SEX AT FIRST SIGHT

CHAPTER 1

I woke up with butterflies I pretended I didn't have.

For the past two weeks, ever since Dad mentioned Zahar's phone call, my heart had been beating like it remembered something my mind had tried to forget. Or maybe I never forgot at all.

Five years was a long time, yet somehow every part of me still reacted to his name like I was sixteen again, peeking out my window just to see him walk down his balcony steps, pretending I wasn't staying up, waiting for him to come back home.

And now-today-he was back.

Well, arriving later today.

"Trixie," Dad called from downstairs, snapping me out of my half-dazed morning excitement. "Don't forget to stop by Zahar's house and make sure the staff didn't miss anything."

My breath caught.

Zahar's house.

The mansion directly across from ours. The place I used to stare at more than my school books. The place I had imagined myself walking into, confessing stupid, too-big feelings to a man who should have never looked twice at me.

Not that he ever did. He was Dad's age, Dad's best friend, Dad's business partner. Always patient with me, always gentle and respectful... but never inappropriate.

Never mine.

Even when I tried to pretend he was.

I slid out of bed, pulled my hair into a loose ponytail, and forced my feet to work. It felt like every step was carrying me closer to something I wasn't sure I was ready for.

Because Zahar Litvin wasn't just anyone.

He was the man who once made me consider skipping my own sixteen-birthday party just so I could hide from the way he looked at me that night. Or the way I had hoped-prayed-he'd look at me.

Then he vanished.

No explanation. No final dinner with Dad. No awkward goodbye to me. One night he was here; the next morning his doors were shut and his car was gone. I waited. I checked the mailbox every day for a letter that never came. I stood outside his house, feeling stupid for even hoping he'd ever come back.

And now Dad was telling me to go inside.

Walk into his house.

His space.

His bedroom.

Like it was nothing.

I threw on a tank top and shorts and headed out. The sun was warm, caressing my skin gently, and the familiar gates of Zahar's mansion loomed across the street.

My stomach tightened. The security code still worked-Dad must've reset it for the cleaners this morning-so the iron gates rolled open with a soft hum.

My heart didn't hum. It roared.

The house was as enormous and intimidating as always, with dark tinted windows and that heavy black-steel door that looked like it belonged to a billionaire who never took risks but somehow always attracted danger anyway.

That had always been Zahar's aura-controlled strength, like he could break someone in half but chose not to.

The key worked on the first try.

The moment I stepped inside, a soft floral cleaning scent hit me. Everything sparkled. The marble floors gleamed like they were brand new. The chandeliers shone brighter. The furniture looked untouched.

Yet the house felt lived in.

Like it was waiting for him.

I walked slowly, my footsteps echoing through the long hallway. I traced my fingertips over the walls, remembering how I once imagined him pinning me against one. Pressing his body to mine. Whispering my name in that deep, Russian accented voice.

Jesus. I needed to get a grip.

I checked the kitchen first. Everything was perfect-the staff really didn't miss a thing. Bedroom hallway next. My heart thumped harder with every closed door I passed.

Then... his room.

Zahar's bedroom was always off-limits-even when I was younger, Dad never let me roam around here. "A man's room is private," he used to say. Which was precisely why I imagined it so much. Forbidden things were always more interesting.

I hesitated only one second before turning the handle.

The smell hit me first.

Not cleaning products.

Him.

Or maybe it was just my imagination, but the faint, masculine scent-deep, woodsy, expensive, sharp like winter air-rushed straight into my lungs and settled low between my legs.

His room was larger than mine, even larger than my father's. A king-sized bed sat in the middle, dressed in fresh white sheets. Huge windows looked out over the estate, sunlight pouring in.

I walked to the bed slowly, almost reverently.

He would sleep here tonight.

After five years.

Five years of not knowing where he went, or if he ever thought about us.

If he ever thought about me.

What would he look like now? Older? Rougher? Would his beard be thicker? Would his eyes still have that dangerously calm look that made me feel like he was reading every thought I tried to hide?

My breath came out shaky.

Before I could overthink, I sat on his bed.

Soft.

Too soft.

Then I lay down fully, sinking into the mattress like it was pulling me in. I shouldn't have. I knew I shouldn't have. But my body refused to obey my brain. I curled onto my side, then onto my back, staring at the ceiling.

"God, Zahar..." I whispered to an empty room.

Something warm unfurled inside me. Something bold. Something stupid.

My thighs pressed together.

I wasn't supposed to do this. I wasn't supposed to think of him like this anymore. I was twenty one-not sixteen, not starry-eyed, not hopelessly naïve.

Except... I was hopeless. Still.

I closed my eyes and let memories blur into fantasies. Zahar in his crisp shirts, sleeves rolled to his elbows, forearms flexing as he poured himself vodka.

Zahar leaning over our dining table discussing business with Dad, voice deep and smooth. Zahar glancing at me sometimes-just a glance, nothing more-but long enough for me to wonder if he ever imagined what my mouth might look like wrapped around his fingers.

My breath hitched.

My hand slid down my stomach before I could stop it. I wasn't even touching anything yet, but my skin felt hot, too tight. My shorts suddenly felt too restricting. I parted my legs slightly, hesitant but craving. My fingers brushed the inside of my thigh and a shiver shot straight up my spine.

CHAPTER 2

TRIXIE

"No," I whispered, pressing both hands over my face. "I'm fucking insane."

But it didn't stop me.

My palms slid down my throat, over my chest, chasing the heat building low in my stomach.

The house was silent. No footsteps. No voices. Just the AC running and my pulse throbbing between my legs.

His bed smelled like detergent... and him. That faint cedar-and-smoke scent hit the back of my throat and went straight to my pussy.

I gave up fighting it.

I shoved my shorts and panties down in one rough pull and kicked them off. Cool air hit my bare pussy, and I let out a loud whimper before I could stop it. My thighs were already slick; I could feel it dripping.

I spread my legs wide on his mattress, like I'd been waiting years to do exactly this.

My fingers found my clit immediately-swollen, throbbing, ready. The first slow rub made a wet sound that should've embarrassed me but didn't. I bit my lip and kept going, circling harder, pressing harder, letting my hips roll up into my hand.

In my head, he was already here.

Zahar stood at the foot of the bed, shirt half-unbuttoned, sleeves pushed up, jaw clenched, eyes glued to my dripping pussy.

"Printsessa," he growled, that rough Russian accent hitting every nerve I had. "Look at you. Soaked just from being in my bed."

I moaned out loud and spread myself with two fingers, feeling how wet and puffy I was. I dragged the slickness up to my clit until it pulsed hard under my touch.

I imagined him crawling up the bed, grabbing my thighs, forcing them open wider than I could manage on my own.

"You missed me that much?" he rasped, breath hot on my inner thigh. "Five years and you're still this wet the second you're around my things?"

"Yes," I hissed, hips jerking. "Fuck yes."

I pushed two fingers inside my pussy, it went in deep. No hesitation. I was so wet they slid in easily, stretching me open. I curled them right against that spot that made my stomach drop, and thrust fast and messy, the wet slap of it loud in the quiet room.

My other hand shoved my tank top up and I grabbed my breast, squeezing hard, pinching my nipple until it ached, then rubbing it to soothe the sting.

I imagined his beard scraping my thighs. His tongue sliding up my slit. His mouth closing around my clit and sucking hard enough to make me scream.

"Zahar... fuck... uncle Zahar please-"

I shoved a third finger in, stretching myself more, imagining it was his cock pushing inside me-thick, heavy, too much but exactly what I wanted. Every thrust pressed my palm against my clit, pushing the pressure higher and higher until I could barely breathe.

I felt myself dripping down onto his sheets, soaking them. The idea of him finding it later made me clench around my fingers.

In my head, he wasn't done with me.

He'd flip me on my stomach. Shove my face into the pillow. Yank my hair back and fuck me from behind, hard enough to shake the bed. His hand on my hip. His cock slamming into me deep and rough.

That image broke me.

I came with a choked cry, back arching off the mattress. My pussy clenched tight around my fingers, pulsing hard, pushing out a messy rush of come that splattered onto his sheets. I kept fucking myself through it, shaking, gasping, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes as the orgasm tore through me.

When it finally eased, I collapsed. My fingers were still inside me, still twitching from the aftershocks. My whole body felt wrecked.

Slowly, I pulled my fingers out. The sound was obscene and made my face heat up again. I brought them to my mouth and sucked them clean-salty, warm, dirty.

The room smelled like sex.

Like me.

Like what I'd just done in the bed of a man who had no idea I was using his sheets to get myself off.

I sat up, legs shaking. Guilt hit-but excitement hit harder. My thighs were sticky. My pussy still throbbed.

I smoothed the blankets as best as I could, but the dark wet patch wasn't going anywhere. A loud, obvious reminder.

Let him see it tonight.

Let him smell me.

Let him know exactly what his little printsessa did the second she was alone in his room.

I yanked my shorts back on, wincing at the damp fabric rubbing my still-sensitive pussy, and forced myself out of the room.

But as I walked out the door and locked it behind me, my chest tight and my body still buzzing, one thought cut through everything:

He comes home tonight.

And I'm not done.

CHAPTER 3

TRIXIE

I had never been this painfully aware of my own body.

Hours had passed since I slipped out of Zahar's bedroom, and the guilt still clung to my skin like humidity. Every time I blinked, I saw myself sprawled on his bed, breathless and shaking, sheets twisted in my fist while I whispered his name like a secret prayer.

Every time I sat down, I could feel the faint ache between my legs.

A reminder.

A confession my body refused to hide.

The worst part?

I wanted to go back.

God, I wanted it so badly I could barely think straight. If I could have disappeared without anyone noticing, I would have marched right back across the street, crawled onto that same bed, and done it again-this time harder, deeper, imagining his voice telling me exactly how filthy I was.

But I couldn't. Not when the entire household was buzzing with preparations. The staff kept passing in and out of the living room. Dad was pacing around, checking his watch, calling Alex twice just to confirm he was on time. And Mom-

A knock sounded on my bedroom door just as I was pulling a dress over my head.

"Trixie?" Her voice floated through. "Can I come in?"

Before I could answer, the door opened and Mom-Victoria-stepped inside. Elegant as always, wearing a soft pink blouse and diamond earrings that sparkled way too brightly for my current mental stability.

She froze when she saw me.

Or rather... she saw how I looked.

My hands shook slightly as I zipped the back of my dress. My breathing was uneven. My chest rose too quickly. I tried to steady myself, but it only made me look guiltier.

"You're trembling," she said, brows drawing together. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

Oh perfect.

Exactly what I needed-my mother reading every emotion on my face like an open book.

I forced a laugh, but it came out thin and cracked. "Nothing. I'm fine. I just-"

"Your father heard from Alex," she said gently, stepping closer. "He's already picked up Zahar. They should be here soon."

That did not help.

My stomach clenched so violently I almost doubled over. My fingers dug into my dress, gripping the fabric to stop them from shaking.

Mom noticed. Of course she noticed.

"Trixie..." She placed a hand on my arm. Warm. Soft. Concerned. "Are you sure everything is okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

If only she knew I'd been fantasizing about one all morning.

I swallowed hard. I couldn't tell her the truth. I couldn't even tell myself the truth without turning into a puddle on the floor.

"I don't know," I lied, looking away. "I guess... I'm just anxious. I keep wondering if he's coming back to stay or if he'll disappear again. He didn't even say goodbye last time. He just left."

It sounded convincing enough-because it was partly true.

Mom's expression softened. She let out a long breath and walked to my bed, sitting down like she was settling in for a serious conversation.

"Come here, sweetheart."

My heart pounded as I sat beside her, hands clasped in my lap. She took one of them gently, squeezing.

"You deserve to know why," she said quietly.

My chest tightened.

Why he left.

Why he never came back.

Why he never sent a single message.

I had built so many painful fantasies from that silence. Maybe he hated this place. Maybe he hated business with Dad. Maybe he hated me.

Mom exhaled again. "Zahar left because of his father."

I blinked. "What?"

"You remember Mikhail Litvin? His father?" she asked.

I nodded slowly. Vaguely. I barely remembered seeing him once or twice. Always from a distance. Tall. Stern. Cold. Nothing like Zahar.

"He was very sick," Mom continued. "He was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. The doctors said it was progressing fast. But what really pushed Zahar to leave was the call he received from his father's butler."

My breath hitched.

"He told Zahar that Mikhail's business partners were making moves-trying to prepare a takeover. They assumed Zahar wouldn't come back because of the bad relationship between him and his father."

My heart squeezed. I had never known any of this.

"Zahar didn't have a choice," Mom said softly. "He had to go back. To protect what was left of his father's empire. To take care of him. Even though it hurt him. Even though he didn't want to."

I stared at the floor, throat tight. "He didn't even get along with his father..."

"No," Mom agreed sadly. "He thought Mikhail was the reason his mother suffered. The reason she..." She paused, voice softening. "The reason she ended her life."

My eyes widened.

A heavy silence settled over the room.

I had known Zahar carried shadows with him, but not this. Not grief piled on top of betrayal. Not a father who haunted him even while alive.

"So why come back now?" I whispered, afraid of the answer.

Mom squeezed my hand again, gently. "Because his father passed away two weeks ago."

The room tilted slightly.

Not from sadness... though I felt a small ache of sympathy for him.

But mostly-

Mostly I felt... relieved.

It was awful. It was terrible. It was monstrous. But deep inside, something curled with selfish hope.

He had come back.

He had no reason to leave again.

He was here.

Here.

Across the street.

Breathing my air again.

A blush shot up my face. I could feel it burning, crawling up my neck, reaching my ears.

Mom's eyes narrowed. "Why is your face red?"

"Oh my God-uh-I need to fix my makeup!" I blurted and shot to my feet.

I didn't even give her time to respond. I practically sprinted into my bathroom and slammed the door.

The moment it clicked shut, I pressed both hands to my flaming cheeks and let out a breath that sounded like a dying kettle.

"Oh God..." I whispered at my reflection.

My reflection stared back-flushed cheeks, wide eyes, slightly swollen lips. I looked like someone who had just been thoroughly kissed.

Or thoroughly fantasizing about it.

And the dress-

God, the dress.

A flirty, soft satin thing in wine red, hugging my waist, flaring slightly at the hips. The kind of dress you wear when you want to pretend you're not trying too hard while trying too hard.

I touched the fabric, smoothing it down.

I looked pretty.

Pretty enough that maybe-just maybe-

He would look at me.

Not like a child.

Not like Gabe's daughter.

Not like a neighbor he used to humor at the dinner table.

But like a woman.

My smile grew embarrassingly wide. I pressed my fingers to my lips, trying to calm myself, but every cell in my body buzzed like electricity.

A deep, heavy rumble suddenly echoed from outside-an engine.

I froze.

Then-

"Trixie!" Mom called from my bedroom. "He's here! Hurry!"

My heart slammed against my ribs with such force I almost staggered. My breath caught. My skin tingled. My stomach flipped so hard it felt like it was inside my throat.

He was here.

He was here.

Zahar Litvin... was here.

I grabbed the sink for balance.

This was it.

After five years of wondering.

Five years of obsessing.

Five years of imagining his return in a thousand different ways.

In minutes, I would be standing in front of him.

Would he recognize me?

Would he think I'd changed?

Would he hug me?

Would he ignore me?

Would he notice how my dress hugged my hips?

Would he smell guilt on me?

Did guilt even have a smell oh my God I might faint-

"Trixie!" Mom called again, louder this time. "Come downstairs!"

I opened the bathroom door slowly, stepping into my bedroom like someone walking into their own execution.

Mom looked beautiful, calm, confident.

I looked like I was about to have a heart attack.

"This isn't a big deal," she said, eyeing me like she could sense my panic. "It's just Zahar."

Just Zahar.

If only she knew.

She walked out first. I followed on shaky legs. Each step felt unreal, like I was floating. The hallway stretched forever. The stairs felt longer than they had ever been.

And then-

Voices.

Deep. Male. Familiar.

Dad.

And him.

My throat tightened. My fingers trembled around the staircase rail.

The front door was open.

Dad stood at the bottom of the stairs, grinning widely, shaking someone's hand.

And that someone-

Tall.

Broad.

Dark hair longer than before.

Beard thicker.

Suit black as night.

Shoulders so wide he filled the doorway.

Zahar.

He turned at the sound of footsteps.

His gaze lifted.

His eyes met mine.

And the world stopped.