My mother called, offering a flood of apologies for missing the noon deadline. I stayed silent. It didn't matter; I had been dead to the world at that hour anyway. Her biggest wish for me? To graduate with stellar grades and get into the university of my choice.
Wait. Was that a hint?
Was she actually saying, "Choose whatever you want, Lily, and I'll support you"? No, that sounded like a fever dream. I promised her I'd have a great day and hung up, sinking back into the sofa. Sheldon was fast asleep on a brown pillow, his ginger fur glowing under the dim lamp.
The silence was broken by a sudden ring. A rescue. Chris.
Right, the surprise. It turned out the "surprise" was waiting for me at his place. Since I couldn't exactly straddle my bike in this condition, Christopher had to pick me up in his car. He practically carried me inside—with my limp, I wouldn't have reached his door until next year. I just hoped the neighbors weren't glued to their windows. I really didn't feel like explaining to my mother why Mrs. Kling saw a "strange man ten years older than me" carrying me into his apartment.
Actually, he's only nine years older, Mrs. Kling. Get it right.
The moment we stepped inside, the scent of a divine perfume hit me. I couldn't name it, but the aroma was so intoxicating I wanted to dissolve into the air. Collins swept me up into his arms again. I wrapped my arms around his neck, a small smile playing on my lips.
The living room was a vision. A lavish table was set with delicacies and two bottles of expensive red wine—semi-sweet, exactly how I liked it. The dishes were arranged with almost ritualistic precision. The only thing I recognized was something akin to Cordon Bleu, but everything else looked far beyond my usual world.
He pulled out a chair for me like a true gentleman. "Do you like it?" he asked, uncorking the wine. The deep cherry liquid swirled in the glasses, releasing a sharp, pleasant tang of alcohol.
"Is that even a question?" I laughed.
With a snap of his fingers, the overhead lights died. Only the candles remained, their flickering flames reflecting the madness in our eyes and the sly smirk on his face.
"I have a gift for you."
He pulled a small box from the pocket of his silk blazer, tied with a delicate pink ribbon. My mind raced. If there's a ring in there, I'm going into cardiac arrest.
But it wasn't a ring. Inside was an exquisite pendant—a blue rhombus with a glowing yellow stone at its center. It seemed to shine brighter than the candles. My mouth hung open in shock.
"Need help?"
"Please."
As he stepped behind me, I swept my hair to one side. His lips brushed my bare shoulder, and a jolt of electricity shot through me. I went cold, frozen by the intensity of the sensation. I turned to face him as he dropped to his knees before me. I sought his lips, kissing him with a desperate, mounting passion. He responded instantly, his hands gripping my waist so tight it actually hurt.
In those cheap romance novels, they say the pain turns into "sweet bliss." Liars. It hurt, and I knew there would be bruises. But I didn't care.
"This is going to be the best birthday ever," I whispered against his lips.
He didn't say a word. He just gripped my thighs, and I instinctively wrapped my legs around his waist as he carried me toward the bedroom. The next second, I hit the mattress with a soft groan, my head falling back as I felt his kisses trail across my skin.
"Are you sure you want this?" he asked, pausing for a brief second to search my eyes.
"This is the only thing I'm sure of," I breathed.
It was the truth. In such a short time, I had come to doubt everything in the world—except this.
He pulled my sweater over my head, tossing it aside. I was left in a lace bra that barely concealed anything. His lips explored my skin, leaving damp, hot trails that forced moans from my throat. Then, he stripped off his own shirt, revealing a torso so perfect it belonged under a microscope.
As if reading my mind, he took my hand and guided it over his muscles. I gasped. In one swift motion, he stripped off my jeans and flipped me onto my stomach, hovering over me. I didn't feel his weight—only the frantic thrumming of his heart. His cold palms slid over my hips, squeezing firmly before his kisses moved down my spine.
"Completely sure?" he asked, turning me back to face him.
"Yes."
I watched through a haze as he reached for the nightstand. The rustle of foil was the only sound in the room. When he moved, the last of my clothes were discarded with a frantic, almost desperate energy. For a moment, a wave of bashfulness washed over me, but the way he looked at me—like I was the only thing that mattered—warmed me from the inside out.
I gripped the red sheets as he entered me. I had promised myself I wouldn't cry, but the tears came anyway, spilling down my cheeks. He froze, looking at me with intense concern.
"I can stop," he warned.
"No," I gasped, shaking my head. "Keep going."
The initial pain was sharp, drawing a cry from my lungs, but I dug my nails into his back, leaving faint red marks. Slowly, the agony shifted. It transformed into something heavy and sweet. As he felt me relax, he increased the pace. A knot deep in my stomach suddenly unraveled, spreading a wave of warmth through my entire body.
I lay there, panting for air, as he kissed me again. I smiled through the kiss.
Eighteen years—green light, Lily.
"I told you," I whispered against his lips, feeling the heat of his body against mine. "The best birthday of my life."