Author's Preface
They broke the kiss slowly, neither of them moving away immediately.
For a long moment, they simply looked at each other, both breathing heavily as they tried to steady themselves.
Clara could smell the warmth of his breath, laced with the lingering scent of whiskey. Zoren, in turn, caught the faint sweetness of her own breath. When he kissed her, he had tasted the vanilla lip gloss she wore.
He never imagined that vanilla would one day become his greatest weakness.
His hands remained firmly on her waist, though every muscle in his body seemed to be struggling to maintain what little restraint he had left.
"We shouldn't be doing this," the beautiful stranger whispered breathlessly as she searched his eyes.
"You're right. We shouldn't." His answer came without hesitation. Yet both of them knew they were lying.
Still seated on his lap, Clara found herself studying the man beneath her. Zoren's eyes, slightly clouded by whiskey, remained fixed on hers. His lips were parted as he exhaled slowly, trying and failing to calm the storm she had awakened inside him.
Only now did Clara allow herself to truly look at him.
His features were striking. A straight nose. A strong jawline. Faint stubble shadowed his face, making him appear even more mature than his likely early thirties. He looked like a man at the height of his career... confident, accomplished, and undeniably attractive.
He carried himself like a man who was used to being in control.
The tailored suit. His composed manner. The effortless authority with which he carried himself. Even this private lounge spoke of influence. Whether he owned part of the club or simply belonged among people who did, Clara couldn’t tell.
What she did know was that he was exactly the kind of man she had always been drawn to.
The kind Ingrid had warned her about only hours earlier.
The emotionally unavailable, devastatingly handsome Norwegian men who knew exactly how to make women forget their better judgment.
The memory resurfaced almost instantly.
"When we're older, Clara... we won't be able to do things like this anymore."
"Let's experience it while we still can."
"Let's let ourselves be seen. Let's let ourselves feel something... even if it doesn't last."
Clara closed her eyes. Maybe tonight was only a dream. Maybe tomorrow she would wake up and find herself back in the life she had left behind.
Back to being sixty. Back to her quiet apartment. Back to the cats and dogs that greeted her every evening. Back to an older Ingrid, whose laughter had remained unchanged despite the passing years. Back to Amara.
If that happened...
Then perhaps she could allow herself this one impossible moment.
Just this once. Just tonight. She opened her eyes again.
" Faen ..." His voice was rough, almost reverent. "You're beautiful."
Clara blinked in surprise. His gray eyes were still locked onto hers, shimmering beneath the soft lights of the room with an intensity she couldn't quite understand. He looked at her as though she were something dangerously tempting. Something he wanted far more than he should.
A shy smile tugged at her lips. "You don't have to flatter me just because we're alone."
His expression didn't change. "I'm not flattering you."
He reached up and touched her lips lightly with his fingers, just for a moment. "You have no idea..." His voice dropped to little more than a whisper. "...how much I want you."
Only then did Clara become fully aware of their position.
She was still sitting on his lap, her dress riding slightly higher than before, leaving more of her legs exposed than she had intended. Their faces remained only inches apart, close enough to feel each other's breath.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Neither of them looked away. The silence between them seemed to hold every unspoken thought they were too afraid to give voice to.
She closed her eyes and tried to steady her heartbeat but opened them immediately when she heard him again. "You have no idea..." His voice was low. Too low. He leaned in closer, his face dropping to her neck.
She felt him breathe her in... slow and quiet, like he had all the time in the world. Then his lips touched her skin. Gentle. Unhurried. "...what I'm planning to do with you tonight."
He kept kissing her neck, his tongue tracing along as he spoke. Clara moaned. She couldn't help it. Her hands moved on their own, fingers slipping into his hair. Blond and soft, surprisingly soft. She hadn't expected that. She kept her fingers there, moving slowly through the strands almost without thinking.
Then she heard it. A sound from him. Low and rough. The most beautiful sound she had ever heard in her life. "Fuck... I want you so much it hurts," the man growled.
Clara looked down and saw the painful desire in his eyes. She lowered her gaze further and noticed the obvious bulge straining against his pants. Looking at the man's expression, she gathered the courage to move... both hands slowly sliding from his shoulders down his chest and then further down.
She tried to unbuckle his belt. The man stilled. So Clara looked at him, she wanted to see the expression on his handsome face. Then she unzipped his pants and tried to slip her hand inside.
Oh god… he’s massive. So everything Ingrid told her about men from up north wasn’t just talk. Clara thought, staring intently at his thick, warm, veiny cock. The first time she had ever seen one like it.
Much to her convenience, the man helped her remove his pants, now she had full easy access to touch him. Clara tried to hold his cock with both hands, but she couldn’t... he was just too long and huge. She swallowed hard when she saw precum leaking from the tip.
“I want you.” His voice was thick with restraint, every word held back like he was fighting to stay in control. He kept pressing warm, lingering kisses along the curve of her neck, sending shivers through her.
Clara felt his hands glide from her waist upward, slipping beneath her dress to cup and gently knead her breasts. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, after thirty years of denying herself any kind of pleasure, she could already feel the damp warmth pooling between her legs, soaking through the thin fabric of her panties.
Clara swallowed softly. No… I can’t. She ached to give in to this, to let herself feel everything he offered, but she couldn’t surrender herself completely to a stranger. That wasn’t who she was. Reality came rushing back, grounding her once more. She leaned forward until her lips were right beside his ear.
“Sorry… but we can’t go all the way tonight,” she whispered. Then she added quickly, “But… we can still give each other pleasure. Will that be alright with you? ”
She reached out and wrapped both hands firmly around his hard length, slowly stroking him up and down. When she looked up, she met his intense gray eyes and couldn’t quite read the expression on his face. Was it confusion? Disbelief that she would hold back when she could have had everything? Or was it anger? Whatever it was, he masked it well.
After a long moment, he spoke, his voice low and rough. “Fuck it… whatever you want. I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give me.”
He cupped her face in his hands, drew her close, and kissed her deeply, hungrily, as if he meant to take every bit of pleasure she was offering and make it his own.
Hearing his words, Clara found herself making a choice she never knew she had the courage to make. Slowly, she sank down until she was kneeling before him. Her eyes never left his as she leaned in, and gently, carefully, she took his heavy cock into her mouth. She held his gaze all the while, tasting him, letting every sensation wrap around her.
“Ah… fuck…”
His fingers tangled softly in her hair, guiding her with a firm, tender rhythm, letting her give him pleasure. Within minutes, Clara could feel it... his breathing grew ragged and his body tense, he was already so close to the edge. But to her surprise, he lifted her up effortlessly, pulling her back until she was seated once more on his lap, safe and close against him.
“I don’t want to mess up your pretty face,” he whispered before kissing her deeply, hungrily, his lips moving over hers as he tasted the faint, lingering trace of himself on her tongue.
Then she felt his touch... his fingers brushed gently over her sensitive clit, teasing her until she was trembling, before he slid one long finger slowly inside her.
“So wet for me too,” he murmured, adding a second finger, moving with a slow, deliberate rhythm that stoked the pleasure higher and higher, touching places she had never known could feel this good.
Clara reached for him again, her hand wrapping around his hard, throbbing length, matching the pace he set, moving in perfect, breathless sync with him. Every stroke, every movement, drew them closer until they were both completely undone, lost in the overwhelming feeling of each other.
It was the most intense, shattering climax Clara had ever experienced not just in this life, but in every memory she carried, every version of herself she had ever been, or could ever dream of being.
And she knew she wasn’t the only one who felt that way. She could feel it happening little by little. His hold on her loosened, and the urgency in his touch faded away. His breathing, which had been rough and fast just moments before, slowed down... soft and calm now. She pulled back slowly.
His eyes were closed. For the first time, his face looked relaxed and open; nothing was held back anymore. He looked so peaceful, like he’d fallen asleep right where he was, mid-breath.
She just looked at him for a long time. And without even thinking about it, Clara smiled. She leaned in and rested her forehead against his, just for a second, just long enough to let herself have this small moment.
“Sleep now,” she whispered. “And please… don’t remember me tomorrow.”
She straightened slowly, smoothing down her dress with quiet, careful hands, erasing every trace of what had happened between them. She tidied herself in total silence, making sure not to disturb his rest even for a moment.
Then she turned and walked away, never once looking back.