STEPHEN

STEPHEN | 1

New story- very different from what I usually write on wattpad. I'm not even lying when I say that I am getting out of my comfort zone.

Dedicated to GoldenSun_SilverStar for her major help on this story :) Thanks Taylor!💕

THIS STORY CONTAINS COURSE LANGUAGE, MATURE THEMES AND MATURE SUBJECT MATTER. VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

1

The first time I interacted with him, I wasn't breathing.

Trying to fit in with my friends beyond stupid antics, I had followed them out to the water where I knew I couldn't swim. There must've been a part of my mind that knew that they would go deeper. Deeper to the point where I couldn't feel my toes touch the grittiness of wet sand. Where the waves of the water eventually kissed my chin.

I remember what it felt like to be drowning. The pain as I realized I couldn't breathe intensified as my lungs contracted, desperately trying to gain oxygen. Oxygen that wasn't there. That couldn't be found. Then a part of me decided that I had no choice but to breathe, only to comprehend that instead of breathing in air, I was breathing in water. And from then on everything was a blur.

I had been unconscious and after a while, one of my friends had told me that I probably died for a minute before someone saved me.

But he wasn't the one who saved me.

He was the one at a distance. One day he would tell me that he didn't know what to do. He had his head stuck in the pages of a book before he suddenly looked up to realize that a body was lying on the water. He got help and watched them perform CPR on me. I imagined that he was dramatically clutching the book to his chest, his mind possibly paralyzed in fear but his appearance remaining phlegmatic.

No. He wouldn't react dramatically. He would be staring at them stoically, his face hardened as his thoughts. His voice strong when he would demand for them to resuscitate me.

A week after that incident, he got CPR training.

I saw him again later that month. I could never forget a face like his. It was impossible to forget his presence, his aura, his existence.

His eyes held mischief but wholehearted light as he explained to me where he had seen me before. When he talked, his lips moved slowly, sounding out each word with confidence and a sort of defiance. As if he resisted on telling a person too much about him. His masculinity was radiant, coming off his skin like it was normal. His confidence in the way he walked, his dominance made me want to submit. Easily. I wanted to kiss him that day but I opposed. I stopped myself from being so wanton.

His touch lingered in my mind, the smell of man and his dark clothing compelled me to get closer to him day by day. I found his routine quickly. Get coffee, read at a table for a half an hour, go to his internship at the local news where he was studying to be a journalist. After that he would do anything.

The first time I saw him do anything, his hands were on the ass of a woman's whose tube top was a bright red as she swayed her hips to the beat of a song vibrating in a club. I watched him from afar while pretending to listen to my friend blabber on about her new man.

The times after I perceived that the pattern continued as time went on and the women varied. They were different; white, black, Arab, Latina, Asian, it didn't matter. He didn't seem to have a preference.

At night, his dominant side clearly showed. When he wanted a woman, he could walk up to her easily and not even a minute later, she would be putty in his hands. His touch on a woman let me know of his past experience. He knew how to caress, make her shiver, where to teasingly kiss her neck and how he could somehow whisper in her ear a couple of words as they both left the club.

I bit my lip, watching him carefully tonight as he went over to the bar. He had worn a black shirt and jeans, a smirk on his face as he took the drink from the bartender and his beautiful eyes scanned over the crowd. I looked over at my friend, Genevieve who was already looking at him, her face showing interest. "Who's he?"

I didn't speak, I waited for her to say her next sentence. A sentence I knew she would say whenever she looked at a man like a predator catching its hungry eyes on a prey. "I'm going to say hi."

I lowly chuckled against the glass of alcohol in my hand. "You're just going to say hi?"

"You know me better than that." She got off the stool and made her way towards him. I watched with hooded eyes over the cup, intrigued and hoping he wasn't one to disappoint.

He bit his lip, his gaze trailing over Genevieve's body as she made his way towards him. His eyes were heated and lust clouded over them, making me wonder what sinful thoughts were filling his mind just looking at my friend. She reached him, a flirty smile on his face. Genevieve was beautiful and I know she could catch the eye of a man easily. I would not be surprised if she got to leave this place with him.

I wouldn't.

But he didn't leave the place with her.

He didn't disappoint.

His heated eyes caught mine over Genevieve's shoulder and I was now a victim to that desire in his eyes and I wanted nothing more than for me to see him in his raw, purest form. I licked my lips, tearing my gaze off him as I sipped my drink, looking over at the buzzing crowd. The bodies grinding against one another. Everyone getting tipsy off the drinks, off the vibe, off each other.

I put my drink down and joined them, indulging myself in a night of fun.

I didn't notice when his hands were on my body at first. His touch was better than I could imagine. His body heat was against me and seeping through my dress. He leaned in my ear, keeping his hands on my waist, not going any lower. I believed it was because he showed that he was a gentleman at first. I wanted-I yearned to know what would happen after.

He whispered my name in my ear and I nodded, letting him know it was me.

The same girl he helped rescue from the arms of death. The same one who he was talking to weeks before. The same girl who watched him, formed an attraction to him over the past weeks and who hoped that her attraction to him could develop into something more.

The same girl who allowed him to take her to his loft that night.

The same girl who allowed him to explore her body with the passion she had dreamed he had. The dominant side of him she knew became more evident, more appealing when he was in a place where man and woman could become one.

The same girl who later allowed her entire existence belong to Stephen.

Stephen, for that was his name.