Chapter Three: Before the Sun, When Nothing Else Exists
1004 Words
The room was quiet.
Not sterile—warm, muted, lived-in in a way that felt borrowed. A king-size bed sat unmade at the center, the window half-open to the sound of tires hissing against wet pavement below. Pale gold from the streetlights bled into the corners, striping the walls in soft, broken light.
Isla stood near the edge of the bed, barefoot now, her heels abandoned by the door.
Noah hovered a few feet away, his breathing shallow but steady, as though he was holding something in—restraint, maybe. Or reverence.
“Still sure?” he asked again, his voice almost a whisper.
She looked at him for a long moment. There was no playful smirk now, no tease. Just her eyes—liquid and searching, quietly defiant against the tremble in her chest.
“Only of this,” she said.
That was all it took.
Noah stepped toward her slowly, like she was something delicate. Something holy. He reached for her face first, cupping her cheek, thumb brushing across her skin as if memorizing the warmth there. Isla leaned into it—just a little—then tilted her head to kiss the center of his palm.
Their mouths met in a slow press. No hunger yet, just weight and meaning. Their lips moved in time, opening by degrees, shaping silence into something unspoken. Her hands slid beneath his shirt, palms dragging up his stomach, his ribs, until he let out a sound he hadn’t meant to—low and caught between want and surrender.
He pulled off his shirt. She pulled down her dress.
It fell to the floor with a sound like silk sighing.
She wore no bra.
He looked at her then—not as a man undressing a woman, but as someone discovering something private and rare. His fingers skimmed down her arms, over her sides, then stopped to trace the curve of her waist. She stood still, letting him take her in, but her breath betrayed her: fast, uneven.
His mouth found her collarbone, then the dip beneath it. He kissed the top of her breast, slowly, reverently. Her back arched the moment his lips dragged lower, tongue brushing skin like a question.
Isla let out a quiet, broken sound. “Don’t stop.”
He didn’t.
She backed up until her knees hit the mattress. Noah followed, guiding her down gently. The bed shifted beneath their weight, and suddenly they were lying there—half-naked, heartbeats reckless, the distance between them a breath, a decision.
She pulled him to her.
And everything changed.
They made like the world had folded in around them.
Noah moved over her like he already knew the map of her body, but took his time rediscovering every detail. His mouth traced down her ribs, her stomach, the sensitive skin inside her thighs. Her fingers threaded into his hair when he kissed her there—slow, unhurried, patient with the kind of focus that made Isla writhe beneath him, every nerve a live wire.
When he finally entered her, their eyes met—and held.
The pace was slow at first, bodies learning each other with each roll of hips, each gasp, each whispered name. Her nails scraped gently down his back. His hands cupped the sides of her face when he kissed her again, deep and consuming.
They moved together like they had always known how.
There were no faked moans, no exaggerated gasps—just real, breathless intimacy.
Isla rode him next, her thighs tight around him, hair falling around her face. Noah’s hands held her hips as she rocked against him, backlit by the city outside, her silhouette framed by the orange glow filtering through the curtains. She moaned his name—once, then again—and he answered with her own, grounding her in the sound, in the moment.
Everything burned slowly—like candlewax melting between them.
And when they came undone, it wasn’t fireworks. It was surrender.
It was shaking limbs, mouths pressed to damp skin, a softness so overwhelming it almost hurt.
They lay tangled together in the center of the bed. Her cheek against his chest. His arm around her shoulders. No words. Just the hum of the air conditioning, and the sound of two people trying to memorize a night they weren’t allowed to keep.
Isla was the first to speak, voice low.
“This feels like a mistake I’m going to miss.”
Noah didn’t flinch. He didn’t try to fix it.
He kissed her temple.
“I hope you do,” he said.
And neither of them said what they both knew:
That some mistakes are meant to leave marks.
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Noah stirred as the first pale strands of morning spilled across the bed. It wasn’t the sun that woke him—it was the stillness. A quiet too complete, too untouched.
He reached beside him on instinct.
Empty.
The sheets were cool where she had been.
His eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the light. The other side of the bed was rumpled, the impression of her body faint, fading. Her scent lingered—warm skin, shampoo, and something sweet he couldn’t name—but she was gone.
No note.
No message.
No goodbye.
Just her dress missing from the floor. Her earrings gone from the nightstand. And the ghost of her laugh hanging in the corners of the room.
Noah sat up, scrubbing his hands over his face, heart clenching against the tight, unexpected ache in his chest.
He should’ve known.
He did know.
This was how one-night stories ended.
Clean exits. No questions. Just the echo of what could’ve been if either of them had been brave enough to break the rules.
Still—he hadn’t expected it to hurt.
He looked around once more, almost as if she might still be there, hiding in the quiet.
She wasn’t.
And all that remained of Isla was the way her name still echoed in his ears—soft, whispered, and unforgettable.
- Writer
