Chapter 29
I find myself pushing through the noisy, bubbling crowd, everyone celebrating, glasses raising to the sound of laughter bursting like early fireworks. I'm wearing my white dress, the one I picked out with such care for the occasion, but now it feels like irony—a cloak of purity in a place where I feel out of place, invisible, an uninvited intruder. It's New Year's Eve, and while others exchange knowing glances, laughs, and toasts, my silence wraps around me like a veil. In my hand, a glass of champagne, the golden liquid shimmering under the colored lights. Twenty minutes to midnight, and my date—that promise of new love for the coming year—is definitely not showing. My phone stays silent, a dead object with no messages. My eyes wander the crowd like castaways, seeking solid ground in some familiar face, someone who might notice me. Someone who, out of pity or kindness, might offer a connection, however thin. A face to smile with me, arms to wrap around mine in a light hug, just so I can say "Happy New Year"—and feel, even for a moment, like I belong in this moment.
Feeling desolate, I leave the crowd behind and head to the balcony. The wind outside is cold, but the view makes up for it: the city sparkles, vibrant and vast, its lights spilling out like a promise I can't bring myself to believe. From up here, the height is dizzying, an invitation I have no interest in accepting. Still, the thought hits me, unexpected and intrusive: "Why don't I just jump from here?" The idea sends a chill through me, and I scold myself almost immediately, a flash of shame for even considering something so dark. But in a distant corner of my mind, I whisper to myself: at least that way, I wouldn't ring in the new year alone. Fifteen minutes to go.
"You’re not thinking of jumping, are you?" a man's voice pulls me out of my daze.
I turn, startled, to face the owner of the question—a stranger. He's a guy who looks like he stepped out of a dream: tanned skin glowing under the lights, a disarming smile showing white, perfectly straight teeth, and a strong jaw marked by dimples that make him seem dangerously approachable. His shirt hangs open, exposing a solid chest, the outline of muscled pecs carrying intricate tattoos.
"Not today," I reply, my voice catching a bit as I try to hide my reaction to such raw beauty. "I don’t wanna ruin everyone’s party."
My attempt at humor comes off a little awkward, and he laughs. A warm, genuine laugh that makes the air around me feel less chilly. He offers me another full glass, swapping it for my empty one with a natural, almost intimate gesture, like this meeting was meant to be. He steps close enough that I catch his scent—a deep, woody aroma that seems to wrap around the air. Even from a bit away, I feel the heat radiating from him, cutting through the cold wind and seeping under my skin, warming me from the inside out. My body reacts on its own: a shiver that's not from the cold, but from anticipation. A silly smile, an unexpected wetness.
I stand frozen for a second, trying to regain some control over myself, but everything about him seems designed to disarm. His gaze, a mix of untamable magnetism and genuine curiosity, locks on me like he's seeing something even I can't see in myself.
"I know a secret spot," he says, his voice low, thick with almost tangible mystery. "Wanna come with me?"
The offer hangs in the air like a promise, and maybe a dare. For a moment, I think about hesitating, asking questions, but there's something in the way he looks at me—a certainty that doesn't ask permission, it just waits for my choice. My heart pounds harder, almost painfully, as I search for a rational excuse to go along, but I find only a thirst for something new, something to chase away the emptiness eating at me.
"Yeah," I answer, not recognizing my own voice, the word slipping from my lips before I can overthink it.
The glasses, left behind on the railing, wait alone for the new year as we move quickly through the crowd. He parts the festive, euphoric bodies with ease, holding my hand like he already knows exactly where to take me. My heart races, a mix of excitement and unease, as I let him lead, barely thinking.
We reach a dimly lit service hallway, where the muffled party sounds mix with the distant city noise. A steep staircase appears ahead, narrow steps that look uninviting—an unlikely choice for the white dress hugging me and demanding care. But he smiles at me, a grin that's part encouragement, part tease, like the adventure is key to this moment.
I climb, focused, feeling the fabric cling to my body with every move, while he watches close up, not hiding it. When I finally reach the top, there's a small, weathered metal door. He pushes it open, revealing a modest rooftop, right below a massive cell tower antenna that seems to touch the sky. The space is tight, but the view is epic: from up here, the whole city spreads out in every direction, an ocean of pulsing lights.
The partygoers below are now tiny specks, and the party noise fades to an irrelevant hum. The spot is higher than anything around, like we're on top of the world. The wind hits harder here, lifting loose strands of my hair, but he's close enough that the cold doesn't bite like before.
"I told you it was a secret spot," he murmurs, positioning himself behind me, his voice low like a caress. His fingers brush the skin of my arm lightly, sending a shiver racing through my whole body.
There's no room for romance or hesitation. Just ten minutes to the turn of the year, but time up here on the rooftop seems to bend around us, losing all meaning. Without warning, he pulls me in with disarming strength, his eager hands finding my body like they already know every curve, every secret. My chest heaves under his touches that trace an urgent dance, exploring without permission or mercy.
His fingers slide over my breasts, waking a fire in them that has nothing to do with the cold. It's raw heat, tangible, a fever spreading. And then there's his weight against me, the throbbing bulge in his pants pressing into my belly, igniting a hunger I barely knew I was holding back. Without thinking, my fingers find their way to his firm ass, squeezing hard, pulling him closer, like I could draw him inside me with just that.
A laugh, the wickedest one, escapes my lips, echoing into the vastness. My dress, in on the action, responds to the intensity, sliding up slow, revealing the white lace covering what's pure desire, pure sin right then. He stares at it for a second, his gaze dark, commanding, and I know from there on, there's no going back—I don't want to go back.
Five minutes to the turn, but what matters now isn't time, it's the overwhelming pulse of the moment consuming us. Standing, I turn my back to him, offering myself in a move that's subtle and brazen at once, an explicit invite to an intimate dance starting right there, between the wind and the horizon. His hands roam my body with almost predatory purpose, stripping it bit by bit, while his lips find my neck, devouring it with ravenous hunger.
I feel the heat of his hardness against me, intimidating in its presence, a promise that sends a delicious shiver down my spine. He rubs against my bare skin, leaving a wet, feverish trail, exploring with precision every curve, every part of me. The touch slides between my legs, past my entrances, building unbearable tension, until he hits the exact spot, where his movements and my desire finally meet.
When he slides in, a jolt takes over my whole body. My eyelids flutter shut on instinct, and I lose all sense of sight—now it's just feeling. He thrusts into me with intensity that's cruel and overwhelming, and I'm hit by a mix of sweet pain and unbearable lust. Each stroke is like lightning, a shock ripping through my body and draining my strength, forcing me to give in completely to his power.
My body arches, matching the fierce rhythm he sets, and a cry rips from my lips, hoarse and thick with lust, a curse echoing in the cold air. There's nothing gentle here, just the delicious violence of raw desire consuming us like fire, burning everything in its path. Each movement is a lash of pleasure, a surrender I give body and soul, lost in the furious buildup that owns me completely.
"10..." The countdown starts, voices from below echo like a distant chorus, enough to remind us we're not alone. He holds me tighter, his thrusts gaining urgency, as the city's sounds build in anticipation.
"9..." His pace quickens, goes deeper, and each push is an electric surge shooting through me. The crowd below yells, but I can't make out the words. My world narrows to the slap of our bodies, the fire he's lit in me.
"8..." My hands grip the railing for support, but my strength is fading. He keeps me steady, an anchor in the chaos building inside me.
"7..." His breath mixes with mine, rough and panting, and I feel his hardness pulse inside. Outside, the city gleams, but up here, we're pure darkness and desire.
"6..." My body bows, a scream caught in my throat, as he takes me with intensity that breaks and remakes me all at once.
"5..." His hands clamp my waist like he can't let go. The crowd roars louder, and I feel the wave rising in me, ready to swallow me whole.
"4..." My knees buckle, but he holds me up, cruel and tender in the same breath, my core clenching to signal I'm at the edge.
"3..." The countdown noise feels too far away now. All I feel is the heat, the impact, the deliciously inevitable desperation closing in.
"2..." A moan bursts from my lips, too loud, too wild, but I don't care. He doesn't stop, his rhythm devastating, like he knows the end is near.
"1..." The sky bursts in colors, the crowd screams "Happy New Year!", and I do too, but my cry is raw, torn from the soul, as my whole body seizes in ecstasy that destroys and rebuilds me in shards. He's deep inside, spilling like all the other champagne bottles, and we collapse together in the peak of pleasure, while the world below celebrates.
"Happy New Year!" he whispers, almost breathless, right in my ear.
"Happy New Year!" I reply.
This is my dream of how I wanted my New Year's Eve to be—what's yours?