Submitting To Him

I had always liked him, always. I liked him first, long before she entered the picture. Then she came along, and suddenly, she was all he could think about, dream about.

Ugh! I was utterly frustrated.

And yet, here I was, attending their wedding. Yes, you heard me right: Charles was marrying Caroline, my best friend. I know what you're thinking, how could I harbor such feelings for Charles? What kind of friend does that? But Charles and I had been inseparable since childhood. I had always had a crush on him.

We were drawn to each other, constantly in each other's company. We went through high school together, college together, and now, we both worked at the same tech company in New York. But I could never bring myself to tell Charles how I felt.

Why?.

Because he called me his sister. His sister! How was I his sister? Oh, Lord help me. Charles was an only child, spoiled with love by his parents. Meanwhile, I had the best father in the world. Over the years, my feelings for Charles deepened, transforming into something more profound.

I fell deeply in love with him. His dark hair and hazel eyes reminded me of summer, and I foolishly clung to the hope that one day, he'd love me back. But that day never came. I met Caroline in my second year at Atech, the same company Charles and I worked for. She was the sweetest person and worked as a chef in the cafeteria.

Her food was unmatched, and over time, we became as close as sisters. As someone who never had a sister, just a younger brother I adored; it felt special. I introduced Caroline to Charles, and the two of them acted like strangers. Of course, that was because the company's ruthless CEO had implemented a strict no-dating policy for employees.

Who was he to dictate love? It wasn't until I visited Caroline's apartment unannounced that I discovered the truth. I walked in on them in a compromising position. That's when I realized they were in a relationship.

Charles scrambled to explain why he hadn't told me, bombarding me with excuses and apologies. I was devastated. The signs had been there all along-the stolen glances, the lingering eye contact, Caroline's incessant questions about Charles.

But I had refused to see them. Even though it hurt, I loved them both. They were my closest friends, and so I did what any "sane" friend would do: I put on a brave face and pretended to be happy for them. It made me want to scream, but what choice did I have? Caroline, with her delicate Asian features and dyed strawberry-blonde hair, seemed to light up Charles's world.

She said the color brought out her eyes, though I never understood how-her midnight-black eyes were captivating enough. Apparently, Charles thought so too. I thought their relationship was the worst heartbreak I'd face that month. I was wrong. The next month, Caroline announced she was pregnant. Charles was overjoyed, and I was... torn.

I smiled and celebrated with them, but inside, I felt as though my world had crumbled. Their lives were moving at lightning speed, while mine felt stuck in place. Then came the proposal. Charles got down on one knee and asked Caroline, the mother of his unborn child, to marry him.

Right in front of me.

I watched my first love, the man I had cherished for 25 years, choose someone else in the span of two. I cried like a child that night. And now, here I was at their wedding, watching them dance, his hands on her waist, hers on his shoulders.

I couldn't stop thinking, That could have been me. If only I'd had the courage to tell him how I felt. Every kiss he gave her felt like a dagger, and I blamed myself for never speaking up. Unable to endure the pain any longer, I stood and checked the time: 8:45 PM.

I made some excuse about feeling unwell and left, ignoring their protests. Walking through the bustling streets of New York, I took in the cacophony of life-the mingled scents of food, cigarettes, and perfume.

The city's constant motion was the only thing that brought me solace. I stopped to take a deep breath, but my peace was interrupted by a pressing need: I had to use the restroom. I found a nearby bar and hurried inside, only to be stopped by a staff member.

"Ma'am, our policy requires you to purchase a drink before using the restroom," she said, smiling politely.

Frustration bubbled up inside me. I didn't have time for this!.

"How about I use the restroom first and buy a drink after? Same difference, right?" I snapped, trying to sidestep her.

But she blocked my path again, her eyes pleading with me.

"Please, ma'am, I don't want to lose my job." Before I could argue further, a deep, commanding voice interrupted.

"Is there a problem here?"

That voice.

That voice would become my redemption, my undoing, my joy, and my solace. It belonged to the man, who would change everything.

I turned to behold the figure behind me, a man whose presence seemed almost mythic-like a Greek god descended to Earth.

His expression was stern, exuding a quiet but lethal intensity, as though he could dismantle anyone foolish enough to cross him. His aura radiated dominance, fear, and respect, mingled with something I couldn't quite grasp.

His tousled brown hair gave him a disheveled allure, as though he had just emerged from some intoxicating encounter. Handsome didn't quite capture him-he was striking. His athletic build was undeniable, the fabric of his polo shirt and tailored pants clinging to him as though they'd been custom-designed for his frame. "Are you alright?" he asked, his deep voice pulling me back to reality.

His brow furrowed slightly, his full, firm lips drawn into a concerned line. His dark, midnight eyes regarded me with surprising care, and I found myself momentarily mesmerized. The young lady at the door interrupted, bringing me back to the present.

"Sir, she wants to use the restroom without purchasing a drink. I explained that it's against policy." I felt my bladder threatening to betray me, the urgency becoming unbearable.

"Let her use the restroom," he instructed, his tone calm yet commanding.

Without another glance, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving me dumbfounded. Who was this man, issuing orders as though he owned the place?.

"You may go, ma'am," the lady said, stepping aside. I didn't need to be told twice. I bolted toward the restroom, relishing the relief that followed.

After washing my hands and gathering myself, I stepped out, thanking the attendant with a smile. Yet my eyes scanned the crowded bar, searching for the mysterious stranger. Where had he gone?.

The room was alive with revelers-dancing, drinking, laughing-but he was nowhere to be seen. Sighing, I made my way to the bar and ordered a few shots. My heart was heavy, the weight of my earlier heartbreak pressing down on me.

My third shot was in hand when I heard it again-his voice.

"Rough day?" he asked, drawing my gaze to him. This time, under the soft lighting of the bar, I saw him clearly. He wasn't just handsome-he was devastatingly beautiful, a creature so captivating it seemed unfair that he even existed.

His toned arms and sculpted frame made it impossible to focus on anything else. Heat surged through me, and I clenched my thighs instinctively, trying to suppress the sinful thoughts racing through my mind. Clearing my throat, I managed to respond.

"Thanks for earlier. I thought I'd burst if I didn't find a restroom." I offered a smile, but he didn't return it, his expression unreadable. Did I look odd to him?.

"It's fine," he replied curtly. "Glad I could help." He sat down beside me and ordered a whiskey, neat, before turning his attention to his phone. I bit my lip, feeling a flicker of self-doubt. Was I unattractive?. Or was this only in romance novels where the guy asks for your number? Perhaps I had lost my charm.

"So, was it a bad day?" His voice interrupted my spiraling thoughts, startling me so much that I spilled my drink onto my dress. Mortified, I froze as he stared at me.

"Apologies, I didn't mean to startle you," he said, his voice softer now. He gestured for the bartender to bring a tissue and handed it to me.

"Here." Our fingers brushed briefly, and a spark jolted through me-a spark so intense I momentarily forgot where I was.

From his expression, he felt it too; his eyes darkened, and he bit his lower lip almost imperceptibly.

"Thank you," I murmured, dabbing at the spilled drink, which had unfortunately stained my cleavage. As I cleaned myself, I could feel his gaze on me-steady, unrelenting, almost as though I were a puzzle he was determined to solve.

Our eyes locked, and he didn't look away. His gaze swept over me with deliberate slowness, sending a shiver up my spine. Who was this man, and why did he look at me as though I were some rare, fascinating creature?.

I downed my final shot and stood, suddenly desperate to escape the intensity of his presence. But as I moved, my legs betrayed me, and I stumbled-falling into his arms.

Our faces were mere inches apart, and he held me firmly, his grip protective yet unyielding.

"Where do you live? Let me take you home," he said, his voice low and resonant, the vibrations seeming to echo through me. Flustered, I tried to stand upright, but once again, my legs faltered, and this time I collided with him, our foreheads bumping painfully.

I winced in embarrassment as he rubbed his forehead, one arm still steadying me by the waist.

"I'm so sorry," I stammered, reaching out to touch his face instinctively. My fingers brushed against his skin, warm and smooth, and his eyes darkened further, a new intensity flickering within them-desire.

"Come on, I'll take you home," he said, his voice gentle but firm.

"My car's right outside." He exchanged a few words with the bartender, then slipped one of my arms over his shoulder and steadied me as we left the bar. This was surely a day to remember.

I was too inebriated to recall the details of his car, but I remained acutely aware of my surroundings.

But, wait...

Who was this man?.

My mind raced with questions, each more unsettling than the last.

What if he's a serial killer?

What if he's unstable?

What if this night ends in tragedy?

These thoughts circled endlessly as I tried to steady myself. He gently placed me into the passenger seat, securing my seatbelt with deliberate care, though his fingers brushed against my chest in the process.

It could feel the goosebumps on my spine. The brief contact sent a heat surging through me, igniting desires I hadn't anticipated.

What was wrong with me? I wanted more of his touch-I wanted him, and I knew, it wouldn't be a one time thing.

"Where do you live?" he asked suddenly, his voice breaking through my tumultuous thoughts and causing me to jolt.

He sighed, his tone softening.

"You need to relax. I'm not going to hurt you. Now, where do you live?" His eyes held an intensity that was both reassuring and disarming, laced with a strange tenderness that caught me off guard.

I hesitated but eventually gave him my address. He started the engine, and the car roared to life.

The drive was shrouded in silence, save for the sound of my erratic heartbeat. Yet, even in the quiet, his presence was overpowering.

As the car dashed through the streets, I could feel myself about, to throw up. The Nausea was starting to hit me badly. Each time he shifted gears, his hand would brush against my thigh, sending an electric current through me.

Was it deliberate?

If so, it was working-I was dangerously close to surrendering to temptation. After what felt like an eternity, I summoned the courage to speak.

"Thank you... I really appreciate this. My name is Amanda." He nodded in acknowledgment but said nothing. His silence felt like a challenge, his indifference infuriatingly captivating.

"I'm Raphael," he finally said, his voice calm and measured. Raphael. The name suited him-elegant, otherworldly. Like the archangel himself, he seemed almost unreal, a man carved from marble, perfect in every way.

Yet there was something enigmatic about him, a haunting sadness that piqued my curiosity.

What had made him this way?.

What pain did he carry beneath that stoic exterior?.

"What's your favorite color?" he asked suddenly, his voice devoid of emotion but tinged with genuine curiosity.

The question startled me. Of all things to ask, why that?.

"Yellow," I replied, biting my lip. He nodded again, offering no further comment.

"What's your favorite fruit?" he asked next. The oddity of his questions made me uneasy, but I answered regardless, aware of how vulnerable I was in his car.

"Bananas," I said, swallowing the lump forming in my throat.

Another nod.

"And your favorite season?" he asked, his voice carrying a quiet authority that sent a chill down my spine.

"Summer," I murmured, my voice trembling slightly. Sensing my discomfort, he glanced at me briefly before returning his focus to the road.

"Don't be afraid. I'm only asking to help you feel at ease." I sighed, still wary but slightly comforted by his reassurance.

Exhaustion began to take over, my head spinning from the alcohol and the weight of the evening.

"We're here," he said, parking the car and turning off the ignition. His gaze met mine, and for a moment, I saw it-raw pain and loneliness etched into his features.

It was as if he longed for something he couldn't name, a silent plea for solace. Before I could stop myself, I leaned in and kissed him. The moment our lips met, it felt like the universe had aligned.

His kiss was passionate, consuming, as if he had been waiting for this. His hands cupped my face, holding me in place, while one slid to my thigh, igniting a fire within me.

Every touch, every movement, spoke of longing and need. I could feel his pain, his hunger for connection, and I wanted to give him everything-though I hardly knew him.

He bit my lower lip, sending a shiver through me before whispering against my mouth.

"Oh, Amanda." His voice was a caress, and he kissed me again, deeply, with an intensity that left me breathless. But then, the shrill sound of his phone broke the spell.

I glanced at the screen, and there it was-a name: Bella. Jealousy surged through me, sharp and sudden.

Who was Bella?.

Was he married?.

Shame washed over me as reality came crashing back. What was I doing, kissing a man I barely knew?.

He silenced the call and moved to kiss me again, but I pulled away.

"I think... I need to get some sleep". I said, my voice tinged with regret and embarrassment.

"You sure that's what you want? What about the wetness between your thighs? I want to taste it," he said, his voice commanding, his gaze unwavering.

My breath hitched. How could he say such things so brazenly, so unapologetically?.

"What the-". He cut me off immediately .

"Judging by how sweet your lips are, I can only imagine how sweet you'd taste down there," he continued, his tone dark and deliberate, his eyes burning with desire. I felt my resolve crumbling, but I couldn't let myself fall any further.

"Thank you for bringing me home. Have a good night," I said quickly, opening the car door and escaping into the safety of my apartment.

Once inside, I locked the door and peered through the window. He was still there, sitting in his Porsche.

A Porsche?!.

My heart raced at the realization. He wasn't just mysterious-he was wealthy. After a few minutes, he finally drove off, leaving me with my thoughts.

I took a cold shower, trying to wash away the lingering heat of his touch. But as I lay in bed, his face, his voice and the way he made me feel, haunted my dreams.

And that's when I knew, I'd remember him, for the rest of my life.