CH- 1

Amelia's POV

As Nathan's lips left mine, I felt a thrill of anticipation course through my veins. His eyes never left mine, burning with an intensity that made me shiver.

He dropped to his knees before me, his hands grasping for the hem of my dress. With a gentle tug, he pulled it up and over my head, revealing the lace bra and matching thong I wore underneath.

My heart raced as he gazed at me with an unbridled hunger in his eyes. He reached out and cupped one breast in his palm, squeezing gently as if testing its weight.

"Beautiful," he whispered against my skin before tracing the curve of my nipple with his tongue.

I gasped at the sensation, feeling myself become wetter by the second. Nathan's fingers danced across my belly button before slipping beneath the fabric of my underwear.

He found what he was looking for - slickness - and groaned softly into our embrace.

His mouth closed around me like a vice grip on tender flesh. The suction sent shockwaves through every cell in my body.

Nathan's tongue danced across my clit, sending shivers down my spine. His fingers joined the party, plunging deep into my wetness as he sucked and licked me with reckless abandon.

I felt myself building towards an orgasm, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter until... I came. Hard.

My body arched off the bed as pleasure coursed through every fiber of my being. Nathan didn't stop until I'd milked him dry of his own release.

As we lay there, panting and sated, a warm feeling spread through me. It was like nothing I'd ever experienced before - pure bliss.

But then...

I woke up with a start, gasping for air as reality crashed back down around me.

A sharp noise sliced through the haze—a car horn blaring outside—and I jolted awake, gasping for air.

My cheeks burned, not from embarrassment but from frustration. Why did he invade even my dreams?

The dream had been so vivid, so real... But it was just that - a fantasy born from too much wine and too little sleep.

I lay there for a moment, trying to shake off the lingering sensations of Nathan's touch.

It wasn't real... but oh god did it feel good…

Nathan Delanza wasn’t supposed to mean anything to me. He was my boss, nothing more—a man who barely acknowledged my existence unless it was to criticize me.

Yet here I was, fantasizing about him like some lovesick teenager. Disgusted with myself, I threw off the thin blanket covering me and swung my legs over the side of the bed.

The sting of the hot iron cooker hit my fingers moments later, snapping me fully into the real world. I yanked my hand away instinctively, cursing under my breath.

Great. Another burn to add to the collection. I dipped my fingers into the bowl of lukewarm water beside me, trying to soothe the pain while shaking off the remnants of that ridiculous dream.

Every night, I promised myself things would change. “Amelia,” I’d whisper to my reflection, “you’ll get a new cooker tomorrow.”

But every morning, the promise slipped away like sand through an hourglass. And today was no different.

I glanced at the cracked mirror hanging crookedly on the wall. My thick, wavy hair cascaded down my back—a rare feature I actually liked about myself.

Dressed for work, I stood there staring at my outfit: a short plaid skirt paired with an old ruffle top that had seen better days.

Once, this top turned heads; now, after too many washes and starches, it smelled faintly of bleach. Still, people complimented me when I wore it, which was something, I guess.

As my toast bread cooled off, I heard the familiar sound of little feet pounding above me—my two younger siblings getting ready for school. Living in this cramped apartment felt suffocating sometimes.

I’d tried moving out multiple times, but every time, Mom would turn on the tears, and guilt would pull me back. I hated feeling trapped, yet here I was again, walking out the door without saying goodbye to her.

“Amy, did you make an extra toast for your dear old mother?” Her voice floated down from upstairs.

Fifty-five wasn’t exactly ancient, but Mom acted like she was bedridden some days. She had her quirks, sure, but they grated on me most mornings.

“I’ll fix one for you now, Mum,” I called back, already irritated. As I slathered butter onto another slice of bread, I heard the TV click on.

Typical. No matter what I did, nothing seemed good enough for her. After fixing a sandwich, I kissed my brothers goodbye and stepped outside, leaving behind the chaos of our cramped apartment.

The early morning air hit me like a balm. Mr. Toma’s bakery filled the street with the sweet scent of freshly baked stroopwaffles.

I couldn’t resist buying a piece and sank my teeth into it as I walked. The caramel filling burst in my mouth, momentarily lifting my spirits. For just a moment, life didn’t feel so heavy.

But then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted it—a sleek Benz gliding toward me.

Rich people drove cars like that all the time, but this one slowed down unnervingly close.

When the driver locked eyes with me, I froze. What did he want?

I quickened my pace, trying not to look suspicious, but the car kept following me.

Panic bubbled up inside me.

Where could I run if someone jumped out?