Ethan

Ethan woke up the morning after Lila’s studio with the strangest sensation, like someone had turned the volume knob on his entire life from 3 to 11.

He looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize the guy staring back. Same brown hair, same hazel eyes, but the shoulders were suddenly broader, the jaw sharper, the gaze… hungry. There was a faint, silvery scar on his neck two perfect crescents, and when he brushed it a bolt of pure pleasure shot straight to his cock. He came in his boxers just from the touch, gasping, knees buckling, vision whiting out for three full seconds.

By the time he recovered, he knew exactly what he was going to do.

Her name was Chloe. Literature major, soft voice, dark-rimmed glasses, always curled up in the corner of the campus café with a book and an untouched latte. He’d watched her for two years and never found the courage to do more than smile awkwardly.

Today he walked straight up to her table.

She looked up mid-sentence in her novel, lips parting. Ethan didn’t say hello. He simply leaned down, took her chin gently, and kissed her like he’d been doing it every day of his life , slow, possessive, tongue sliding against hers, tasting vanilla and surprise.

When he pulled back her glasses were fogged and her book had slid to the floor.

“Hi, Chloe,” he said, voice low, steady, nothing like the nervous stutter she knew. “I’ve wanted to do that for two years. Come with me.”

She stood without a word, cheeks burning, thighs already pressing together under her plaid skirt.

They didn’t make it far.

He led her by the hand out of the café, across the quiet quad, and into the empty music-practice building and into one of its sound-proof rooms. The room has a grand piano in the corner, with the late afternoon sun slanting through high windows, he locked the door behind them.

The second the latch clicked, Chloe was on him , hands fisting his shirt, mouth ****. Ethan smiled against her lips, lifted her onto the closed lid of the grand piano, and pushed her skirt up to her waist. Her cotton panties were soaked through. He dragged them down her thighs, dropped to his knees, and licked one long, slow stripe up her centre.

Chloe’s back arched off the piano lid, a broken cry echoing in the sound-proof room. “Ethan… oh my god…” He didn’t stop. He devoured her tongue circling her clit, fingers curling inside her, finding the spot that made her thighs clamp around his head .She came in under a minute, hard, squirting across his chin, fingers tangled in his hair, screaming his name like it was the only word she knew.

He stood, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and kissed her so she could taste herself. She moaned into his mouth, hands fumbling with his belt. He didn’t let her finish. He spun her, bent her over the piano, and slid into her from behind in one smooth thrust. Chloe’s palms slapped the polished wood, her moan turning into a sob of pleasure. “Fuck… you’re so deep!” He set a punishing rhythm, one hand fisted in her hair, the other rubbing her clit until she came again, harder, pussy fluttering around him, juices dripping down both their thighs.

They never made it back to campus that day.

By nightfall they were in his off-campus apartment, clothes scattered from door to bed, Chloe riding him reverse on the couch, then on her knees, then pressed against the window while the city watched. Every orgasm left her more pliant, more addicted, until she was curled against his chest whispering, “I’ve wanted you since freshman year… I was just too scared to say it.”

Ethan kissed the top of her head, tracing the faint scar on his own neck that still tingled with borrowed power. “Now you never have to be scared again,” he murmured.

Somewhere across the city, Lila was already painting with someone else’s blood, smiling at the canvas.