Bought for One Night, Married for a Throne.

Chapter 2: The morning Reckoning

Elara woke up with a mild headache and the dry taste of alcohol still clinging to her mouth.

She lay there for a few seconds, eyes half open, staring at the ceiling. It took a moment for it to sink in that something was off. The ceiling wasn’t hers. Neither was the room.

She sat up slowly, rubbing her temples. The bed was wider than the one at her apartment, the sheets smoother. The place smelled clean, faintly like an expensive cologne.

Her gaze dropped to herself.

She wasn’t wearing her dress; she was stark naked.

“Okay…” she muttered.

She shifted her legs, trying to stand, and stopped when her body protested in a way she didn’t expect. It was a sharp pain in her abdomen, just an uncomfortable reminder that made her pause.

That was when it clicked.

The pain hit her again, and she steadily sat back on the bed. This made her feel very awake.

Fragments of the night before started to surface, like puzzle pieces clicking into place. The party. The drinks. Laughter that turned into a blur. And then... him.

She closed her eyes, willing the memories to sharpen. It came in flashes: a tall man with kind eyes, steady hands guiding her out of the crowded bar when she could barely walk straight. He'd been caring, murmuring reassurances as he helped her into a car, then up the stairs to his place. No pressure, just concern. But then, once inside, the alcohol-fueled haze had twisted into something else.

"You okay?" he asked softly, his voice low and gentle. "Let me get you some water, or—"

"No," she interrupted, her words slurring just a bit as she grabbed the front of his shirt. The heat from the alcohol burned through her veins, making her bold, reckless.

“Don’t go,” she murmurs, voice soft and careless. “Just… don’t.”

“Don't f*****g leave me here okay, stay with me.”

"Kiss me."

His eyes widened, surprise flickering across his face. "Are you sure? You're pretty drunk."

"I said kiss me," she demanded, her voice firmer now, pulling him down until their lips crashed together. It wasn't gentle; it was hungry, desperate. Her tongue pushed into his mouth, tasting the faint bitterness of vodka on him, and he groaned, his hesitation melting away as he kissed her back.

His hands slid to her waist, gripping her hips as she backed him toward the hallway. She nipped at his lower lip, demanding more, her fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. "Don't stop," she whispered against his mouth, her body aching with a need she couldn't or wouldn't ignore.

He broke the kiss just long enough to steer her toward the bed, his breath ragged. "Elara... we don't have to…"

"Shut up and f**k me," she growled, shoving his shirt open and raking her nails down his chest. The skin beneath was warm, muscled, and she felt him harden against her thigh as they tumbled onto the bed.

The sheets were smooth under her back, cool against the flush of her skin. He hovered over her for a second, searching her eyes, but she yanked him down, wrapping her legs around his waist. Their mouths met again, tongues tangling as she ground up against him, feeling the thick bulge of his c**k straining through his pants.

"Yes," she moaned, her hands working at his belt, desperate to free him. He helped, kicking off his jeans and boxers in a rush, his c**k springing out hard, veined, the tip already glistening with pre-c*m. She wrapped her fingers around it, stroking firmly, and he hissed, thrusting into her grip.

"God, you feel good," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. He pushed her dress up her thighs, bunching the fabric at her waist, and hooked his fingers into her panties, tugging them down. She kicked them off impatiently, spreading her legs wide, her p***y already slick and throbbing.

He settled between her thighs, rubbing the head of his c**k along her folds, coating himself in her wetness. "Tell me if you want to stop," he said, but she shook her head, guiding him to her entrance.

"Inside me. Now." Her demand was breathless, needy. He pushed in slowly at first, stretching her with his thickness, and she arched up, gasping at the fullness. Inch by inch, he filled her, until he was buried to the hilt, their hips flush.

"f**k, you're so tight," he groaned, holding still for a moment to let her adjust. But she didn't want gentle; she rocked her hips, urging him deeper, her walls clenching around him….

The memory faded as the bedroom door creaked open. She quickly rushed the bedsheet over her body, covering her nakedness. Her eyes snapped open, her cheeks flushing with the vivid recall. The man from last night, her mystery lover stood there, holding a glass of water and a couple of aspirin, his expression a mix of concern and that same kindness from before.

"Morning," he said softly, offering a small smile. "How're you feeling?"

She swallowed, the pieces of the night settling into place without shame. Whatever came next, at least she remembered now and damn, it had been worth it.

“Morning,” she replied, just as neutral.

There was no awkward hovering, no tension filling the room. He didn’t move closer. Didn’t move away either. Just stood there, giving her space.

She swallowed. “This is… not my place.”

“No,” he said. “It’s mine.”

That settled it.

Her chest tightened, not with fear just the weight of reality finally landing. She looked around again, slower now, like she was confirming something she already knew.

“I don’t really remember coming here,” she admitted.

“That’s okay,” he said. “You weren’t in the best state.”

She let out a small breath, half relieved, half embarrassed. “Did I…?”

He shook his head once. “You were safe.”

Something in the way he said it made her believe him.

She nodded again, eyes dropping to the floor. “Right.”

Another pause. Not uncomfortable. Just quiet.

“I can give you a few minutes,” he said. “Take your time.”

Then he stepped back, giving her the room without making a show of it.

Elara watched him go, her thoughts finally catching up with her heart.

So, it wasn’t a dream.

And whatever had happened last night

it had happened with him.