Chapter 29

I weave through the noisy, buzzing crowd, everyone celebrating, glasses raised amid laughter that bursts like early fireworks. I’m wearing my white dress, the one I picked out specially for the occasion, but now it feels like irony — a shroud 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 trembling under the colored lights. Twenty minutes to midnight, and my date — that promise of new love for the coming year — is definitely not showing up. My phone stays silent, a dead object with no messages. My eyes scan the crowd like a shipwreck survivor searching for solid ground in a 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, arms to wrap around mine in a light embrace, just so I can say “Happy New Year” — and feel, if only for a moment, like I belong to this instant.

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 quite believe in. From up here, the height is dizzying, an invitation I have no interest in accepting. Still, the thought creeps in, 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 aren’t thinking of jumping, are you?” a male voice yanks me out of my daydream.

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 revealing white, perfectly aligned teeth, and a strong jaw marked by dimples that make him seem dangerously approachable. His shirt hangs open, exposing a firm chest, the outline of muscled pecs etched with intricate tattoos.

“Not tonight,” I reply, my voice faltering a bit as I try to hide my reaction to such raw beauty. “I don’t want to 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 cologne that seems to wrap around the air. Even from a distance, 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 chill, but from anticipation. A silly smile, an unexpected wetness.

I freeze for a second, trying to regain some control over myself, but everything about him seems designed to disarm. His gaze, a mix of untamed magnetism and genuine curiosity, locks onto me like he’s seeing something even I can’t see in myself.

“I know a secret spot,” he says, his voice low, laced with an 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, just waits for my choice. My heart pounds harder, almost painfully, as I search for a rational excuse to go along, but all I find is a thirst for something new, something to chase away the emptiness gnawing 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 way effortlessly among the festive, euphoric bodies, 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 corridor, where the muffled party sounds blend with the distant city noise. A steep staircase appears before us, with narrow, uninviting steps — an unlikely choice for the white dress hugging my body and demanding care. But he smiles at me, a grin that’s equal parts encouragement and tease, like the adventure is key to this moment.

I climb, focused, feeling the fabric cling to me with every move, while he watches closely, 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 that seems to scrape 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 music fades to an irrelevant hum. The spot’s higher than anything around, like we’re on top of the world. The wind whips harder here, tossing loose strands of my hair, but he’s close enough that the cold doesn’t hit me 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 second thoughts. Just ten minutes to midnight, but time up here on the roof seems to bend around us, losing all meaning. Without warning, he pulls me in with a disorienting 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 had. 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 grip.

A laugh, the wickedest one, escapes my lips, echoing into the vastness. My dress, in on the action, responds to the intensity, inching up slowly, 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 that moment there’s no going back — I don’t want to go back.

Five minutes to midnight, 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 bold at once, the explicit invite to an intimate dance that starts right there, between the wind and the horizon. His hands roam my body with a near-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 trail of wet, feverish heat, exploring with precision every curve, every inch of me. The touch slips between my legs, grazing my entrances, building unbearable tension, until he hits the exact spot where his movements and my desire finally collide.

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 a cruel, overwhelming intensity, and I’m hit with a mix of sweet pain and unbearable lust. Each stroke is like lightning, a shock ripping through my body, draining my strength and forcing me to surrender 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 that echoes in the cold air. Nothing soft about it, just the delicious violence of raw desire consuming us like fire, burning everything in its path. Every movement is a lash of pleasure, a surrender I give body and soul, lost in the furious build-up that owns me entirely.

“10…” The countdown starts, voices from below ringing out like a distant chorus, enough to remind us we’re not alone. He grips me tighter, his thrusts gaining urgency, as the city’s sounds build in anticipation.

“9…” His pace quickens, goes deeper, each plunge a electric surge tearing through me. The crowd below shouts, but I can’t make out the words. My world narrows to the slap of our bodies, the fire he’s lit inside me.

“8…” My hands grip the railing for support, but my strength is fading. He holds me steady, an anchor in the chaos swelling within.

“7…” His breath mixes with mine, rough and panting, and I feel his hardness throbbing inside. Outside, the city glows, but up here, we’re pure shadow and want.

“6…” My body bows, a scream caught in my throat, as he takes me with an 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 building inside, 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 sense 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 so do I, but my cry is raw, torn from the soul, as my entire body seizes in an ecstasy that destroys and rebuilds me in fragments. He’s deep inside, spilling like all the other champagne bottles, and we collapse together in the peak of pleasure as 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?