is show up now, late as it is, and try to make it right. You're leaving for L.A. tomorrow—big dreams, new start. I'm proud of that. Of you. And if you'll let me, I'd like to be part of it. Calls, visits, whatever you need. No pressure. Just... don't write me off completely."

Rey sat back, the chair scraping softly against the floor, her mind a whirlwind. Part of her wanted to lash out, to walk away and board that plane with the slate wiped clean. But another part—the girl who'd once idolized him, who'd craved his approval—yearned for this bridge, however fragile. The rain outside intensified, blurring the world beyond the glass, mirroring the storm in her chest.

"I don't know if I can forgive you overnight," she said finally, her words measured, honest. "It hurts too much. But... maybe we start small. A call next week? See if you stick around this time."

A tentative smile broke across his face, relief flooding his features like sunlight after clouds.

"Small sounds good. Thank you, Rey. For giving me a shot."

The rain had eased into a steady drizzle, tapping rhythmically against the coffee shop's windows like a hesitant metronome, underscoring the weight of the conversation unfolding at their corner table. Rey's words hung in the air, raw and unfiltered, her voice steady despite the tremor beneath it. She traced the rim of her mug with one finger, the ceramic warm from the coffee she'd been nursing, now cooling into something more manageable. Her dad's eyes, shadowed by regret, fixed on her face, absorbing the truth she'd laid bare about her mother—the abandonment that had rippled through their lives like a stone skipped across a frozen pond, cracking everything in its path.

"You are all I have," Rey continued, her tone laced with a quiet accusation that wasn't entirely aimed at him, more at the void they'd both inhabited. "Mom doesn't even call. I'm lucky if she replies to my texts. She's not a mother, not really. She birthed me, and then she ditched us. Both of us. You have to remember that. Instead of losing just a mother, I lost my father too because of her. You lost yourself in her that you forgot I lost her too." Her finger paused its circling, pressing lightly into the mug as if to anchor herself against the surge of old hurts rising like bile.

Her dad leaned back slightly, the chair groaning under the shift, his expression fracturing with the fresh sting of her words. He opened his mouth as if to respond, but Rey pressed on, her voice dropping to a near whisper.

The coffee shop's ambient noise seemed to fade further—the clatter of cups, the barista's cheerful banter with a customer—leaving their table in a cocoon of intimacy and discomfort. Rey lifted her mug, the last of the coffee dark and bitter on her tongue as she drained it in one deliberate gulp. The warmth settled in her stomach, a small comfort against the chill of vulnerability. She set the empty cup down with a soft thud, her eyes lifting to meet his, searching for something—understanding, perhaps, or absolution.

"Who was the man you were with at graduation?" he asked, her gaze sharpening, redirecting the conversation to safer, yet no less charged, ground.

She tilted her head, a faint, knowing smile tugging at the corner of her mouth despite the tension. "Which one? You had Finn, Poe, and Ben?"

His cheeks warmed slightly, but he held his stare. "The one you lit up for the second you saw him." He nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing with paternal curiosity. "You love him, don't you?"

She nodded without hesitation, the admission simple and profound.

"I really do." Shifting in her seat, she reached across the table, her hand hovering for a moment before gently taking his. His skin was rough, calloused from years of labor, but he didn't pull away. "I can tell you the story if you like, but you won't like it." she said, her thumb brushing lightly over his knuckles, a tentative bridge.

He squeezed her hand once, encouragingly, though his brow furrowed. "Go on."

Rey took a deep breath, the words tumbling out like a confession long rehearsed in the mirror. "He was my English professor."

"Excuse me?" Her dad's voice rose just a fraction, disbelief etching his features as he leaned forward, as if he'd misheard amid the shop's murmur.

She repeated it, firmer this time, her chin lifting in quiet defiance.

"He was my English professor. This past year, give or take a few months. He started last September, and we... we connected. It just kind of happened. It was instant attraction." Her mind drifted briefly to those first classes: Ben at the front of the room, his dark eyes scanning the sea of faces, lingering on hers a beat too long, sparking something electric in the stale air of the lecture hall.

She continued, her voice gaining momentum, weaving the tale with the honesty of someone unburdening a secret carried too heavily.

"He followed me to a party one night. I was drunk—beyond drunk, really. I'd been doing drugs, messing around with whatever was passed my way to numb the edges of everything. I was a mess, Dad. At the bottom of it all." The memory sharpened: the thumping bass of the music, the haze of smoke and laughter, her body swaying unsteadily until the world tilted and she found herself slumped against a wall, the party's frenzy blurring into nausea.

"He found me there," she said, her grip on his hand tightening instinctively. "Took me back to his place that night. He looked after me—got me water, got me food, made sure I didn't choke on my own stupidity. We kissed." The kiss replayed in her mind: tentative at first, then hungry, his lips firm and tasting faintly of whiskey, pulling her from the fog into clarity.

She gulped, the vulnerability of the admission making her throat tight. "We had sex." She shrugged, a small, awkward gesture to downplay the intensity, but her eyes betrayed the depth. "Don't worry, I was eighteen at the time, and I'm on birth control. Otherwise, I'd definitely be pregnant by now." A nervous chuckle escaped her, light and self-deprecating, but it fell flat against his unimpressed stare. His jaw clenched, the protective father surfacing, but he stayed silent, letting her finish.

"But anyway," she pressed on, blunt and unapologetic, "it went from this... sex." The word landed plainly, devoid of shame, a fact in the narrative of them. "It went from sex to something else. Something magnetic, intense, like he was a drug." She lowered her head for a moment, strands of her hair falling forward to curtain her face, hiding the flush creeping up her neck. The evolution of their bond flashed through her thoughts: stolen moments in his office, whispered conversations after class, the way his touch shifted from urgent to tender, mapping her skin like he was memorizing every curve.

"We both fell in love," she murmured, lifting her gaze to lock with his once more. "We spent the past eight months in a secret relationship. The only person who knew about us was my friend Rose—she was a fucking trooper, covering for me, keeping our secret without a single slip." Rose's face surfaced in her mind: the knowing grins, the late-night debriefs, the unwavering loyalty that had made the deception bearable.

Rey's voice softened, infused with the certainty of truth. "We are in love. It isn't a fling; it might have started like that... but we love each other, Daddy." The childhood endearment slipped out unbidden, a plea wrapped in affection, as she searched his face for any sign of acceptance amid the storm of his emotions. The coffee shop's warmth enveloped them, the drizzle outside a soft veil, but in that moment, the space between father and daughter felt vast yet bridgeable, charged with the possibility of mending what time had frayed.

Rey's dad sat there, his posture rigid, fingers drumming a slow, uneven rhythm on the scarred wooden table. His face, etched with lines of regret and now fresh disapproval, tightened as he processed her confession. He leaned forward, elbows planting firmly on the surface, his voice emerging low and edged with frustration, like gravel underfoot.

"I'm not overly fond of paying for your education just so you can sleep with the professors," he said, the words blunt, slicing through the fragile bridge they'd begun to build. His eyes, the same stormy gray as Rey's in moments of anger, bored into hers, a mix of paternal protectiveness and betrayal flickering there. He shook his head slightly, as if trying to dislodge the image she'd painted, the one of his little girl entangled in something so forbidden.

Rey recoiled just a fraction, her hand slipping from his as defensiveness flared in her chest. She straightened in her chair, the wooden seat creaking under the shift, her chin lifting in that stubborn way she'd inherited from him.

"Only one," she argued, her tone sharp but measured, refusing to let the accusation land unchallenged. "However, another hot history teacher started just as we were leaving. Blame the school for hiring hot teachers, Dad. All us girls were drooling over Ben and Mr. Stone. Trust me." She met his gaze head-on, her brown eyes flashing with a mix of defiance and vulnerability, the words tumbling out to diffuse the blame, to share it like a communal secret from her school days.

She paused, drawing a breath that lifted her shoulders, the faint outline of her bird tattoo peeking from beneath the collar of her shirt—a reminder of freedoms claimed and identities forged away from his watch. The drizzle outside had picked up again, pattering insistently against the glass, mirroring the rapid beat of her heart.

"He looked after me," she continued, her voice softening, laced with the gratitude that had anchored her through lonely nights. "When you weren't there. He let me stay at his place last Christmas so I wasn't alone. I met his parents, and they were so kind. That moment felt like a family was born around me." She shrugged, a small, almost wistful gesture, her fingers twisting the empty mug's handle as memories flooded back: the warmth of a holiday table, laughter echoing in a home that wasn't hers, Ben's hand steady on her back under the guise of friendship.

Her dad's eyebrows shot up, surprise cutting through his disapproval like a crack in ice. He sat back, the chair protesting with a low scrape, his hands clasping together as if to steady himself. "You met his parents?" The question hung there, incredulous, his mind clearly racing to reconcile the daughter he'd sent away with this woman who'd woven herself into another man's life.

"Yeah," Rey replied, nodding slowly, her expression earnest as she leaned in, closing the distance his words had tried to create. "We lied. We didn't tell them the truth—they thought I was just a girl he knew from work. But Dad... I finally felt like I belonged somewhere." Her voice cracked on the last word, raw emotion surfacing as she looked at him, really looked, searching his face for the father who'd once made her feel safe before the fractures set in. The coffee shop's hum faded into the background—the whir of the espresso machine, the murmur of other patrons—leaving their table a world unto itself, suspended in the push and pull of reconciliation.

He exhaled heavily, rubbing a hand over his stubbled jaw, the gesture weary and conflicted. The lines around his eyes deepened, a map of years lost to his own regrets, and for a moment, silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken apologies.

Rey's gaze dropped to the table, her fingers trembling slightly as they dipped into the neckline of her shirt. The chain was cool against her skin, a secret talisman she'd worn close to her heart since that snowy Christmas. She pulled it free, the small diamond catching the dim light of the coffee shop, twinkling like a captured star amid the steam rising from forgotten cups. The ring dangled there, simple yet profound, its band a whisper of gold that held more weight than any vow etched in stone.

"He proposed to me at Christmas," she said, her voice steady but soft, laced with the warmth of memory. "It wasn't a full marriage proposal—more like the promise of one, a pledge for the future. Either way, I said yes." She nodded, a small affirmation to herself as much as to him, her eyes lifting briefly to meet his before returning to the ring, as if afraid it might vanish if she looked away too long.

Her father reached out slowly, his calloused hand hesitating in the air before gently taking the chain from her fingers. He held the ring up, turning it this way and that, the facets scattering tiny prisms across the worn tabletop. His brow furrowed, a mix of awe and concern etching deeper lines into his face.

"Rey, is that real?" he asked, his tone hushed, as if speaking louder might shatter the fragile moment.

She shrugged, a casual lift of her shoulders that belied the depth of her conviction.

"Think so. I don't care." Her eyes locked onto his then, fierce and unyielding, the brown depths shimmering with unshed emotion. "I love him, Dad. He could propose with one of those cheap sweet rings from a vending machine, and I'd say yes." A soft smile curved her lips, tender and radiant, chasing away the shadows that had lingered since his arrival. "When you know, you know. And trust me, I know."

The words hung between them, a bridge of certainty amid the chasm of their shared history. Her father lowered the ring, placing it carefully back into her palm, his fingers brushing hers in a fleeting touch that carried the ghost of old affections. He leaned back in his chair, the wood groaning under his weight, and ran a hand through his graying hair, exhaling a breath that seemed to carry years of unspoken burdens.

"Well, I don't think I have the permission to tell you what to do anymore," he admitted, his voice rough around the edges, thick with regret. "I just... I'm sorry I wasn't there more. For you, for any of this."

His apology landed like rain on parched earth, soaking into the cracks of her resolve. Rey's throat tightened, and she looked down again, tracing the rim of her empty mug with a fingertip, the ceramic smooth and unyielding.

"Either way..." she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, "either way, we would have happened, Daddy. It was raw. It was real. The second our eyes met, that was it. Whether you were around or not... I believe it was fate." She admitted it like a confession, her words weaving through the air, binding the past to the present in a tapestry of inevitability.

The coffee shop's ambiance wrapped around them—the low hum of conversation from nearby tables, the rhythmic hiss of the espresso machine, the faint patter of rain against the windowpanes. Outside, the world blurred into a watercolor of grays and blues, pedestrians hurrying under umbrellas, oblivious to the quiet unraveling within. Rey's chest rose and fell with a deep breath, steadying herself as fragments of childhood surfaced, bittersweet and insistent.

"You remember how you used to tell me how Mom made you feel? When I was little?" She chuckled, the sound teary and light, a bubble of laughter escaping despite the sting in her eyes. Her hand came up to dash away a stray tear that had escaped down her cheek, leaving a damp trail on her skin. "It's like that, but... more." The words trembled on her lips, evoking those long-ago evenings when he'd sit her on his knee, his voice a rumble of wonder as he described the lightning strike of love, the way it consumed and remade him. Now, she saw the echo of that in her own story, amplified by the trials they'd weathered—the secrecy, the distance, the fierce pull that had drawn Ben and her together against all odds.

Her father nodded slowly, his eyes distant for a moment, lost in his own recollections of a love that had burned bright before flickering out. He reached across the table, covering her hand with his, the warmth of his palm a rare anchor in the storm of emotions.

"I do remember," he said quietly, his grip firm yet gentle. "And if it's more than that for you... then hold onto it, Rey. Don't let go like I did." The admission cracked something open between them, a sliver of vulnerability that allowed the light of forgiveness to seep in.

 

The rain had finally tapered off, leaving the air outside the coffee shop crisp and laced with the earthy scent of wet pavement. Puddles dotted the sidewalk, reflecting the overcast sky in shimmering pools that caught the faint glow of streetlights flickering to life as dusk crept in. Rey stepped out the door, her father's presence a solid warmth at her side, the weight of their conversation still lingering like a half-forgotten melody. Ben's car idled at the curb, its engine a low, patient hum, headlights cutting through the gathering twilight. He sat behind the wheel, his dark eyes scanning the entrance with quiet anticipation, one hand resting casually on the steering wheel while the other drummed a subtle rhythm against his thigh.

Rey paused on the threshold, turning to her father with a soft exhale, the cool breeze tugging at the edges of her jacket. He looked older in the fading light, the lines around his eyes deepened by the shadows of regret they'd unearthed inside, but there was a tentative spark in his gaze now—a flicker of hope amid the ruins of their fractured past.

"So, can I call you once you're settled?" he asked, his voice carrying a vulnerability that made her chest ache. It wasn't just a question; it was a plea, a bridge extended across the years of silence.

She smiled, genuine and warm, the expression lighting her face like sunlight breaking through clouds. Nodding, she reached out to squeeze his arm briefly, her fingers lingering on the rough fabric of his coat.

"Yes, you can," she said, her tone steady and reassuring, infused with the promise of new beginnings. She moved toward the car then, her boots splashing lightly in a shallow puddle, and opened the front passenger door. With practiced ease, she slung her bag onto the seat, the strap whispering against the leather as it settled. The interior of the car smelled faintly of Ben—clean soap and a hint of his cologne, a scent that always grounded her, pulling her back to the safety of their shared world.

Her father followed a step behind, his posture straightening as he approached the driver's side. He bent down, bracing one hand on the roof of the car, his face level with Ben's through the open window. The moment stretched taut, charged with the unspoken history of a man reclaiming his role, however belatedly. Ben met his gaze without flinching, his expression calm but resolute, the corners of his mouth lifting in a respectful smile.

"You better look after my daughter," her father warned, his words firm, edged with the gravelly authority of paternal instinct. It wasn't a threat, not truly, but a boundary drawn in the sand, a father's final stand after years of absence.

Ben's eyes held steady, dark and sincere, reflecting the depth of his commitment.

"With every part of my being, sir" he replied, his voice low and earnest, the smile deepening into something genuine, a vow etched in the quiet confidence of his tone. There was no bravado in it, only the unyielding truth of a man who had already proven his devotion through stolen moments, shared secrets, and the promise ring that now rested against Rey's skin.

Rey watched the exchange from the passenger side, her heart swelling with a mix of pride and relief. She closed her door softly and circled back to her father, stepping into his space without hesitation. Wrapping her arms around him in a tight cuddle, she pressed her cheek against his shoulder, inhaling the familiar, faded scent of his aftershave mingled with the coffee they'd shared. His arms came around her in return, hesitant at first, then firmer, as if relearning the shape of her embrace. The hug lingered, a silent mending of threads long frayed, the world narrowing to the simple press of family against the chill of the evening.

"I'll talk soon," she murmured against his coat, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. Her smile was bright, unshadowed now, carrying the optimism of the life awaiting her in LA—the apartment with Ben, the fresh starts, the echoes of this reconciliation rippling forward. She gave his hand one last squeeze, her fingers warm against his cooler ones, before slipping back to the car.

Sliding into the passenger seat, Rey fastened her seatbelt with a soft click, the familiar routine grounding her as Ben shifted the car into gear. She rolled down the window a fraction, leaning out to wave at her father, who stood on the sidewalk, hands tucked into his pockets, his figure framed by the coffee shop's warm glow spilling onto the street. He raised a hand in return, waving slowly, his expression a blend of sorrow and quiet pride as the car pulled away.

Ben glanced at her sidelong as they merged into traffic, the city lights beginning to streak past in blurred lines of gold and red.

"Everything okay?" he asked softly, his free hand reaching over to cover hers on the console, thumb tracing gentle circles over her knuckles.

Rey nodded, turning her palm up to intertwine their fingers, the ring on its chain shifting against her chest like a heartbeat.

"Yeah," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion but laced with certainty. "It's a start." The car hummed onward, carrying them toward the horizon of tomorrows, the rearview mirror shrinking her father's silhouette until it was just a memory in the distance, one she could finally hold without bitterness.

The city streets blurred into a tapestry of neon signs and shadowed alleys as Ben guided the car away from the coffee shop, the engine's steady purr a soothing counterpoint to the emotional whirlwind Rey had just navigated. The two suitcases in the back seat shifted slightly with each turn, their contents a promise of the new chapter unfolding—clothes, books, a few cherished mementos from her dorm room, all packed with the quiet excitement of beginnings. The air inside the car felt warmer now, insulated from the evening chill, carrying the faint trace of rain-soaked earth from outside mingling with the leather seats and Ben's familiar scent.

Rey leaned back against the headrest, her gaze drifting to the passenger window where storefronts flickered past like fleeting memories. The encounter with her father replayed in her mind: his hesitant words, the weight of apologies unspoken for so long, the fragile warmth of their goodbye hug. It left her heart full yet tender, a mix of closure and lingering ache that made her fingers twitch toward the ring hidden beneath her shirt. Ben's presence beside her was an anchor, steady and unwavering, his profile illuminated by the dashboard glow—strong jaw set in quiet focus, dark eyes flicking between the road and her occasionally.

He reached over after a few blocks, his hand finding her thigh with effortless intimacy, fingers splaying warm and reassuring against the denim of her jeans. The touch was gentle at first, a simple connection, but as his thumb began to trace slow, deliberate circles just above her knee, it stirred something deeper—a spark of heat that cut through the introspection. Rey turned her head toward him, catching the subtle curve of his lips, the way his touch lingered as if mapping the curve of her leg, possessive yet tender.

"The movers have collected the boxes," Ben said, his voice low and smooth, breaking the comfortable silence like a soft ripple on water. He squeezed her thigh lightly, the pressure firm enough to draw her full attention. "They've gone to Rose and collected her stuff. Everything is clear skies." The words carried a lightness, an undercurrent of relief after the day's tensions, his optimism wrapping around her like a blanket. His hand didn't retreat; instead, it slid a fraction higher, palm pressing flat against her leg, the warmth seeping through fabric to her skin, a silent affirmation that the logistics of their move were handled, leaving only the horizon ahead.

Rey felt a smile tug at her lips, genuine and unburdened, as she covered his hand with hers, intertwining their fingers and guiding his touch to rest higher on her thigh. The gesture was instinctive, a bridge between the vulnerability of the coffee shop and the anticipation of their hotel room waiting just miles away.

"Clear skies," she echoed softly, her voice laced with gratitude, turning her palm up to lace their fingers more securely. The city lights danced across her face, highlighting the flush creeping into her cheeks—not just from the rub of his hand, but from the realization that this was it: no more hiding, no more stolen moments in offices or dorms. Just them, unbound, heading toward LA with the weight of suitcases and secrets finally easing.

Ben glanced at her then, his eyes darkening with that familiar intensity, the one that always made her pulse quicken. The road curved gently, leading them toward the quieter outskirts where their hotel nestled among manicured lawns and glowing signs, a temporary haven before the cross-country drive. His fingers flexed against her leg, a subtle press that sent a shiver racing up her spine, hinting at the deeper comforts he planned to offer once they arrived.

"You were incredible back there," he murmured, his tone shifting to something more intimate, thumb resuming its lazy path along the seam of her jeans. "Handling all that with your dad... I'm proud of you, Rey."

The hotel came into view sooner than expected, its facade lit warmly against the deepening night, valet stands empty under the porte-cochere. Ben pulled up smoothly, killing the engine with a final sigh, but his hand lingered on her leg a moment longer, reluctant to break the contact. Rey unbuckled her seatbelt, leaning across the console to press a quick kiss to his cheek, her lips brushing the stubble there.

"Lead the way," she whispered, her breath warm against his skin, eyes sparkling. As the valet approached, Ben finally withdrew his hand, but not before giving her thigh one last, lingering squeeze, a prelude to the evening's unfolding intimacies. They stepped out into the cool night air, the hotel doors beckoning like an open invitation, the weight of the day dissolving into the thrill of what lay ahead.

The elevator ride to their floor was a brief interlude of charged silence, the mirrored walls reflecting Rey and Ben's intertwined forms—her hand in his, his thumb stroking the back of her knuckles with a rhythm that echoed the anticipation building between them. The soft ding of arrival pulled them apart just enough to step into the hushed corridor, carpet muffling their footsteps as they approached room 512. Ben swiped the keycard with efficient precision, the lock clicking open like an invitation. He pushed the door wide, gesturing for Rey to enter first, his eyes tracing the sway of her hips as she crossed the threshold into the dimly lit space.

The room enveloped them in cool luxury: a king-sized bed dominated the center, crisp white sheets turned down, flanked by nightstands with glowing lamps casting golden pools of light. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city skyline, twinkling lights stretching into the distance like scattered stars. The air hummed with the faint scent of fresh linens and citrus cleaner, a neutral backdrop to the heat simmering in Rey's veins. She dropped her purse on the nearby armchair, the two suitcases left by the bellhop outside the door for later unpacking. Turning toward Ben, words formed on her tongue—something about the conversation with her father, a question about how he thought it went, or perhaps the logistics of the drive tomorrow—but before she could voice it, the door snicked shut behind him.

Ben moved like a shadow uncoiling, swift and predatory, closing the distance in two strides. His hands caught her waist, spinning her gently but firmly until her back met the solid wall beside the bathroom door, the cool plaster a stark contrast to the warmth of his body pressing against hers. Rey's breath hitched, the question dissolving into a gasp as his mouth crashed onto hers, lips demanding and unyielding. He kissed her with a hunger that had been building since the car, tongue sweeping past her parted lips to tangle with hers, tasting the faint bitterness of coffee from earlier mingled with the sweetness that was uniquely her.

One hand slid up to cradle the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair to tilt her face for deeper access, while the other gripped her hip, pinning her in place. Rey's hands instinctively rose to his chest, palms flattening against the firm planes of muscle beneath his shirt, feeling the rapid thud of his heart matching her own. But Ben wasn't content with restraint; his free hand dipped lower, cupping the curve of her ass through her jeans, squeezing the soft flesh with possessive force. He lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist as he hoisted her higher, her back sliding up the wall until her feet dangled, supported entirely by his strength and the press of his body.

The new angle brought her core flush against the hard ridge of his erection straining against his pants, the friction sending a jolt of pleasure through her. Rey moaned into his mouth, the sound muffled as he ground against her deliberately, his hips rolling in a slow, teasing thrust that rubbed his cock along her clothed pussy. His fingers dug into her ass cheeks, kneading them roughly, spreading her slightly as he held her aloft, the denim barrier doing little to dull the heat building between them. She could feel the outline of him, thick and insistent, promising more as he broke the kiss to trail his lips down her jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin of her neck.

"Ben," she whispered, half-protest, half-plea, her body arching into him despite the unfinished thought lingering in her mind. But he silenced her with another fierce kiss, his teeth grazing her lower lip before sucking it between his own, the slight sting blooming into warmth. His hand on her ass slipped lower, fingers tracing the seam of her jeans toward the cleft between her cheeks, pressing just enough to hint at deeper explorations. Rey's nails scraped down his shirt, bunching the fabric as she clung to him, her thighs tightening around his waist to pull him closer, urging that delicious pressure against her aching center.

He growled low in his throat, the vibration rumbling through his chest into hers, as he shifted his grip—one arm banding around her lower back to hold her steady while the other hand ventured upward, shoving beneath her shirt to palm the bare skin of her stomach. His touch was electric, calluses rough against her softness, thumb circling her navel before dipping toward the button of her jeans. Rey's head fell back against the wall with a soft thud, exposing her throat to his mouth; he latched on immediately, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, his tongue laving the spot in soothing circles. The dual assault—his cock grinding relentlessly against her, his mouth marking her as his—had her hips bucking involuntarily, seeking more friction, her pussy clenching around nothing in desperate need.

Ben's breath came hot and ragged against her skin as he pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, his dark gaze burning with raw desire.

"Whatever you were going to say," he murmured, voice husky and edged with command, "it can wait." His fingers popped the button of her jeans open with practiced ease, the zipper rasping down as he wedged his hand inside, cupping her through her panties. She was already soaked, the fabric damp under his touch, and he groaned at the discovery, middle finger pressing along her slit to rub her clit in firm, insistent strokes. Rey whimpered, her body trembling in his hold, legs locked tight as waves of pleasure radiated from his touch.

He didn't stop there; with her still pinned against the wall, he worked her jeans and panties down just enough to free her pussy, the cool air of the room kissing her exposed skin before his fingers delved between her folds. Two digits slid inside her easily, curling to stroke that sensitive spot deep within, while his thumb continued its assault on her clit. Rey's cries grew louder, uninhibited now in the privacy of their room, her hands fisting in his hair as she rocked against his hand, chasing the building tension. Ben's mouth returned to hers, swallowing her moans, his own arousal throbbing painfully against her thigh as he finger-fucked her with increasing speed, the wet sounds of her arousal filling the space between them.

The wall at her back grounded her as the world narrowed to the man holding her, the relentless pleasure coiling tighter in her core. Ben's free hand squeezed her ass again, lifting her higher to give himself better access, his fingers plunging deeper, stretching her in preparation for what he knew she craved.

"That's it," he rasped against her lips, watching her face contort in ecstasy, "let go for me, Rey. I've got you." And with that, he added a third finger, the fullness pushing her over the edge—her orgasm crashed through her, pussy clenching around his digits as she cried out his name, body shuddering in his unyielding grip.

He held her through it, slowing his thrusts to draw out every tremor, kissing her softly now, a contrast to the intensity moments before. As she came down, panting and boneless, Ben lowered her gently to her feet, but only long enough to strip away the obstructing clothes, his following suit until they stood bare from the waist down. His cock sprang free, heavy and veined, the tip glistening. Rey's eyes darkened with renewed hunger, her hand reaching for him, but he caught her wrist, guiding her toward the bed instead.

"Tonight's just the beginning," he promised, voice thick with emotion and lust,.

Ben's eyes locked onto Rey's as he guided her toward the bed, his grip firm on her wrist, the air between them thick with unspoken promises. The sheets whispered against her skin as she reached the edge, but before she could fully settle, his voice cut through the tension, low and commanding.

"Sit on the bed," he ordered, the words laced with authority that sent a shiver racing down her spine.

Rey obeyed without hesitation, her thighs pressing together as she perched on the mattress, the soft give of it contrasting the hardness in his gaze. She watched, transfixed, as Ben ran his fingers through his disheveled hair, the motion pulling his shirt taut across his broad shoulders. His biceps flexed with the simple gesture, veins standing out against his forearms, and Rey bit her lower lip hard, heat pooling low in her belly as she drank in the sight of him—tall, powerful, every inch of him radiating control. Her eyes traced the lines of his body, from the sharp cut of his jaw to the way down.

He noticed her stare, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, but he didn't comment. Instead, Ben dropped to his knees before her, the carpet muffling the sound as he positioned himself between her parted legs. Rey's breath caught, her hands fisting the sheets as he began to crawl forward, slow and deliberate, like a predator closing in on prey. His dark eyes never left hers, holding her captive as he advanced, the muscles in his shoulders and arms shifting with each measured movement. The vulnerability of him on his knees only amplified his dominance, and Rey's pussy throbbed with anticipation, already slick from his earlier attentions.

When he reached her, Ben's hands settled on her knees, thumbs tracing lazy circles on her skin as he leaned in. He started with soft kisses along her calves, lips brushing feather-light against the sensitive flesh, working his way up her legs inch by inch. Rey's head tilted back slightly, a soft sigh escaping her as his mouth mapped the inner curve of her shin, then higher to the back of her knee, where he lingered, tongue flicking out to taste her. The warmth of his breath ghosted over her skin, raising goosebumps as he progressed to her thighs, kisses growing firmer, more insistent.

His hands slid upward in tandem, palms gliding over her hips and up to her chest, fingers splaying across her breasts. With a gentle but unyielding push, he guided her backward until she was lying flat on her back, the pillows cradling her head as she stared up at the ceiling, chest heaving. Ben hovered over her legs, his face inches from her core, and Rey spread her thighs wider instinctively, inviting him closer.

"Let me serve you," he whispered, his lips brushing the soft skin of her inner thigh, the words vibrating against her as he nipped lightly at the flesh.

Rey's response was a whimper, her body arching toward him as Ben's mouth finally descended. He parted her folds with his thumbs, exposing her clit to the cool air before his tongue delved in, flat and broad, licking a slow stripe from her entrance to the swollen nub. He was deliberate, agonizingly so—circling her clit with the tip of his tongue in lazy spirals, then sucking gently, drawing it between his lips without rushing. Rey's hips bucked, her hands flying to his hair. His pace never quickened; he lapped at her pussy like he was savoring every drop, tongue dipping inside her to thrust shallowly before retreating to tease her clit again.

The slowness drove her insane, pleasure building in torturous waves that had her toes curling and her breaths coming in ragged gasps.

"Ben... please," she moaned, but he only hummed against her, the vibration sending sparks through her core. He alternated between long, languid licks and soft sucks, his free hand kneading her thigh as he held her steady. Rey's body tensed, the coil in her belly winding tighter with every deliberate stroke, until she shattered—her orgasm ripping through her with a cry, pussy clenching as she flooded his mouth with her release. Ben didn't pull away; he licked her through it, gentling his touches until the tremors subsided, her body limp and quivering.

His lips trailing a path of fire over her mound, her stomach, the valley between her breasts. He moved slow, savoring the salt of her skin, pausing to swirl his tongue around her navel before continuing upward. Rey's hands found his shoulders, nails digging in as he reached her chest. He captured one nipple in his mouth, tongue flicking over the hardened peak while his teeth grazed it lightly, sending jolts straight to her still-sensitive pussy.

In a fluid motion, Ben gathered her wrists, stretching her arms above her head and pinning them there with one large hand, his grip ironclad. Rey squirmed beneath him, the restraint heightening every sensation as he lavished attention on her nipples—sucking one into his mouth, rolling it with his tongue, then switching to the other, leaving them wet and aching.

"Fuck, Ben," she gasped, her back arching to push her breasts closer, the teasing licks and nips driving her wild, her pussy clenching emptily with renewed need.

She was desperate now, words tumbling from her lips in a litany of pleas.

"Please, Ben... I need you inside me. Fuck me, please... I can't wait anymore." Her voice cracked, hips grinding up against his thigh where it pressed between her legs, seeking friction. Ben lifted his head, eyes dark with satisfaction as he watched her writhe, loving the raw desperation in her tone, the way she begged so prettily for him. He released her wrists only to trail kisses higher, along her collarbone, the hollow of her throat, his body covering hers as he settled between her thighs.

His free hand—slid up her neck, fingers wrapping loosely around her throat, thumb pressing just enough to feel her pulse racing beneath his touch. The pressure was possessive, grounding, making her feel claimed as he squeezed gently, tilting her head back for better access to her mouth. He kissed her deeply, letting her taste herself on his tongue, while his cock nudged against her entrance, thick and hot, but he didn't push in—not yet. Rey moaned into the kiss, her hands roaming his back, urging him on.

"I need you to beg better than that," he teased, voice a gravelly rumble against her lips as he pulled back slightly, his hand tightening fractionally on her throat. His hips rolled forward, the head of his cock sliding through her slick folds, bumping her clit but denying her the penetration she craved. Rey's eyes fluttered shut, a whine escaping her as she bucked up, trying to take him in, but he held her down with his weight, controlling the pace.

"Ben, please," she begged again, louder this time, her voice breaking with need. "I need your cock inside me—deep, hard. Fuck me until I can't think, until I'm screaming your name. Please, I need it so bad... I'll do anything." The words spilled out, filthy and fervent, her body trembling under him, pussy dripping onto the sheets. Ben's grip on her throat eased just enough for her to breathe deeply, but his eyes gleamed with dark approval, the desperation fueling his own arousal as his cock throbbed against her.

He leaned down, lips brushing her ear.

"Good girl," he murmured, rewarding her with a shallow thrust, just the tip breaching her entrance before withdrawing. Rey cried out, her nails raking down his arms, every nerve alight with frustration and desire. He kissed her neck, sucking a mark into the skin under his hand, then trailed his mouth back to hers, swallowing her next plea as he positioned himself fully, ready to give her exactly what she begged for—but only after drawing out her surrender a little longer.

Ben's lips crashed against Rey's, capturing the desperate cry that tore from her throat as he finally gave in to her pleas. His tongue plunged into her mouth, tangling with hers in a deep, consuming kiss that muffled her sounds of need. At the same moment, he thrust forward, his thick cock sliding all the way inside her in one smooth, deliberate motion. Rey's pussy stretched around him, walls clenching greedily as he filled her completely, the sensation of being utterly claimed sending a fresh wave of pleasure crashing through her body. She gasped into his mouth, her hips arching up to meet him, but Ben set the pace—slow, unhurried, each inch of his length dragging against her sensitive inner walls as he buried himself to the hilt.

He held there for a beat, their breaths mingling in the heated space between them, his hand still loosely around her throat, thumb stroking the pulse point that fluttered wildly under his touch. Rey's legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, pulling him closer, her heels digging into the small of his back as if she could fuse them together. Ben groaned low in his chest, the vibration rumbling through her body, and began to move. His hips rolled in a languid rhythm, pulling out almost to the tip before sinking back in, deep and measured, every thrust designed to savor the slick heat of her pussy enveloping him. It was slow, achingly so, the friction building in layers that made her toes curl against the sheets, her entire body tensing with the intensity of it.

Sweat beaded on Ben's skin, his body hot and sticky against hers, the sheen of perspiration making their slide together even more sensual. Rey's hands roamed his back, fingers tracing the ridges of his muscles before her nails dug in, dragging upward in sharp, possessive lines that left faint red trails in their wake. The sting only spurred him on, his thrusts deepening slightly, the head of his cock nudging that spot inside her that made stars burst behind her eyelids. He broke the kiss to trail his mouth along her jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin there before returning to devour her lips again, swallowing every whimper and moan she fed him.

"Fuck, Rey," he murmured against her mouth, his voice rough with restraint, hips circling now to grind his pelvis. The pressure was exquisite, a steamy blend of romance and raw need, his hand sliding down to grip her hip, holding her steady as he fucked her with deliberate slowness. Her pussy fluttered around him, juices coating his shaft and dripping down to where their bodies joined, the wet sounds of their coupling filling the room like an erotic symphony. Rey's nails scraped higher, raking over his shoulders as she clung to him, her body undulating beneath his weight, matching his rhythm with tiny rolls of her hips.

The sex was toe-curling, each slow drag of his cock pulling her closer to the edge without rushing her over. Ben's breath came in hot pants against her neck as he shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to watch her face—eyes half-lidded with pleasure, lips swollen from his kisses, cheeks flushed a deep pink. He loved seeing her like this, lost in him, her body responding to every measured thrust. His hand tightened briefly on her throat, not choking but reminding her of his control, before sliding up to cup her face, thumb brushing her cheek in a tender contrast to the building heat between them.

Rey's cries grew more fervent, muffled by his mouth as he kissed her again, deeper this time, tongues stroking in time with his hips. She felt every ridge and vein of his cock as it slid in and out, the slow pace allowing her to feel the way he throbbed inside her, hot and insistent. Her nails dragged down his back once more, harder now, the pain mingling with pleasure for him, making his thrusts stutter for a moment before he regained his composure. Sweat slicked their skin, bodies sticking together in the humid air of the room, the scent of their arousal thick and heady.

He angled his hips just so, hitting that perfect spot with unerring precision on the next thrust, and Rey's back bowed off the bed, a keening sound escaping her despite his kiss. Her pussy clenched around him rhythmically, the slow build pushing her toward another climax, toes curling so tightly they cramped in the best way. Ben's hand left her face to tangle in her hair, pulling her head back gently to expose her throat, where he pressed open-mouthed kisses, sucking lightly at the pulse there.

"You're so tight," he growled, voice laced with awe and desire, his sticky chest sliding against her breasts with each movement, nipples hardening further from the friction.

The rhythm never quickened, remaining that torturous, romantic grind—deep, soul-stirring fucks that connected them on every level. Rey's hands explored lower, nails scraping along his spine before gripping his ass, urging him deeper even as he controlled the pace. She broke the kiss to gasp his name,

"Ben... oh god, it's so good," her words dissolving into a moan as he bottomed out again, grinding until she trembled. The steaminess of it all—the heat of his body, the slick slide of sweat and arousal—wrapped around them like a cocoon, making the world narrow to just this: him inside her, moving slow and sure, drawing out every sensation until she was a quivering mess beneath him.

Ben's own release built gradually, the slow drag of her pussy on his cock testing his restraint, but he held back, wanting to prolong this intimate dance. He captured her mouth once more, swallowing her escalating cries as he thrust in deep, holding there to let her feel him pulse. Rey's nails raked up his back in a final, desperate drag, leaving welts that burned deliciously, and she shattered around him—orgasm ripping through her in waves, pussy milking his cock as her toes curled and uncurled, body shaking with the intensity. Ben followed moments later, groaning into her kiss as he spilled inside her, hot spurts filling her up while he kept moving, slow and gentle now, riding out their shared pleasure until they both collapsed, spent and entwined.

 

They lay curled up together in the tangled sheets, bodies still humming from the aftershocks of their release, skin warm and slick where they pressed close. Ben's arm draped over Rey's waist, holding her against his chest, her head tucked under his chin as she nestled into the curve of his body. The room smelled of them—sweat, sex, and the faint vanilla from her lotion—creating an intimate haze that wrapped around them like a blanket. His fingers threaded gently through her damp hair, stroking in slow, soothing passes from her temple down to the nape of her neck, tracing the soft strands as if memorizing their texture. Rey sighed contentedly, her leg hooked over his thigh, their breaths syncing in the quiet aftermath.

"Are you looking forward to L.A.?" he asked, his voice a low rumble against her ear, laced with a tenderness that made her heart squeeze. His hand paused in her hair, thumb brushing her scalp in lazy circles, waiting for her response.

She nodded, tilting her head up just enough to meet his gaze, her eyes bright and unguarded in the dim light filtering through the curtains. A small smile curved her lips, genuine and radiant, chasing away the last shadows of their earlier intensity.

"I really am," she said happily, her words soft but fervent, carrying the weight of all the possibilities stretching out before them. She shifted closer, pressing a light kiss to his collarbone, her fingers splaying across his chest to feel the steady thump of his heartbeat. "It's like... everything we've been waiting for, you know? Just us, starting fresh."

Ben's lips quirked into a smile of his own, his hand resuming its gentle strokes through her hair, twirling a lock around his finger before letting it fall. He could feel the subtle vibration of her happiness against him, her body relaxed yet buzzing with quiet excitement.

"Me too," he murmured, his free hand sliding down her back in a slow caress, palm flat against the dip of her spine. "I've been picturing it for months—waking up with you every morning, a little apartment with the balcony overlooking the hills, stock the kitchen with all your weird tea flavors." he chuckles "At night, I'll have you begging"

Rey laughed, a light, bubbly sound that filled the space between them, her nose nuzzling into the crook of his neck. She inhaled his scent—musky and familiar, now mingled with the salt of their exertion—and let her hand wander lower, tracing idle patterns on his hip.

"Begging? From me? You wish," she teased, her voice playful, though her eyes held a deeper warmth, reflecting the love that had carried them through the chaos of the past year. "But seriously, Ben... I can't wait to build this with you. Walks on the beach at sunset, late-night drives with the windows down, cooking disasters that end in takeout and more of this." She gestured vaguely at their entwined forms, her cheeks flushing a soft pink as memories of their recent passion flickered through her mind.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest, and pulled her even tighter against him, his leg shifting to tangle with hers more securely. His fingers continued their rhythmic stroking, now dipping to massage the base of her skull, easing any lingering tension from her body.

"More of this, huh? Careful what you wish for—I might never let you out of bed." His tone was affectionate, laced with that possessive edge she loved, but his eyes softened as he studied her face, drinking in the joy there. It was a far cry from the stolen moments in his office or the hurried encounters in empty classrooms; this was real, unhurried, theirs alone.

Rey propped herself up on one elbow, her hair cascading over her shoulder like a silken curtain, and leaned in to brush her lips against his in a feather-light kiss.

"Promise?" she whispered, her free hand cupping his jaw, thumb tracing the stubble along his chin. The happiness in her voice was infectious, bubbling up from a place of pure relief and anticipation. L.A. wasn't just a city; it was freedom, a new chapter where she could shout his name from rooftops without fear, where their love could bloom openly under the sun.

Ben captured her hand, bringing it to his mouth to press a kiss to her knuckles, his gaze never leaving hers.

"Every damn day," he vowed, his voice husky with emotion. He guided her back down into his arms, resuming the gentle strokes through her hair, his other hand settling on her thigh in a comforting weight. They lay like that for a while, the world outside fading to irrelevance, just the two of them curled up in the quiet, hearts aligned toward the horizon. The future felt tangible now, bright and full of promise, as his fingers wove through her locks once more, anchoring her to him in the simplest, most profound way.

Chapter 41

One Year Later

 

The sun hung high over Rodeo Drive, casting a golden glow on the bustling sidewalk lined with designer storefronts and palm trees swaying gently in the warm California breeze. One year had flown by in a whirlwind of new beginnings for Rey and Rose, their friendship as solid as ever amid the glamour and chaos of Los Angeles life. Shopping bags dangled from their arms—crisp paper handles from Gucci, Chanel, and a few boutique spots they'd hit earlier—swinging lightly with each step as they navigated the crowd of tourists and locals alike. Rey's dark hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, her oversized sunglasses perched on her nose to shield her eyes from the glare, while Rose's curls bounced freely, her face animated with the endless energy that had always defined her.

Rose glanced sideways at her best friend, adjusting the strap of one of her bags as they approached the corner.

"So, did he tell you what's going on tonight?" she asked, her voice laced with curiosity and a hint of mischief. She knew Ben well enough by now—after a year of him being a fixture in Rey's life—to pick up on the subtle shifts in his plans.

Rey shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips as she pushed her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose. The lenses reflected the flashy displays in the windows they passed, hiding the spark of anticipation in her eyes.

"Nope," she replied casually, her tone light but intrigued. "Just told me to dress nice and a car will pick me up at eight." She pictured the text again, Ben's words popping up on her phone during her lunch break: Dress hot. Easily done for you ;). Be ready at 8.

No details, just that commanding edge she adored, making her pulse quicken even now.

They turned into the cozy coffee shop on the corner, a trendy spot with exposed brick walls, plush velvet chairs, and the rich aroma of freshly ground beans wafting through the air. The baristas moved like a well-oiled machine behind the counter, steaming milk and pulling espresso shots amid the hum of chatter from patrons scrolling on their phones or typing away on laptops. Rey and Rose claimed a small table by the window, the glass offering a perfect view of the street's endless parade of luxury. They set their bags down with a soft rustle, the crinkle of tissue paper echoing their afternoon's spoils.

"Was he serious?" Rose pressed, sliding into her seat and crossing her legs, her eyes wide with genuine interest. She leaned forward, elbows on the table, as a server approached to take their orders—iced lattes for both, extra shot for Rey to combat the shopping fatigue.

Rey shrugged, watching the server jot down the details before turning back to her friend.

"Nah, it was just a text," she said, her voice easy and unconcerned. "He seemed fine this morning—he said he had a few things to do" She paused as their drinks arrived, the condensation already beading on the tall glasses. Taking a sip, she savored the cool bitterness, then smiled at Rose, her expression warming with the memory. "Then at lunch, he texted me. So I called you for a shopping trip." She smirked, nudging one of the bags with her foot under the table. "Figured I needed something killer to wear if he's being all mysterious."

Rose laughed, stirring her straw through the foam of her latte, the ice clinking softly.

"Mysterious Ben? That's a first. Usually, he's all upfront about dragging you off to some rooftop dinner or whatever." She took a long pull from her drink, her mind already spinning scenarios. But then her face lit up with sudden remembrance, nearly spilling her latte in her excitement. "Oh, you didn't tell me how the interview went!"

Rey's casual demeanor shifted into quiet pride as she leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. The coffee shop's ambient jazz played softly in the background, mingling with the distant honk of traffic outside.

"Oh yeah, I got it," she said offhandedly, though the corners of her mouth tugged upward, betraying her thrill.

"Oh my god, Rey!" Rose squealed, clapping her hands together once before catching herself and lowering her voice amid the shop's relaxed vibe. Her eyes sparkled with unfiltered joy for her friend, the kind that came from years of shared dreams and late-night talks about escaping their old lives. "That's huge! Spill—details!"

Rey grinned, setting her glass down with a satisfied clink.

"I'll be on the radio, dishing out all the tunes Monday through Friday, mornings and afternoons," she said proudly, her voice carrying a newfound confidence that had blossomed over the past year. The job was entry-level, sure, but it felt like a launchpad—her voice reaching across the city, curating playlists that could make commutes bearable or late-night drives electric. "Starting next week."

Rose beamed, reaching across the table to squeeze Rey's hand.

"I'm so proud of you. I'll be tuning in from my boring-ass classes every day. Honestly, no hot teachers at all." She rolled her eyes dramatically, slumping back in her seat as if the weight of her complaints was too much to bear. "Most of them are eighty and can barely hold a sentence together. And the only young ones are the science guys—they wouldn't know if I was hitting on them or not." She sighed deeply, tracing the rim of her glass with a fingertip, her frustration bubbling up in a theatrical groan. "Getting laid in this town is so hard."

Rey chuckled, the sound light and teasing as she watched her friend's theatrics. The afternoon light filtered through the window, casting warm patterns on the table, highlighting the faint freckles across Rose's nose.

"Speak for yourself," she said, her tone playful, a flush creeping up her cheeks at the shift in conversation. Their friendship had always allowed for these unfiltered chats—no judgments.

Rose's eyebrows shot up, her whine turning into eager curiosity as she leaned in again.

"How often do you guys... you know?"

Rey took another sip of her latte, buying a second to compose her words, though the ease between them made it simple.

"Daily. Several times," she admitted with a chuckle, her voice dropping conspiratorially even in the crowded shop. "Even if I'm ill, he will still fuck me. Risks getting the flu. He can't keep his hands off me, Rose." She shook her head, amused at her own candor.

"Fuck..." Rose whined, burying her face in her hands for a moment before peeking through her fingers, half-jealous, half-envious. "See, I'll never get that. It's all awkward dates that fizzle out or guys who ghost after one coffee. Meanwhile, you're living the dream with your insatiable professor-turned-L.A.-boyfriend." She straightened up, fanning herself with a shopping bag as if the mere thought overheated her. "Spill more—does he, like, plan these surprise nights to keep things spicy, or is it just him being Ben?"

Rey laughed again, the sound genuine and freeing, as she glanced out the window at the world rushing by. The bags at their feet rustled with potential—dresses, heels, accessories for whatever Ben had in store. One year in, their life together felt electric, a far cry from the stolen moments back at school.

"It's always a bit of both," she mused, her mind drifting to the evening ahead. "But tonight? Who knows. With him, it's never boring."

Rose leaned back in her chair, running a hand through her curls, her expression a mix of exasperation and reluctant amusement. She picked at the edge of a napkin, twisting it into a small knot before letting it drop.

"Speaking of boring in bed," she groaned, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush, though the shop's noise covered it well. "Finn messaged me." She pulled out her phone from her jeans pocket, the screen lighting up her face as she scrolled to the text thread, holding it out for Rey to glimpse. The message was blunt, classic Finn: Hey, heading your way for Christmas. Up for keeping things casual? Long distance fuck buddies? No strings.

Rey's eyebrows arched behind her sunglasses, which she'd pushed up onto her head to let her eyes adjust to the indoor light. She set her glass down carefully, the cool condensation slick against her palm, and leaned forward to peer at the screen. Finn's words jumped out, straightforward and unapologetic.

"Long distance?" Rey chuckled, the sound bubbling up warm and teasing as she shook her head. "Jeez, nothing screams a booty call like driving hours just for a ten minute fuck." She could picture it—Finn piling into his beat-up car from Ohio State, the highway stretching out under winter skies, all for a hookup that might fizzle by New Year's. It was equal parts flattering and ridiculous, and she couldn't help the grin that spread across her face. Her own life with Ben felt worlds away from that kind of tentative arrangement; their days were laced with constant touch, stolen moments that built into nights of unrelenting heat.

Rose snatched her phone back, locking the screen with a dramatic huff, but her lips twitched with a smile she couldn't quite suppress. She tucked a curl behind her ear, her cheeks flushing a light pink under the shop's warm lighting. The desperation in her earlier groan wasn't entirely feigned; classes had her buried in textbooks and group projects, leaving little room for the spark she craved.

"Honestly, Rey," she said, her tone shifting to something more earnest, laced with that restless energy that always surfaced when she talked about her stalled love life. "If this dry spell lasts any longer, I might just take him up on it. Fuck it, I'll even fly him out here." She gestured vaguely toward the window, as if imagining Finn stepping off a plane at LAX, ready to crash her tiny apartment in Echo Park. The idea was impulsive, born of too many solo nights and the lingering ache from their high school flings—quick, fumbling encounters in dorm rooms or behind the bleachers that had left her wanting more.

Rey had just taken a sip of her latte, the now-lukewarm liquid sliding down her throat, when Rose's words hit. She choked suddenly, the coffee catching in her windpipe as a surprised cough escaped her. Her hand flew to her mouth, eyes watering as she coughed again, setting the glass down with a clatter that drew a quick glance from the couple at the next table.

"Jesus, Rose," she managed between coughs, waving off the concern with a laugh that turned into a wheeze. She grabbed a napkin, dabbing at her lips, her face heating from the unexpected reaction. Seeing her friend's desperation laid bare like that—raw and unfiltered—struck her as both hilarious and a little heartbreaking. Rose, always the vibrant one, reduced to plotting cross-country hookups? It was a far cry from the carefree girl who'd dragged her through school pranks and late-night gossip sessions.

Rose burst out laughing, reaching over to pat Rey's back lightly, her own shoulders shaking with mirth.

"Oh my god, are you okay? I didn't mean to kill you with my pathetic life choices." She slid a fresh napkin across the table, her eyes sparkling with that mix of self-deprecation and defiance.

Rey nodded, clearing her throat with another sip of water the server had mercifully brought over without asking. She straightened up, still chuckling, the moment breaking the tension like a popped bubble.

"I'm fine, just... wow. Flying him out? That's next-level commitment to ending the drought." She tilted her head, studying Rose with genuine curiosity, her voice softening from the teasing edge. "But seriously, is that what you want? Casual with Finn? I mean, he's fun and all, but long distance... that's a lot of effort for something that might just be a holiday fling."

Rose shrugged, her fingers drumming on the table as she considered it, the shopping bags at their feet forgotten for the moment. The sun had dipped a fraction lower, casting longer shadows through the window and painting the street in hues of amber.

"I don't know," she admitted, her voice quieter now, more reflective. "It's not like I'm looking for forever or anything. Just... something. Anything. These classes are kicking my ass, and the guys here? Either they're players who vanish after one date, or they're so buried in their startups they forget to text back." She paused, glancing at her phone again, Finn's message still glowing in her mind. "Finn at least knows me. No games, just straight-up. And Christmas is months away—plenty of time to see if the dry spell turns into a desert."

Rey reached across the table, giving Rose's hand a quick squeeze, the gesture sisterly and reassuring. The warmth of their friendship cut through the city's superficial gloss, a reminder of why they'd uprooted everything to chase dreams here.

"Hey, if it works for you, go for it." She smirked, lightening the mood again, her mind already drifting to her own evening mystery.

 

The laughter between Rey and Rose tapered off as the barista announced last call for refills, the shop's energy shifting toward the evening crowd filtering in from the fading daylight. Rose glanced at her phone, the screen flashing a reminder for her shift at the boutique down the block, her expression pulling into a reluctant pout. She shoved the last of her napkin shreds into a crumpled pile and pushed back from the table, the chair scraping softly against the tiled floor.

"Ugh, reality calls," she said, slinging her purse over her shoulder and gathering the scattered shopping bags with a dramatic sigh. "I gotta clock in before my boss decides I'm the queen of tardiness. Thanks for the coffee and the ego boost— or was it the ego bruise? Either way, you're the best."

Rey smiled, warmth blooming in her chest at the easy affection that defined their bond, even as the city lights began to flicker on outside, casting a golden haze over the upscale storefronts. She stood too, smoothing her casual blouse and jeans, the ones she'd thrown on for their impromptu shopping spree. The air smelled of fresh espresso grounds and the faint floral notes from Rose's perfume, a reminder of the simple joys amid LA's relentless pace.

"Anytime, you know that. And hey, text me if you decide to book that flight for Finn— I wanna hear all the juicy details." She pulled Rose into a quick hug, their arms wrapping tight for a beat longer than usual, the kind of embrace that bridged the miles they'd already started to feel between their lives.

Rose squeezed back, her curls brushing Rey's cheek, before stepping away with a wink.

"Will do. Go dazzle Ben tonight— and don't do anything I wouldn't do." She laughed, the sound light and teasing as she headed for the door, weaving through the tables with her usual confident stride. The bell above the entrance jingled as she pushed out onto the sidewalk, the evening breeze carrying her away toward the boutique's glowing windows. Rey watched her go for a moment, a fond ache settling in— Rose's world spinning on without her in the same orbit, but their connection unbreakable.

With a deep breath, Rey gathered her own bags— a sleek pair of earrings she'd splurged on and a scarf that caught Ben's eye in the window— and stepped into the cooling air of Rodeo Drive. The sun had dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of pink and purple, while luxury sedans purred along the avenue, their headlights cutting through the twilight. She hailed a ride, the app pinging almost instantly, and slid into the back of a sleek black SUV, the leather seats cool against her skin. As the driver merged into traffic, LA unfolded around her: towering palms swaying gently, billboards advertising the latest blockbusters, and the distant hum of the city that still felt like a thrilling dream. Her mind wandered to Ben, waiting at their place, probably buried in lesson plans or grading papers for his upcoming semester. The thought sent a flutter through her stomach, anticipation building for the night ahead— a quiet dinner out, maybe, or something more intimate if the mood struck.

The ride back to their apartment in West Hollywood took about twenty minutes, the streets alive with joggers in neon gear and couples strolling hand-in-hand. Rey paid the driver with a quick tap of her phone and stepped out onto the familiar curb, the building's facade bathed in the soft glow of string lights draped along the entrance. It wasn't lavish like the high-rises downtown, but it was theirs— a cozy two-bedroom with a balcony overlooking a quiet courtyard, the kind of place that felt like home after the chaos of boarding school and sudden moves. She climbed the stairs to the second floor, her heels from earlier clicking softly, and unlocked the door with a twist of the key.

Inside, the air was warm and inviting, scented with the faint trace of Ben's cologne and the lavender candle they'd lit the night before. The living room opened up to the kitchen, sunlight— or what was left of it— filtering through sheer curtains, casting patterns on the hardwood floors. Ben wasn't in sight, likely in his office nook grading midterms or prepping for his history classes at the local community college. Rey dropped her bags by the couch, kicking off her flats with a sigh of relief, her bare feet sinking into the plush rug. The space was a blend of their styles: her vibrant throw pillows in jewel tones clashing playfully with his minimalist bookshelves lined with leather-bound classics and dog-eared paperbacks on ancient civilizations.

She padded to the bedroom, the heart of their sanctuary, where the king-sized bed dominated the room, its duvet still rumpled from their morning tangle of limbs and lazy kisses. Rey's side of the closet was a organized chaos of work blouses, jeans for casual days, and a few standout pieces for nights like this. She stripped off her daytime clothes, letting the blouse and jeans pool at her feet, standing in just her bra and panties for a moment, the mirror reflecting her lithe form— curves softened by the good meals and stress-free weeks since graduation. A quick glance at the clock on the nightstand: plenty of time before their reservation at that Italian spot Ben had picked, the one with candlelit tables and pasta that melted in your mouth.

First, the shower. Rey twisted the faucet in their en-suite bathroom, steam rising as hot water cascaded over the tiled walls. She stepped under the spray, letting it soak her hair, the rivulets tracing paths down her shoulders and over her breasts, washing away the day's residue. Shampoo first— her favorite coconut-scented one that Ben loved burying his nose in— lathering it into her dark waves until they foamed white. She rinsed, then conditioned, fingers combing through the strands to detangle, imagining Ben's hands doing the same later, pulling gently as he kissed her neck. Body wash next, the suds slick and fragrant as she soaped her arms, her stomach, between her thighs, a subtle thrill sparking at the thought of his touch replacing hers. She lingered there, the water pounding rhythmically, her skin flushing pink from the heat and the quiet building desire.

Toweling off, she wrapped the soft fabric around her body and moved to the vanity, the mirror fogged but clearing as she wiped it with her hand. Hair first: she blow-dried it in sections, the warm air tousling the strands into loose waves that fell just past her shoulders, framing her face with effortless volume. A spritz of heat protectant, then a curling iron for subtle definition— twisting sections around the barrel, releasing them to bounce free, the ends flipping playfully. She ran her fingers through it, satisfied with the tousled look that screamed 'effortlessly sexy' without trying too hard.

Makeup came next, the ritual a meditative unwind. She started with foundation, blending the creamy liquid over her skin with a damp sponge, evening out her tone to a natural glow. Concealer under her eyes to banish any trace of fatigue from late-night radio prep sessions. Powder to set it all, light and matte. Eyes: a neutral shadow palette, smoky browns smudged into the creases for depth, then winged liner— steady hand from practice, the black line sharp and feline, extending just enough to elongate her gaze. Mascara layered on her lashes, fanning them out dark and full. A touch of highlighter on her cheekbones, catching the vanity light like stardust. Lips last: she outlined with a deep berry pencil, filling in with a matte lipstick that promised to stay put through dinner and whatever followed. She pressed her lips together, blotting with tissue, the color bold against her skin, a silent invitation.

Naked now except for the towel, Rey crossed to the closet, her reflection glancing back approvingly. The dress hung waiting— the sexy black number she'd bought on impulse during a solo shopping trip, its fabric a silky sheath that hugged her body like a second skin. She slipped it on, the cool material whispering against her legs as she stepped into it, shimmying it up over her hips. The neckline plunged just enough to tease cleavage, the hem grazing mid-thigh, slit up one side for movement. No bra— the built-in cups provided support, her nipples faintly visible through the thin fabric if the light hit right, a deliberate choice for Ben's eyes only. Panties? A lacy black thong, barely there, the string disappearing between her ass cheeks.

She zipped the back, twisting to ensure it sat smooth, the dress molding to her waist and flaring slightly at the hips. Heels next: strappy black stilettos, four inches that arched her feet and lifted her posture, making her legs look endless. She fastened the buckles, standing to test the balance, the click of the heels on the floor echoing her pulse. A spritz of perfume— jasmine and vanilla, heady and seductive— at her wrists and neck, the scent lingering like a promise.

Rey stepped back into the bedroom, turning before the full-length mirror, a slow spin that let the dress swish against her thighs. She looked ready— confident, alluring, every inch the woman who'd claimed her new life in this city. Her phone buzzed on the dresser: a text from Ben.

Just wrapping up. You ready to make this night unforgettable?

A smile curved her lips, heat pooling low in her belly. She typed back: More than ready.

 

The soft chime of the doorbell echoed through the apartment, pulling Rey from her reverie in front of the mirror. She glanced at her phone— the ride-share app confirming the car's arrival downstairs. Her heart skipped a beat, a mix of curiosity and excitement bubbling up as she grabbed her clutch, the slim black leather holding just her essentials: lipstick for touch-ups, phone, and keys. With one last spritz of perfume, she locked the door behind her and descended the stairs, the click of her stilettos marking each step like a countdown to whatever surprise awaited.

Outside, the evening air kissed her bare shoulders, carrying the faint salt tang from the distant ocean mixed with the urban hum of West Hollywood. A sleek black sedan idled at the curb, its engine purring softly under the glow of the streetlamp. The driver, a middle-aged man in a crisp uniform, tipped his cap as she approached.

"Ms. Kenobi?" he asked, opening the rear door with a polite nod. She slid onto the cool leather seat, the door closing with a solid thunk, and the car eased into traffic without a word. No destination shared, just the quiet navigation of LA's winding streets as the city lights blurred past the tinted windows. Palm trees whipped by, their fronds silhouetted against the deepening indigo sky, and Rey's fingers drummed lightly on her thigh, confusion knitting her brows. Ben had mentioned dinner, but this felt... different. The route veered westward, away from the familiar restaurant strip, toward the coastline where the sprawl gave way to the endless Pacific.

The drive stretched on for about forty minutes, the radio murmuring soft jazz that did little to quell her growing intrigue. Finally, the car slowed, turning onto a secluded access road lined with dunes and scrub brush, the sound of waves crashing faintly audible now. Gravel crunched under the tires before they smoothed onto a paved path that ended at a small parking area overlooking the beach. The driver pulled to a stop, the ocean's rhythmic roar filling the sudden quiet.

"Your stop, ma'am," he said, glancing back with a knowing smile. Rey thanked him, stepping out onto the firm sandy pavement— a weathered boardwalk extension that led down to the shore, its surface gritty under her heels. The air was cooler here, briny and alive, with the sun long set and stars beginning to prick the velvet sky. She paused, scanning the dim expanse of beach illuminated by a few distant bonfires and the moon's silvery path on the water. Where was Ben? And why the beach?

A figure emerged from the shadows near the water's edge, tall and impeccably dressed in a tailored black tuxedo that hugged his broad shoulders and tapered at his waist. Ben. His white shirt gleamed under the faint light, the bow tie perfectly knotted, and his dark hair tousled just enough by the breeze to look effortlessly handsome. He strode toward her with that confident gait she adored, his polished shoes sinking slightly into the sand as he closed the distance.

"Good evening, my queen," he said, his voice low and playful, sweeping into a dramatic bow that swept his arm out like a courtier from some bygone era. The formality cracked her confusion wide open, a giggle escaping her lips before she could stop it— light and bubbling, easing the knot in her chest.

Before she could respond, he straightened and pulled her in close, his arms wrapping around her waist with a firm, possessive grip that pressed her body flush against his. The fabric of his tuxedo was crisp against her silky dress, and she could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat through it, syncing with her own quickening pulse. His cologne enveloped her— sandalwood and citrus, familiar and intoxicating— as his hands splayed across her lower back, thumbs tracing lazy circles that sent a shiver racing up her spine.

"Well, hello, you handsome stranger," she whispered, her breath warm against his lips, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze. His eyes, dark and intense in the moonlight, locked onto hers, a spark of mischief dancing there.

He didn't waste a second. With one hand cradling the nape of her neck, he dipped her back slightly, her body arching in his hold as his mouth claimed hers in a deep, lingering kiss. His lips moved with deliberate slowness, parting hers to taste her fully— the faint berry of her lipstick mingling with the champagne promise of the night. His tongue teased the seam of her mouth, coaxing a soft sigh from her as she melted into him, her fingers clutching the lapels of his jacket. The world narrowed to the heat of his body, the salt-laced wind whipping around them, and the distant crash of waves underscoring the moment like a private symphony.

When he pulled her upright, both of them slightly breathless, he murmured against her ear,

"You look gorgeous." His hands slid down to her hips, giving her a gentle spin that made the dress flare out, the slit parting to reveal a flash of thigh. He took his time checking her out, his gaze raking over her from the plunging neckline to the curve of her ass, then back up to meet her eyes with unabashed appreciation. Heat flushed her cheeks, but it was the good kind— the kind that made her feel seen, desired.

"You asked ever so kindly," she said, smiling up at him, her voice laced with teasing affection as she smoothed her hands over his chest. "What's going on?"

The question hung between them, genuine curiosity threading through her words as he took her hand, lacing their fingers together and guiding her down the beach. The sandy pavement gave way to softer dunes, and she paused after a few steps, the heels sinking awkwardly into the shifting grains. With a quick bend, she unbuckled the straps, slipping them off and dangling them from one hand by the straps. Barefoot now, the cool sand squished between her toes— a grounding, sensual contrast to the polished evening— and she caught up to him with a few jogging steps, her free hand brushing his arm.

Ben led her along the shoreline, the water lapping at the edge just yards away, foam curling like white lace under the moon. The beach stretched empty in either direction, a private stretch far from the tourist crowds, with only the occasional call of a gull breaking the serenity. He didn't answer right away, just squeezed her hand and kept their pace steady, the tuxedo jacket straining slightly across his back as he navigated the terrain. Finally, they crested a gentle rise, and there it was: a large plaid blanket spread out on the flat sand, anchored by small weights at the corners to fend off the breeze. At its center sat a wicker picnic basket, lid propped open to reveal chilled glasses and a bottle of champagne nestled in ice. Nearby, a small Bluetooth speaker hummed with soft, soulful music— something acoustic and romantic, strings weaving through the air like an invitation. Fairy lights strung between driftwood stakes cast a warm, twinkling glow, turning the setup into a makeshift oasis under the vast starfield.

"I figured a night under the stars," Ben said, releasing her hand to gesture at the scene with a flourish, his smile boyish despite the formal attire. He knelt to uncork the champagne, the pop echoing sharply before he poured two flutes, the bubbles fizzing golden in the low light. Handing one to her, he clinked his glass against hers, the crystal chiming like a toast to secrets yet unspoken. "No reservations, no crowds. Just us, the ocean, and whatever the night brings."

Rey accepted the glass, sipping the crisp, effervescent liquid that danced on her tongue— tart apples and a hint of brioche, perfect for the salty air. She sank onto the blanket, tucking her legs beneath her, the sand still warm from the day's sun seeping through the fabric.

"This is... incredible," she breathed, looking up at him as he settled beside her, close enough that their thighs touched. The music shifted to a slower melody, and she leaned her head on his shoulder, the confusion from the drive fully evaporated into wonder. "You planned all this? The car, the beach... you're full of surprises tonight."

Ben draped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her nearer, his fingers idly tracing the exposed skin of her arm.

"Guilty as charged. You've been working so hard and I wanted to remind you— we're building something real here. Moments like this." He pressed a kiss to her temple, his lips lingering, and she felt that familiar pull low in her belly, the romantic setup stirring the undercurrent of desire that always simmered between them. The basket held more treasures: artisanal cheeses, fresh strawberries glistening with dew, crusty bread, and olives— simple, elegant bites he fed her one by one, his fingers brushing her lips with each offering, turning the act into something intimate and teasing.

As the champagne flowed and the stars wheeled overhead, conversation flowed. The ocean whispered secrets to the shore, and Rey's hand found its way to his thigh, squeezing through the wool of his pants, a silent promise that the night was far from over. Ben's eyes darkened, his free hand cupping her jaw to draw her in for another kiss, this one hungrier, his tongue exploring with a possessiveness that made her pulse race. She shifted onto his lap, straddling him on the blanket, the dress riding up her thighs as his hands gripped her hips, guiding her closer. The music swelled, the waves crashed, and under the endless sky, their world narrowed to touches, tastes, and the building heat between them— a perfect prelude to whatever came next.

The heat between them built like a tide, Rey's hips rolling in a slow, deliberate grind against Ben's lap, the friction sending sparks through her core. She could feel him hardening beneath her, the rigid length of his cock pressing insistently against the thin fabric of her panties, making her pussy ache with need. His hands gripped her thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he guided her movements, but his breath came in ragged groans, his control fraying at the edges.

"Mmm, now if you keep going, we'll be doing this night backwards," he groaned, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her chest, his hips bucking up slightly to meet her rhythm. The words were half-warning, half-plea, laced with the strain of holding back.

Rey paused, her lips curving into a mischievous smile as she leaned in, capturing his mouth in a teasing kiss. Her tongue flicked against his, tasting the champagne on his breath, and she nipped at his lower lip before pulling back just enough to whisper,

"Why? What did you have planned?" She giggled softly, the sound light and breathless, her body still humming with the interrupted friction.

Ben moaned into the kiss, deep and guttural, his hands sliding up to cup her ass, squeezing the firm curves through the silky dress. He kneaded the flesh possessively, pulling her closer for a moment longer, his cock throbbing against her as if protesting the pause. But then, with visible effort, he rolled her off him gently, the blanket shifting beneath them as he sat up, his tuxedo jacket rumpled and his shirt slightly askew from their earlier embraces. Rey landed on her side, propped on one elbow, watching him with wide, curious eyes, her dress hiked up to mid-thigh, exposing the smooth expanse of her legs.

"Close your eyes," he asked, his tone shifting from heated to something softer, more intentional, though the desire still lingered in his gaze as he looked at her.

She obeyed with a smile, her lashes fluttering shut, a thrill of anticipation making her skin tingle. The beach sounds enveloped her—the gentle lap of waves, the distant call of night birds, the faint crackle of the Bluetooth speaker as the music looped into another slow melody. She heard him moving around, the soft rustle of fabric, the faint clink of something small, and her heart began to race, wondering what surprise he had up his sleeve this time.

"Open your eyes," Ben said after a moment, his voice steady but thick with emotion.

Rey's eyes snapped open, and there he was—on one knee in the sand beside the blanket, the moonlight casting a silvery halo around him. In his hands, he held a small velvet box, its deep blue surface absorbing the light. He flipped it open with a thumb, revealing the ring nestled inside: a stunning diamond solitaire, elegant and sparkling, flanked on either side by deep blue sapphires that caught the starlight like captured ocean depths. It was similar to the promise ring she wore on a delicate chain around her neck—but this was grander, more permanent, the stones winking with promise.

She covered her mouth with both hands, a gasp escaping through her fingers as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. The world seemed to hold its breath, the waves pausing in their rhythm, everything narrowing to this moment, to him.

Ben's eyes locked onto hers, dark and intense, filled with a love so profound it made her chest ache. He took a deep breath, his free hand reaching out to take hers, his thumb stroking over her knuckles in a soothing caress.

"Rey," he began, his voice low and sincere, wrapping around her name like a caress. "From the first moment I saw you in my classroom, with that fire in your eyes and that unyielding spirit, I knew you were something extraordinary. You challenged me, you saw through me, and in ways I never expected, you healed parts of me I didn't even know were broken. We've faced secrets, scandals, and storms that would have torn most people apart, but here we are—stronger, closer, unbreakable."

He paused, his gaze dropping briefly to the ring before lifting back to her, a small, sexy smile tugging at his lips as he remembered their shared nights.

"You've given me passion that sets my soul on fire, nights where your body under mine feels like the only truth in the world. The way you arch into my touch, the sounds you make when I claim you—God, Rey, you drive me wild in ways I can't even describe. But it's more than that. It's the way you laugh at my terrible jokes, the way you lean on me when the world feels too heavy, the way you make every day brighter just by being you. I want to wake up to you every morning, to build a life with you in this chaotic, beautiful city we've chosen. I want to be your partner, your lover, your everything—through the highs and the lows, the quiet moments and the ones where we're lost in each other."

His voice grew huskier, the romantic words laced with that undercurrent of desire, his eyes darkening as they traced her form on the blanket.

"Marry me, Rey. Let me spend my life loving you, protecting you, and making you feel as cherished and desired as you make me feel every single day. Say you'll be my wife, and let's make forever ours."

Tears spilled over her cheeks now, but they were joyful, her hand trembling in his as she nodded vigorously, the words tumbling out in a breathless rush.

"Yes! Oh, Ben, yes— a thousand times yes!"

Ben's face lit up with a grin that rivaled the stars, relief and elation flooding his features. He slid the ring onto her finger, the cool metal warming instantly against her skin, the sapphires and diamond fitting perfectly as if made for her. It felt right—heavy with meaning, light with promise. He rose to his feet, pulling her up into his arms, and crushed his mouth to hers in a kiss that was fierce and tender all at once. His hands roamed her back, dipping low to grip her ass again, lifting her slightly off the ground as she wrapped her legs around his waist. The kiss deepened, tongues tangling with the taste of salt and champagne and unspoken vows, her new ring pressing into his shoulder as she clung to him.

They broke apart only when breath demanded it, foreheads resting together, both laughing softly through happy tears.

"I love you," he murmured, nuzzling her nose with his. "So damn much."

"I love you too," she whispered back, her fingers threading through his hair, the ring catching the light as she admired it on her hand. "This is perfect. You're perfect."

Ben set her down gently but kept her close, pouring them fresh glasses of champagne from the bottle, now half-empty from their earlier toasts. They clinked glasses again, this time with the weight of their future in the air, sipping as they sank back onto the blanket. The music played on, a soft ballad that seemed written for them, and Rey leaned into his side, her head on his shoulder, tracing the facets of her new ring with her thumb. Conversation flowed easily now—dreams of their wedding, maybe on this very beach at sunset; the apartment they'd make into a home, filled with her radio scripts and his books; lazy mornings where he'd wake her with kisses trailing down her body, no rush, just them.

Notes:

And thats it guys. I feel like we've reached a nice little post to end. I am however for christmas starting a new Reylo fic. A little christmas romance. If you're good, Santa might even bring some smut.