I slid her revealing dress off her shoulders, exposing the smooth expanse of black lace beneath-like a lethal gift, draped in darkness, begging to be unwrapped. A black flag to the soul, desperate for surrender.
As the fabric fell away, I let my fingers trace the elegant curve of her long neck. Her collarbones jutted out delicately, begging for attention. I brushed my lips against them, a primal heat stirring within me.
"You're amazing... like a stone," I murmured, my voice raw.
"Like a stone?" she asked, her brow arching slightly. "Is that a compliment or an insult?"
""Aren't stones all sculpted, flawless, like you?" I replied, my fingers gliding across her skin. "God, the softness of your skin..."
Leaning in, my teeth grazed her shoulder, gently sinking in. She moaned softly, her breath hitching. "Sir... ah..." she whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of pleasure and submission.
Her hands worked their way to my shirt, her movements slow and deliberate, undressing me with tantalizing patience. Every touch, every glance, every breath between us were a slow burn, a whispered promise. The moment stretched, teasing, playful, and unbearably sensual. A game of seduction played at the edge of restraint.
She undressed me. Those things and moments were tantalizingly slow like a whisper. Teasing, playful and sexy.
Some moments passed, our bodies tangled in an intimate dance of passion and desire. I'd marked her, leaving traces of the night on her skin. She didn't mind-not even a little.
I had always been known to be a gentleman in moments as sensitive as this, never crossing boundaries or leaving behind regrets.
"You're skilled," I remarked, my voice low and edged with satisfaction. "Very skilled."
My hands explored her, trailing along the flawless curves and contours of her body. She was breathtaking-a masterpiece of nature, a creation so perfect it could only be described as divine.
She was a personified heaven.
If she were a melody, I'd call her a chaotic symphony of piano keys-wild, unpredictable, and impossibly alluring.
"You're no less skilled yourself, Mister," she teased, her voice dripping with a sultry charm. "If this continues, I might just fall in love."
I cupped her chin, tilting her face toward mine. My eyes locked onto hers as I asked, "Is that so? How many men have heard those words from your pretty mouth?"
"Only you," she whispered, her expression unreadable.
I didn't believe her.
"You can set aside your deduction skills," she admitted after a pause, her voice carrying the faintest hint of mockery. "Many. I won't lie."
Honesty laced her words, but it only made the moment more raw, more human. She was a contradiction, a melody of chaos and truth, drawing me deeper into her enigmatic world.
Her body was glisterned with sweat, the very testament to our entangled desire. She was quite skilled. Skilled for a young one. She smelled different, her fragrance was intermingled with mine - which gave her animalistic fragrances.
The afterglow of our intimacy made her look messy. Perhaps, even more captivating.
She rose from the bed, her movements slow and languid, exhaustion painting her features.
"Quite a night," I said, my tone husky.
"Yeah… quite a not-so-quiet night," she replied, her voice hoarse from the hours past.
"Cola," I began, sitting up slightly. I talked in a way which was almost casual,"You're young. Why not apply for college or something?"
She raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk forming. "You say nineteen is young? Heard you were a detective. What's up with the charity talk? Some kind of side hustle?"
I ignored the sarcasm, my tone steady. "I know. Sonia is your big sister."
The amusement in her expression flickered, replaced by a tinge of surprise.
"Sonia?" she repeated, the name rolling off her tongue as if tasting it for the first time in years. "Indeed, she is. She tried to educate me… even enrolled me in college once."
"And yet here you are," I said softly, a hint of disappointment I didn't bother hiding.
She sighed, her gaze drifting to the window. "I dropped out. College wasn't for me, Detective. The world isn't kind to people like us."
Her voice carried a weight I didn't expect, and for a moment, the room felt heavier, the intimacy of the night giving way to an unspoken sadness.
"You had Sonia. She seemed like the type who'd never give up," I said, studying her carefully.
"She didn't," Cola replied, her voice softer now. "She worked so hard to pull us out of the pit we were born into. But it wasn't enough. Life doesn't care about hard work, Detective. Not when you're... us."
I leaned back against the bedframe, my eyes fixed on her. "You're talking as if there was no choice."
She turned to face me, her electric blue eyes clouded with defiance and vulnerability. "There wasn't. You don't understand what it's like. Sonia… she tried to make it out clean. She believed in hope, in change. But this world, it broke her."
"She wasn't broken when I knew her," I said firmly.
"Because you only saw the mask," Cola shot back. "Sonia wore it well. For men like you, for people who paid for her time. But behind closed doors? She cried herself to sleep more times than I can count. And she never wanted me to end up here, but guess what? Here I am."
The room fell silent, her words hanging heavy in the air.
"Cola," I said after a pause, "you don't have to stay here. There's always a way out."
She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. "And do what? Flip burgers? Be a nobody scraping by until my back breaks? At least here… I have control. I choose who I let in, who I let close."
"You call this control?" I asked, my tone sharper than I intended.
"It's more than you think," she replied coolly. Then, after a beat, she added, "Don't pretend like you're here to save me. Men like you don't save people like me."
Her words stung, and for a moment, I had no response. She was right in a way. I wasn't here to save her.
But something about her—about Sonia's memory—made me want to try.
"So, Cola," I began, my voice steady but laced with concern. "I'll help you out. I can pay for your education. You'd only need to work a little—maybe an hour or two in the subway, just enough to stay grounded and independent."
She let out a bitter laugh, cutting me off. "What about my rent, huh? My bills? Do you think life is cheap? Because it isn't. Maybe it is for men like you, throwing money around like breadcrumbs."
"Cola," I said, holding her gaze. "You can live with me."
She froze mid-motion, her eyes narrowing as she studied me. "Live with you?" she echoed, her tone dripping with incredulity. "And do what, Hoffman? Play house?"
I opened my mouth to answer but hesitated, unsure of what to say.
She scoffed, shaking her head. "I know why you're doing this. It's because you loved my sister, didn't you? Sonia was my guardian, my protector. But you don't need to act like her for me."
"I'm not trying to act like Sonia," I said firmly. "And I'm certainly not trying to be your guardian. I just don't want to see you throw your life away."
She stood up from the bed, the light catching her figure as she began dressing herself with swift, sharp movements. Her frustration was palpable. She slid her shoes on and turned to face me, a fire blazing in her electric blue eyes.
"Don't act like my father, Hoffman. That role doesn't suit you in the slightest," she said, her voice a mix of defiance and sadness.
I took a step closer, lowering my voice. "I'm not trying to be your father, Cola. I'm trying to give you an option, a way out. Something Sonia would've wanted for you."
Her expression faltered for a moment, the mention of Sonia cutting through her defenses. But then, she shook her head, her lips curving into a wry smile.
"You're just another man trying to save someone who doesn't want saving," she said. "You're too late, Hoffman. This is who I am now."
I watched her as she moved around the room, her sharp movements revealing a mix of frustration and vulnerability. She zipped up her skirt with a force that made the sound linger in the tense air.
"Cola," I started, keeping my voice steady, "this isn't about acting like your father or guardian. It's about giving you a way out. A choice."
She turned to me, her electric blue eyes blazing. "A choice? You think this is a Disney story where someone swoops in and everything gets fixed? Let me tell you something, Detective—there are no choices for people like me. There's just survival."
I stood up slowly, keeping my distance but not backing down. "Survival doesn't mean you have to keep sinking. I'm offering you a chance to climb out. That's all. You don't have to take it, but don't dismiss it because of your anger."
She stared at me for a long moment, her jaw tightening. Then she sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "You think living with you would make me safe? That I'd suddenly become someone new? That's not how it works, Hoffman."
I nodded. "Maybe not. But it's a start. And maybe it's the start you need."
She chuckled bitterly, shaking her head as she reached for her bag. "You don't get it, do you? People don't just change because someone wants them to. And honestly? You're not the savior type. You're just another man who wants to feel better about himself."
Her words cut deep, but I didn't flinch. "Maybe you're right," I admitted. "But that doesn't mean I'm wrong about you deserving better."
She paused at the door, her hand on the handle, and glanced back at me. For a moment, the fire in her eyes softened.
"You remind me of Sonia," she said quietly. "Always trying to fix what's already broken."
Before I could respond, she opened the door and walked out, leaving me standing alone in the dimly lit room, her words echoing in my mind.