The days after Elena's explosive solo release—and Aslan's silent, accidental witnessing—left an invisible but unbreakable thread stretched between them. Every shared glance across the breakfast table felt heavier. Every time their fingers brushed while reaching for the same coffee pot, electricity crackled. Elena caught herself staring at the elegant line of his throat when he swallowed, at the way his long lashes cast shadows on his cheeks. Aslan, for his part, found his thoughts drifting during meetings, replaying the sight of her arched back, the sound of his own name moaned in desperate pleasure. He was nineteen—still a virgin, still without even the memory of a girlfriend's kiss—but the ache in his groin had become constant, insistent, impossible to ignore.
Three weeks passed in that delicious, torturous limbo. Then, one quiet Thursday evening, Aslan found Elena in the living room, barefoot, legs curled beneath her on the sofa, reading a financial journal. He stood in the doorway for a long moment, gathering courage he didn't know he possessed.
"Elena?" His voice cracked slightly. He cleared his throat. "Would you… would you like to go out with me? Tomorrow night? Just us. A real date."
She lowered the journal slowly. Her dark eyes widened in genuine surprise, then softened into something warmer, almost vulnerable.
"Aslan…" She set the magazine aside. "Are you asking me out on a date?"
He nodded, cheeks flaming. "Yes. I know I'm young, and I know you're… you. But I can't stop thinking about you. I want to take you somewhere nice. Please."
For a heartbeat she simply looked at him—really looked—seeing the earnest boy beneath the beauty, the quiet strength that had uncovered fraud in her company and now stood trembling before her asking for something far more frightening.
"Yes," she said softly. "I'd love to."
The next evening they chose a small, intimate rooftop restaurant in Condesa, one with ivy-draped walls and only a handful of tables. The city sprawled beneath them like a glittering sea. They talked for hours. About everything. About nothing. About the way the wine tasted like black cherries and summer nights.
Eventually the conversation turned deeper. Aslan spoke of his childhood in a quiet Midwestern town—his parents killed in a car accident when he was twelve. How he'd been raised by his grandparents until he turned eighteen and headed off to university in Chicago. "I had to work harder than everyone else," he said quietly, staring into his glass. "Because no one was going to do it for me. I didn't want pity. I just wanted to prove I could stand on my own."
Elena felt her throat tighten. She reached across the table and took both his hands in hers. "You're not alone anymore," she whispered. Tears shimmered in her eyes. "Not while you're here. Not with me."
She stood, walked around the table, and pulled him into her arms. Aslan stiffened for a second, then melted against her, face buried in the crook of her neck. She smelled of jasmine and warm skin and something indefinably feminine. He felt her heartbeat against his chest, fast and strong.
They finished the bottle of Malbec in silence after that, hands still linked.
The ride home was quiet, charged. When the front door of the mansion closed behind them with a soft click, the dam broke.
The ride home was quiet, charged. When the front door of the mansion closed behind them with a soft click, the dam broke.
Elena turned, grabbed the lapels of his blazer, and kissed him—hard, hungry, no preamble. Her full lips devoured his, tongue sweeping inside to taste the wine still on him. Aslan gasped against her mouth, hands hovering uncertainly until she guided them to her waist.
"You're special," she breathed between kisses, backing him toward the staircase. "So fucking special. I've been alone for so long… I need to feel like a woman again, Aslan. I need you to make me feel like a woman."
He nodded, dazed, pupils blown wide. "Yes… yes, please."
They stumbled up the stairs, kissing the entire way, shedding clothes in a haphazard trail. By the time they reached Elena's bedroom, she was down to black lace lingerie that barely contained her curves, and Aslan was naked—his lithe body pale and trembling, that enormous BWC already rigid, curving upward, veins pulsing, the head glistening.
Elena pushed him gently onto the edge of the bed. "Sit," she ordered softly. Then she began to dance.
It was slow, sensual, unhurried. She swayed her hips, ran her hands over the heavy swells of her breasts, peeled the lace bra away inch by inch until her dark nipples stood proud. She turned, showing him the lush curve of her ass as she slid the thong down her legs. Aslan watched, mesmerized, his cock twitching with every movement, growing impossibly thicker, balls drawing up tight and full.
When she was completely bare, she dropped gracefully to her knees between his spread thighs. She kissed the inside of one knee, then the other, working her way up. Soft kisses along the length of his shaft, then a long, slow lick from base to tip.
The first taste of him—salty, musky, male—sent a shockwave through her. She moaned, loud and broken, and came instantly—hard, sudden, untouched. Her thighs shook, pussy clenching around nothing as a small gush wet the carpet beneath her.
"God… your cock," she whimpered, voice wrecked. "It's perfect."
She wrapped her massive breasts around his length, enveloping him in soft, warm flesh. She began to slide up and down, tongue flicking the head each time it emerged. Aslan's head fell back, hands fisting the sheets, hips jerking helplessly.
"Elena… I'm gonna—"
"Do it," she urged. "Come on my tits, baby. Mark me."
He erupted with a strangled cry—thick, forceful jets of cum painting her breasts, her throat, her chin. Rope after rope, more than she'd ever seen, dripping down her curves like warm wax. She milked him through it, moaning at the sheer volume, until he was shuddering, spent.
But she wasn't done.
She crawled onto the bed, lay on her back, and spread her legs wide. "It's time," she whispered. "Make me yours."
Aslan positioned himself between her thighs, trembling. His first time. The head of his cock nudged her soaked entrance. Elena reached down, guiding him, soothing him with soft words.
"Slow, cariño… just like that…"
Inch by inch he sank inside. Elena's eyes rolled back; she bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. He was huge—stretching her in ways she'd forgotten were possible. When he bottomed out, balls pressed to her ass, she came again—violently. Her legs snapped around his waist, heels digging into his back, holding him deep as her walls fluttered and milked him.
Aslan couldn't hold back. With a broken moan he came inside her, flooding her depths with hot spurts, painting her womb white. They clung to each other, shaking, breathing hard.
After a long minute, Elena kissed him softly. "Now… move, baby. Fuck me. Make me feel it."
Aslan began to thrust—clumsy at first, unsure of the rhythm. But he was a quick study, always had been. Within minutes he found the angle that made her gasp, the pace that made her toes curl. He discovered places inside her she didn't know existed—deep, secret spots that sent lightning up her spine. Elena was sobbing with pleasure, nails raking his back, begging for more.
Then Aslan pulled out, voice rough. "I want you on your hands and knees. Like an animal. I want to take you the way I've dreamed."
Elena obeyed instantly, presenting herself—ass high, back arched, pussy dripping his cum down her thighs.
He mounted her like he was starving. No hesitation now. He slammed in deep, hips snapping, balls slapping against her clit with every thrust. Elena screamed his name, climax after climax ripping through her, vision whiting out. He fucked her hard, fast, relentless—grunting, growling, one hand fisted in her hair, the other gripping her hip.
"Mine," he rasped, the word torn from somewhere primal. "You're mine now."
"Yes—yes—yours—fuck—Aslan—!"
They came together one final time—her squirting around his cock, him pumping another massive load deep inside her spasming cunt. The intensity was too much. They collapsed in a sweaty, trembling heap, limbs tangled, hearts hammering in unison.
Elena curled against his chest, fingers tracing lazy circles over his skin. Aslan pressed a kiss to her forehead, dazed and sated.
Neither spoke. Words weren't necessary.
They simply held each other as sleep finally claimed them, bodies entwined, the room smelling of sex and wine and something new—something that felt dangerously, beautifully like the beginning.