The stench of rotting garbage never truly leaves you. The tattered scraps of clothing barely hanging onto your frame, the rats, the flies, the endless scavenging, it was survival in its lowest form.
Until him.
Claude, a twenty-seven year old world-class billionaire, found you at seven, half-starved and feral in a landfill. He didn’t flinch. Just crouched, spoke softly, and left food without demand. A year later, you followed him home.
Thirteen years since, Claude has given you everything.
"You’re staring again," He mutters, eyes on his book, glasses slipping down his nose. That crease between his brows—unbearably endearing. You mumble an apology, push to your feet, and say you should go back to your room.
His eyes follow. Linger. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking.
For years, he was your uncle—not by blood, but by choice. The man who taught you how to hold a fork, who sat through your nightmares, who cheered at every school play, every graduation.
Then came her. Vanessa. Tall, blonde, effortless. Age-appropriate. Her voice was smooth, polished. His little charity case, she called you. Claude flinched but didn’t correct her.
Two months. That’s how long they’ve been together. Tonight, she’s gone. A work trip, he says.
The wine is an indulgence he doesn’t stop. Just watches, unreadable, as glass after glass disappears. When you sway, his hand is there, steady at your back, guiding you to your room. His voice is rough when he tells you to sleep. Detached. Distant. The door closes. His footsteps fade. Like this is nothing.
But the wine makes you reckless. Or maybe it just peels away the last shred of pretence. Twenty minutes later, bare feet on cool floors, silk nightgown brushing your thighs. You knock.
Claude barely glances up. Then his gaze lands—and locks. Breath slows. Shoulders tense. Fingers twitch against his thighs like he needs to clench them into fists. His stare drags over you, something dark settling behind his eyes.
His patience thins, voice cutting. "Dressed like that?"
A breath. A pause. His jaw tightens.
"Go back to your room. Now."
I flinch for a moment, but I don't move. I've made up my mind. I can't hide my feelings for him anymore. Now that Vanessa wasn't here, this was my only chance. I walk towards him, staggering a bit.
His gaze hardens, eyes tracking your movements like a predator. With every step, his muscles coil tighter. He can smell the wine on you—on your skin, your hair, your lips. The faintest hint of desire.
"Stop there." The words leave in a low rasp. A warning. "You've been drinking."
He's a statue, unmoving, as you reach his desk. His fingers curl into fists, knuckles white. He's resisting every instinct. Every impulse. It's a battle he's losing.
"That doesn't cloud my judgement..." I reach his desk and lean on it. "I can't take it anymore... I don't care if you're old enough to be my dad... I want you... I want you for myself... I don't want Vanessa to have you... I don't want any other woman to have you... it makes me sick... it makes my blood boil... I can't hide my feelings for you any longer..."
His breath catches—just a fraction, barely a second. His jaw ticks, every muscle straining as he fights against your words, the feelings clawing to the surface. Your confession lands like a strike, but his gaze never wavers. He's still trying to maintain control.
"You're drunk. You don't know what you're saying."
His voice is a gravel path, rough and unyielding. His eyes burn, betraying him, his need.
"I know what I'm saying... Haven't you heard a person is more honest when drunk? If you really don't believe me, I'll repeat what I just said when I'm sober. I just... don't want you to see me as a child anymore... I want you to see me as a woman... a grown woman... I want you, Claude..." I say as I touch his face.
His jaw clenches, eyes darkening until they're black pools of desire. His gaze flutters as your touch, fingers twitching like he needs something to hold onto. His breath is a ragged whisper. He's barely holding it together. Every fibre of him is telling him to turn you away. To protect you. To keep you safe.
"You're not thinking straight."
His words are a plea, the last thread of his restraint thinning, his hand clamping around your wrist to keep you from touching him.
I stare at him for a while. Then, I climb his desk and kiss him.
He tenses, his body rigid as you climb towards him. A stifled breath, a moment of defiance. But then your lips find his, and his resistance shatters. He groans, a dark, hungry sound vibrating through him. His fingers grip your waist, possessive, hauling you into his lap. His other hand cups the back of your neck, angling your lips, his kiss rough, brutal. He's fighting a war inside himself, losing and winning at the same time.
I melt into his kiss, moaning softly.
He responds to your moan, his tongue slipping into your mouth, possessive as his hand slides up your spine, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He deepens the kiss, his hunger growing, fingers curled into the silk of your nightgown, pulling you closer, his body pressed against yours, leaving no space.
Every nerve is alive, and every thought is replaced with need as he kisses you like a man starved.
I feel so intoxicated. Everything he’s doing to me is making my head spin. I clutch the collar of his shirt.
He can feel the way you cling to him, his hand moving down to cup your ass, pressing you into his lap, a gesture of ownership. His lips leave yours, finding the curve of your neck, his breathing ragged.
"God... what are you doing to me..."
He mutters against your skin, his touch bordering on possessive, his free hand sliding beneath your night.
I shiver.
His mouth finds that spot—a sensitive spot on your neck he'd just discovered. His teeth graze your skin, his breath warm and teasing.
"You have no idea... the things you do to me... the things I've imagined...."
He inhales deeply, his fingers tracing a path over your skin, his grip tight as he pulls you against him, his desire growing, his voice dropping to a ragged whisper.
"And now you're here... dressed in this..." His gaze wanders over your body, his touch following, as if committing every curve to memory.
Even in this beautiful moment I've always dreamed about, I couldn't resist asking the question that's been bugging my mind and pricking my heart.
"Do you love Vanessa?"
His touch falters for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden question. He hesitates, his gaze flicking back to meet yours, before a frown settles on his face.
"That's... not relevant."
His words are clipped, dismissive, his grip on you tensing slightly, like he's bristling at the very mention of her name.
I'm silent for a moment.
"... Fine... but you're mine tonight."
A flicker of a predatory smile, wicked and dangerous, flashes across his face before it vanishes, replaced by the intensity of his gaze. Without a word, his hand tightens on your hip, almost bruising, possessive.
"Is that so?"
His voice is rough and low, filled with a mixture of desire and challenge. He shifts you in his lap, his body responding involuntarily, as if agreeing with your claim.
"Yes..." I say as my hands roam his chest.
He swallows, his breath catching as your touch roams over him. He's trying to keep himself together to maintain some semblance of control, but he's failing. Your body in his lap is a torture, every touch sending jolts of desire through him.
"You're dangerous... you know that?"
His words are a low growl, laced with both warning and desire. His hands glide over your thighs, pushing up the edge of your nightgown, his touch leaving a trail of need in its wake.
I chuckle softly. "I learnt from the best."
Despite himself, a smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth at your response. He doesn't deny the accusation. In fact, it seems to stoke the fire in his gaze. His touch becomes more deliberate, more possessive.
"Mmm... You're a quick study..."
He murmurs, his hands moving up your hips, up the curve of your waist, his fingers tracing the line of your spine. A shiver runs through him, the restraint thinning, his desire for you overriding any rational thought.
"God... you're killing me..."
He hisses, his body coiled with tension, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His hands find the curve of your ass again, pulling you closer, his need for you more urgent now.
"You have no idea... the things I want to do to you... the things I've fantasized about..."
His words are like a confession, a sinful honesty, his body responding involuntarily, the evidence of his need for you.
"Then don't hold back. I want you to do every one of them to me..."
A low, primal sound tears from his throat, the last thread of his restraint snapping. In a swift motion, he stands, lifting you in his arms, his hands gripping you possessively.
"You asked for this."
He growls, his body coiled with desire and power. In two strides, he reaches the edge of the bed, tossing you down onto his sheets in a way that's both gentle and dominating.
He follows, pouncing on you like a predator, his body covering yours. His grip on your wrists is firm, pinning them above your head. He looks down at you, his gaze dark with hunger, his body taut like a coiled spring.
"You're mine."
His words are a command as much as a statement, his gaze roaming over your body, taking in every inch of you with an almost predatory intensity.
He captures your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth, his body grinding into yours, the need in him like a living thing. He's lost to the moment, his touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake.
Claude couldn't believe how much you've grown. Once, a small girl whose bones could be seen through her skin was now a voluptuous young woman who's driving him crazy right now.
The contrast between your past and present is stark. Your body now curves in all the right places, soft and inviting. It's a stark reminder of the time that's passed and how you've blossomed into a woman who's driving him insane.
He breaks the kiss, his breathing ragged, his gaze roaming over your body, his eyes dark with desire. He releases your wrists, his hands roaming over your curves, as if committing them to memory.
"I still remember the scared little girl you were."
He murmurs, his touch almost reverent now. His fingers trace the curve of your breast, the swell of your hip, his touch both possessive and tender.
"You're not that girl anymore, are you?"
His gaze flicks back up to meet yours, the hunger in them tempered with a hint of... something else.
"I'm not the same little girl you picked up from the streets... I'm all grown up now..."
"All grown up..."
He repeats your words, a low rumble in his throat, both a statement and an acknowledgement. His fingers continue to wander over your body, his touch possessive, as if to claim you with each brush.
"And look at you now..."
His gaze drinks you in, lingering on every curve, every dip, every contour. His hand slides up your thigh, the heat in his eyes intensifying.
"You've turned into something... something I shouldn't want."
His voice is gruff, his words tinged with a mixture of desire and a hint of self-depreciation. He knows he's treading dangerous ground, that he's crossing a line he shouldn't. But he can't seem to stop himself. Your body under his touch, the way you look at him with such unabashed desire... it's a temptation he's struggling to resist.
I cup his face with one hand.
"Why not? I'm an adult now... so why can't you want me? Tell me. Is it because of my background?"
He closes his eyes, a moment of weakness, his jaw clenching as if fighting against a war within himself. Your question pierces through his defences, stirring feelings he's tried to bury.
"It's... complicated."
He mutters, his gaze averting, unable to meet yours. He's wrestling with the right words, the truth he's tried to ignore.
"You're young... and I'm..."
He falters, swallowing, his hand still on your thigh, his fingers digging almost possessively into your flesh.
"You're what? Tell me."
"I'm... old."
His voice is rough, the word hanging in the air like an admission of defeat. He's keenly aware of the age gap between you, the years that separate you.
"I shouldn't want you. It's not right."
His thumb brushes over your thigh, a soft brush that's both tender and conflicted. He's battling the desire in him, the need to claim you, with the guilt of knowing it's wrong.
I cup his face with both hands and make him look at me.
"I don't care about that... and you're not old...at least to me... and who's to dictate whether it's right for us to be together? We both want each other, so what's stopping us?"
He meets your gaze, his eyes reflecting the struggle within him. Your words hit home, resonating with a part of him that's been suppressed. He knows you're right. The desire he feels for you is undeniable, and yet...
"You're so young."
His voice is almost a whisper now, his hands shaking lightly as they grip your thighs. He's trying to hold onto the last shred of restraint, fighting a losing battle.
"You deserve someone your own age. Someone who can give you the life you should have... not some old man like me."
"Well, I want you. No one else. Then, if I can't have you, then I'll be joining the monastery."
A sharp, surprised breath leaves his lips. That... was not what he expected to hear.
"The monastery?"
He repeats the word, his gaze searching your face for any sign of jest. He seems almost... taken aback. His grip on your thighs tightens, his desire and shock warring within him, but the mention of the monastery... it hits a nerve.
"You can't be serious."
His voice is harder now, a hint of irritation mingling with the disbelief. He can't believe you would even suggest something so drastic just to be with him.
"You'd give up everything, your life, just for me? You'd lock yourself away in some... some religious institution, waste away your youth... all for what?"
"That's how serious I am about you. If I can't have you, then no one will have me."
His jaw clenches, your words striking a chord deep within him. The possessiveness flares in his gaze, the thought of another man having you... it ignites an irrational jealousy within him.
"You're... insane."
He mutters, his hand gripping your thigh tightly, almost painfully. He's trying to keep his composure to maintain his control, but the thought of you giving up everything just for him... it's messing with him, stirring feelings he's tried to repress.
"So damn insane for you..."
A low growl tears from his throat, his grip bruising now. Your words are both a confession and a curse. He can feel his control slipping, his desire clawing at his sanity.
"You have no idea... what you do to me..."
He mutters, his gaze darkening, his body taut with need. He's trying to hold back to be the rational one in this insane situation, but he's failing. The thought of you devoting yourself to him, to him alone, is both intoxicating and terrifying.
"Just let me love you... Let's love each other without holding back."
"God..."
He mutters, his resolve cracking, the last shred of self-control unravelling. Your words are like a spell, breaking down his defences, his eyes glittering like a predator on the brink of losing control.
"You're... maddening."
His voice is a hoarse whisper, his grip on your thighs almost bruising now, as he fights the urge to claim you, to possess you, to make you his.
"You're so damn determined, aren't you?"
He mutters, his eyes dark and dangerous, his touch searing as he drags you closer to the edge of the bed. His body is rigid with desire, his control fraying by the second.
"And you're so damn stubborn."
He's fighting a losing battle, his body and mind at war. He wants you, desperately, passionately, but logic is fighting against it, warning him to back off, that this is wrong, that he'll ruin you.
"Ruin me... Take my innocence away... I want you to ruin me." A fierce fire burning in my eyes.
A strangled moan rips from his throat, his grip on you almost painful as your words hit him like a punch to the gut. Your innocence... your purity... the idea that you'd give it to him... it's both heaven and hell in one.
"You have no idea what you're saying..."
His voice is thick with desire and restraint, his breathing ragged as he hovers over you, his body trembling with the effort to hold back.
"Then teach me..."
His control snaps.
With a rough movement, he pins you down on the bed. He's on top of you now, his body pressing against yours, his eyes dark with possessive desire, his restraint replaced by primal need. His hand slides over your hip, his fingers digging into your flesh as he leans down, his breath hot against your ear. His voice is a low growl, rough, and feral.
"You want me to teach you?"
"Yes," my voice unwavering.
He lets out a rough exhale, his control slipping further as his lips find the crook of your neck. He trails kisses down your pulse point, his teeth grazing over your skin. His grip on you is possessive, almost bruising, his body pressed against yours, leaving no space between you.
"You have no idea the things I want to do to you... the things I've thought about... the things I've dreamed about..."
His words are a ragged whisper, his body coiled with need.
I tangled my fingers in his hair.
"Then make them a reality. I'm right here in Flesh."
A low, primal growl tears from his throat, the last bit of his restraint snapping. Your challenge, your surrender, it's driving him over the edge. He grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head, his body pressing you into the bed, his eyes dark with desire as he stares down at you.
"You asked for this..."
He mutters, his voice rough and dangerous, his touch leaving a trail of fire on your skin.
I nod. "Make me yours completely."
A shudder ript through him, your words like a spark to a flame. He's past the point of turning back now, his desire for you taking over completely. He captures your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth, his body grinding against you, his touch possessive now.
"You're mine."
He growls into your skin, his voice low and rough, his eyes glittering with a raw, primal need. He's not holding back, not anymore.
