Syllabus Of Sin

Chapter 3 ~ That Night

{Aria’s POV}

~ Flashback To Two Days Ago ~

The hallway outside the bar felt like it belonged in some alternate universe where the lighting was always soft and the air always warm— a place where strangers could look at each other the way he looked at me, slowly, deliberately; like he was memorizing my face in case it disappeared.

He hadn’t asked for my name.

I hadn’t asked for his.

Names would’ve made it real.

Too real as they meant consequences.

But standing beside him, with the dim lights painting shadows along his jaw, consequences were the last thing on my mind.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked again, quieter now, like the darkness made honesty easier.

I nodded, but the truth leaked through with my shaking breath so I decided to be plain.

“No.. not really.” I admitted.

He didn’t respond with a cliché like “You’ll be okay” or “He didn’t deserve you.”

He just looked at me for a while and then something in his eyes softened.

“Do you want to go upstairs?” he asked after a moment, not leaning in, not crowding me, not assuming.

Just offering.

My heart hammered loudly now so that I worried he could hear it echoing off the hallway walls.

Normally, I would’ve said no to his request.

Normally, I would’ve turned away and left.

Normally, I would’ve been the responsible girl who avoided strangers in quiet places.

But that girl died somewhere between Evan’s betrayal and the moment this stranger listened to me like I wasn’t too much or too pathetic to matter.

He didn’t look at me like a rebound.

He didn’t look at me like a mistake.

He looked at me like a person and suddenly, he didn’t feel like a stranger anymore.

“Yes,” I whispered.

The moment the word left my mouth, something flickered in his eyes.

Not hunger— restraint. Like he had just remembered he had self-control he needed to keep on a short leash.

“Come with me,” he said softly, offering his hand. I stared at it; steady and patient, a total contrast to Evan’s careless fingers.

I took it and he led me to the elevator. The polished metal doors reflected us: me, swollen-eyed and hurt; him, calm and unreadable.

When they closed behind us, the air shifted.

The silence wasn’t awkward.

It was thick.

Charged.

He stood beside me, hands in his pockets, chest rising and falling in controlled breaths. But the space between us felt like it was shrinking, inch by inch, with every passing second.

And then the elevator began to rise. My pulse rose with it.

Just then, he turned his head, just slightly, but enough that his eyes met mine due to how I was standing.

With this, the air grew thicker and it was made more tense by the fact that he looked like he wanted to say something.

He did.

“Hey.”

His voice was warming and deep in a way that I want made me want to hear him say more.

I swallowed in anticipation but I never would have expected what he said next.

“Can I—” he started, then stopped, exhaled, and then tried again. “Can I kiss you?”

The question punched the air right out of me.

He wasn’t assuming. He was asking and I was shocked but it didn’t mean I detested it.

I swallowed and nodded.

I nodded too fast, too eagerly, too desperately— but he didn’t move right away.

He stepped closer instead, slow enough that I could’ve changed my mind ten times. Slow enough for the anticipation to pulse in my veins.

The s****l tension was evident now.

His hand lifted, slowly, until his fingers brushed my cheek, and the moment that happened, something in my chest snapped.

Not painfully.

Needfully.

I leaned into his palm before I even processed the motion and this made him exhale sharply… like the contact surprised him more than it surprised me.

Then his thumb traced the skin beneath my eye gently, almost tenderly, wiping the evidence of earlier tears.

“I’m going to kiss you now.” He whispered and then he did…

And then the world slid out of focus.

He kissed me softly at first, like he was memorizing the taste of my lips.

Then deeper; slow, but sure.

Controlled, but hungry in the quietest way.

His other hand curled around the back of my neck, guiding me, not pushing, not pulling— just holding.

I felt everything.

His warmth.

His restraint.

His quiet intensity.

I felt alive again.

The elevator dinged, breaking the moment.

He pulled back, his forehead resting against mine as his breathing thickened.

“This might be a mistake,” he murmured.

I whispered with a rising breath. “I don’t care.”

His jaw tightened, like that was the exact answer he wanted to hear.

He took my hand again now and led me down a carpeted path.

His room was at the end of the hall. Upon getting to it, he unlocked it, stepped aside to let me in first… and I crossed the threshold like I was walking into something I’d never forget.

The lights were soft. The sheets were crisp-looking and the air felt warmer than the hallway.

He closed the door behind us and for a moment, he just stood there, watching me. Not staring at my body.

Watching me.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked again, voice rougher now, like the restraint was fraying around the edges.

I nodded and then he came toward me slowly. When he reached me, he lifted my chin with two fingers.

“You deserve more than what happened tonight,” he said quietly. “So if we do this, I’m going to make sure you don’t feel used or forgotten. Not even for a second.”

My breath shuddered.

“I want to feel everything tonight except… not broken,” I whispered and his eyes darkened with something warm and almost-dangerous.

“Then I’ll take care of the rest.” He said and then his lips brushed mine again— rougher this time.

His fingers slid into my hair and mine curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.

He kissed me like he had all the time in the world, like he wasn’t rushing me but at the same time, wanted me. And when he trailed kisses down my neck, I let my head fall back, my breath building in my chest.

His hands slipped under the hem of my top, slow and warm— and I felt heat bloom as he cupped my breasts a bit tightly.

It was very heated, but then he paused and waited as if reading me. And in response, I nodded again, pulling him closer.

He got his answer and now his touch grew more certain. His mouth returned to mine— deeper, hungrier, and then the room blurred.

The air thickened.

I felt clothes shifting now, layers falling, skin brushing skin, and soon, we were both naked so that I could feel his warm bulge pressing against my pelvis.

My heart wouldn’t slow down.

And when he lifted me, guiding me toward the bed, I didn’t think. I didn’t even worry.

I just let myself feel— feel the warmth of him.

He placed me on the bed and we stopped communicating— at least we stopped using words to do so. Instead, I spread my legs for him and that junction was where we did the rest of the communication.

Wet.

Slightly rough.

Sensual.

His motions were slow and hungry at the same time, and in that warm, passionate tangle of limbs and breathless cries, everything else disappeared.

Evan.

The betrayal.

The humiliation.

Gone.

For one night— just one, I wasn’t broken. And a stranger I had met in the bar was the reason why.

I didn’t remember falling asleep.

I only remembered the warmth, the safety, the way he held me like he wasn’t letting me go until the world was done hurting me.

It was an amazing time but I left before he woke.

Because reality was waiting. Because heartbreak didn’t disappear just because someone touched me like I mattered. And because falling in love with someone is always the starting phase of heartbreak.

I thought it was perfect since I would never be seeing him again, but then…