Chapter 37: The First Visit
The dress was soft, a simple wrap of navy blue that felt like comfort against her skin. Aurora stood in front of her mirror, twisting first one way, then the other.Pretty.It felt like her. Rina’s voice echoed in her head: The package is already open.Just be yourself.
She checked her phone for the tenth time.No new messages from Rhys. Just the confirmation from hours ago: 6pm.I’ll be there. A shiver, part terror, part thrill, snaked down her spine.His den.His territory.A test.
The Uber dropped her off in front of a modern brick building with wide windows. Her heart was a frantic bird against her ribs. She smoothed her dress, took a breath that did nothing to calm her, and buzzed his apartment.The intercom crackled. “Yeah?” His voice, even through the tinny speaker, did something to her insides.
“It’s Aurora.”
“Come on up.” The door buzzed, loud and final.The elevator ride was silent and too quick. She found his door at the end of a hushed hallway.Before she could knock, it swung inward.
Rhys filled the space. He wore a dark green henley, the sleeves pushed up over his forearms, the fabric straining slightly across his chest.He was barefoot. Her gaze snagged on the tattoos she’d only felt through his shirt before—intricate, dark ink winding over powerful tendons.He smelled of soap, sandalwood, and something richer, deeper.Pure Alpha. It wasn’t the focused intensity of a rut, but it was undeniable, a wave that crashed over her the moment she stepped into his air.“Hey,” he said, his eyes soft.
“Hi.” Her voice came out as a whisper.He leaned down and kissed her. It wasn’t the hungry, claiming kiss from her doorstep.This was slow, deliberate.A welcome. A re-introduction. Her lips parted under his, and for a second, the nervous flutter in her chest stilled, replaced by a warm, spreading calm.When he pulled back, his thumb brushed her cheekbone. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.” She stepped inside, her small bag clutched in her hands.His apartment wasn’t what she’d imagined. She’d braced for a stereotypical alpha space: cold, sparse, maybe a bit untidy.This was neither. It was open and clean, with warm wood floors and walls painted a deep, soothing grey. A large, well-worn leather sofa dominated the living room, facing a wall of built-in bookshelves. They were full—not with trophies or gadgets, but with books. History, philosophy, a few well-read novels.Art hung on the walls, abstract pieces with bold colors.It was quiet. Sunlit.Sanctuary.And his scent was everywhere. It layered the air, woven into the very fabric of the space.It should have been overwhelming.Instead, it felt like an embrace.
“Wow,” she breathed.
“It’s just a place,” he said, but he was watching her, gauging her reaction.
“It’s… it’s you.” The words slipped out before she could censor them.Something flickered in his eyes.Pleasure. “Can I take your bag?You want a drink?Wine? Something else?”
She handed him the bag, remembering Rina’s advice.“Before… before anything else.” She forced herself to meet his gaze. “I need to be home by midnight.”
He didn’t blink.Didn’t get defensive. He simply nodded, as if she’d stated the time.“Okay.Midnight it is. That gives us plenty of time.” He placed her bag carefully on a chair by the door. “Red or white?”
“White, please.”
He moved to the kitchen, which was open to the living area.It was pristine, all stainless steel and dark granite. Something simmered in a pot on the stove, filling the air with the rich, savory scent of garlic, tomatoes, herbs. “You cook?” she asked, drifting closer.
“When I have a reason to.” He poured pale gold wine into two glasses.“My nonna made sure of it. Said no alpha of hers was gonna be helpless in a kitchen.” He handed her a glass.“It’s just pasta. Nothing fancy.”
It was the opposite of ‘just pasta.’ He had made fresh pappardelle, the ribbons of dough delicate and perfect. The sauce was a slow-cooked ragu, deep and complex.He’d set the small table with simple stoneware and a lit candle. They talked while he finished plating—easy talk about his day at the shop, a funny customer, her attempt to reorganize her bookshelf by color.Dinner was a quiet, comfortable affair. The food was incredible. He watched her take the first bite, a strange, focused intensity on his face until she sighed and said, “Oh, Rhys. This is amazing.” Then he relaxed, a small, satisfied smile touching his lips.Afterwards, they migrated to the couch. He put on the documentary she’d mentioned wanting to see—something about deep ocean exploration.The lights were low. He sat first, then lifted his arm in a silent invitation. She curled into his side, her head finding the hollow of his shoulder as if it were made for her. His arm settled around her, heavy and sure.The rumble of the narrator’s voice filled the room.
She lost track of the film. Her awareness narrowed to the heat of him beside her, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the scent of sandalwood and man, the faint trace of ink she could see on the hand resting on her arm. His thumb began to move, a slow, absent caress on her skin.“This okay?” he murmured into her hair, his voice a low vibration against her temple.
“More than okay.”
They lapsed into silence again, but it was different from the restaurant. This was a shared silence, thick and warm and intimate.The documentary ended, credits rolling silently.
“What do you want?” he asked softly, his fingers tracing patterns on her shoulder.
The question was vast.She thought about it.“I don’t know. To feel… like this.Safe.Seen.” She tilted her head back to look at him. “What do you want?”
He was quiet for a long time, his gaze searching her face in the flickering light from the television.The usual guarded, cynical edge was gone, sanded smooth by the quiet of the evening. “Right now?Just this.” He paused.“I wasn’t looking for… this. For something quiet.” His admission hung in the air.
“What were you looking for?” Her voice was barely a whisper.“A distraction.Something loud. Something that didn’t make me think.” His hand came up to cradle the side of her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. “You’re not loud.”
“I can be,” she offered, a shy attempt at humor.
A real smile broke across his face. “Liar.” He leaned in, closing the small distance, and kissed her.It was deeper than before, a slow exploration that made her toes curl. A soft, unbidden sound escaped her throat.He broke the kiss, resting his forehead against hers. His breath was warm on her lips.“That sound,” he whispered. “You purred for me again.”
She hadn’t even realized.The vibration was still humming in her chest, quiet but steady. A contented, omega sound for her alpha.She didn’t try to hide it. She let it grow, a quiet engine of pleasure.
He shuddered, a full-body tremor she felt against every inch of her.He buried his face in the curve of her neck, inhaling deeply. “Christ, Aurora.” His voice was rough, strained. “You undo me.”
The purr stuttered, then strengthened, encouraged by his reaction. His arms tightened around her, pulling her fully into his lap.She went willingly, pliant in his hold. He just held her like that, her body molded to his, her face tucked under his jaw, her purr vibrating against his throat. They stayed that way for a long time, motionless except for the rhythmic stroke of his hand down her back.Finally, he let out a long, controlled breath. “Midnight’s coming,” he said, regret woven through the words.
“I know.”
“I should get you home.” He didn’t move.“You should.”
Another minute passed. He turned his head, his lips brushing her temple. “Next time,” he said, the words a promise breathed into her skin, “you don’t have a curfew.”