Chapter 37 — Amara: Into the Unknown
( Amara's POV)
I had never felt heat like that before—not the kind that came from the body, but the kind that came from a gaze. His.
"E," the mysterious stranger beside me, didn't move too quickly. He didn't leer or make crude jokes like I'd imagined men in clubs might. His presence was calm, confident, commanding. The kind that wraps around you quietly and leaves you breathless before you even realize you've stopped breathing.
He looked at me like he wasn't in a hurry. Like he had all the time in the world to unravel the girl sitting beside him at the bar.
And I let him.
Not because I was drunk.
But because, for once, I didn't want to be the girl who waited for life to pick her. I wanted to choose.
"So," he said, "birthday girl. What would make this night unforgettable?"
I didn't answer right away.
Because I wasn't sure I wanted to say it out loud. But I felt it. All of it.
The ache. The longing. The need to be touched. To feel skin on skin. To experience what it meant to give myself away—not in desperation, but in freedom.
I took a breath and whispered, "I want to do something reckless."
He turned to face me fully now, his expression unreadable. "Reckless?"
I nodded, licking my lips.
His eyes darkened just a little. "You sure about that?"
I nodded again.
He leaned closer, his voice low. "Then come with me."
My heart stammered in my chest, beating faster than my thoughts. I didn't know his full name. I didn't know where he was from or what he did for a living. But somehow, none of it mattered.
I slipped off the barstool, my legs shaky in my heels, and followed him through the dimly lit club and out into the cool night air.
He didn't say anything as we climbed into the back of a black car, sleek and luxurious. The leather seats smelled like his cologne—warm, clean, alluring. I folded my hands in my lap, trying to steady my breathing.
"You okay?" he asked.
I turned to him and nodded.
"Tell me if you change your mind at any point," he added. "We stop the moment you say so."
Something about that made my chest loosen. I hadn't expected kindness. I hadn't expected permission to feel safe in a night meant for danger.
I watched the city pass in a blur outside the window. The tension in my stomach wasn't fear—it was anticipation. And nerves. And the undeniable hum of desire warming my spine.
His building was tall and modern, all glass and silver edges. The elevator ride up was quiet, save for the sound of my breathing and the subtle creak of leather under his movements. I could feel him standing just behind me, not touching, but close enough that I felt it.
When we stepped into his penthouse, I paused.
It was beautiful. Wide windows. Warm lights. Minimalist furniture that said money without shouting it. The kind of space that said he was someone important—even if I didn't know who.
He poured us drinks—whiskey for him, something softer for me.
I barely touched mine.
I was too busy watching him.
And he was watching me.
He moved toward me slowly, carefully, like I was something delicate. "Still okay?"
"Yes," I said, my voice a little hoarse.
When he kissed me, it was tentative at first. Soft lips brushing mine like a question.
When I didn't pull away, he deepened it.
My fingers found his shirt, clutching the fabric like I needed something to hold onto. Every second that passed made the noise of the world fade. There was only his breath on my skin, the way his hands settled lightly at my waist, the feel of my heart racing faster than I thought possible.
We made our way to the bedroom without a word.
He didn't rush me.
He let me choose when.
When I was ready, I stepped back and let the dress fall from my body.
He watched me—his gaze reverent, not possessive.
He stepped toward me, hands warm and steady as he touched my bare shoulders, my arms, my waist.
And then, he held me like I was something he didn't want to break.
It wasn't perfect.
I was clumsy. Hesitant. My nerves tangled with every movement. But he was patient. Gentle. Careful in a way that made me feel beautiful rather than awkward.
When we finally gave in to everything building between us, I felt the world shift. Not violently—but deeply.
Like something had been unlocked inside me.
We lay tangled together afterward, my cheek pressed to his bare chest, his hand tracing circles on my back.
He didn't ask questions.
Didn't ask if it was my first time.
But I think he knew.
And maybe, silently, he respected that.
For a long time, I didn't say anything.
I just listened to the rhythm of his breathing and let the warmth of his body lull me into a calm I hadn't felt in years.
Eventually, he asked, "Did you get what you wanted?"
I thought about it.
And then I whispered, "Yes."
Because it was true.
For one night, I wasn't the good girl in the corner. I wasn't the sister of a man who cast a long shadow. I wasn't the quiet assistant or the girl who never said yes.
I was just a woman who dared to live.
And I didn't regret it.