"Let's practice," Simon said, his voice steady but his gaze unwavering as he watched Stella regain her breath. She nodded and went through the motions again and again, repeating the escape techniques he had taught her. Her muscles ached, her breaths came in ragged gasps, but she didn't stop. Simon pushed her, making sure each move was executed with precision, ensuring she could defend herself even when exhausted.
After what felt like an eternity, Stella collapsed back onto the mat, gasping for air. "I can't do any more," she panted, her chest heaving, body drenched in sweat from the relentless training.
Simon's eyes darkened as he looked at her, his jaw clenching at the sight of her beneath him. She was panting heavily—under him—but not in the way he imagined. Her green eyes were wide and dilated, her skin glistening under the soft light, and her parted lips only added to the temptation that gnawed at him. It was the kind of moment that awakened every primal instinct inside him, yet he had to hold back. She was still unaware of the effect she had on him, oblivious to the war raging within him.
Gritting his teeth, Simon tore his eyes away from her and forced himself to stand. He needed distance before he did something he'd regret.
"Do the cooldown exercises," he said, his voice rougher than he intended, but he couldn't look at her for a second longer without losing control.
Stella, too tired to notice his inner turmoil, nodded and slowly began the cool down, stretching out her sore muscles. Meanwhile, Simon stayed on the edge of the mat, his back to her, trying to calm his racing thoughts. The room was silent save for her steady breathing, yet it was all he could focus on.
This was going to be harder than he thought.
Simon felt a mix of frustration and undeniable attraction as he watched Stella struggle with the movements. Each twist and turn of her body drew his attention like a moth to a flame.
"You're doing it wrong again," he said, his voice low and filled with a dark edge as he observed her form. She turned to look at him, her green eyes wide and questioning, and he could see the effort etched across her face.
Rising from his crouched position, he walked over to her. Standing behind her, he placed his hands on her bare waist, his fingertips brushing against her skin. "Your hips shouldn't twist," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Your waist should twist."
As he pulled her closer, the warmth of her body seeped into him, igniting something deep within. He let his fingers trail along her waist, reveling in the softness of her skin beneath his touch. "And," he continued, his breath hot against her ear, "your hand should be positioned like this, Stella." His hand glided down her shoulder, capturing her wrist with a slow, deliberate movement that sent a shiver down her spine.
He couldn't help but notice how her chest heaved, the rhythmic rise and fall almost hypnotic, seducing him dangerously. A primal urge surged through him, and he instinctively snuggled into the curve of her neck, inhaling her scent. It was intoxicating, and for a fleeting moment, he was overwhelmed by the desire to bite her neck, to drink her blood, but he fought against the urge with every ounce of control he possessed.
"Simon, what are you doing?" she asked, a hint of breathlessness lacing her voice. "I have to leave." He felt her tension, her body stilling slightly under his touch, yet he tightened his grip on her waist, unwilling to let go.
"Who is picking you up?" he asked, his voice deepening, the primal instinct surging within him. His eyes flickered with an ember of red, the beast inside him awakening as he looked at her.
"No one," she replied, a subtle tremor in her voice. She could feel something shifting between them, an electric tension that made her heart race.
"Then we should drop the kitten safely, shouldn't we?" he murmured, his lips curving into a wicked smile as he teased her.
"I am not a kitten," she frowned, but even she could hear the hint of uncertainty in her voice.
He chuckled softly, the sound sending ripples of warmth through her. "Come out, I'll drop you," he said, taking a step back, leaving her alone yet lingering in the charged silence that enveloped them.
Stella could feel the pull of his allure, magnetic and irresistible. She had seen the way he looked at her, a hunger in his gaze that made her heart race. With every lingering touch, every teasing word, he chipped away at the walls she had carefully constructed around her heart.
Deep down, Stella knew one thing: he would stop at nothing to claim her. He was relentless in his pursuit, undeterred by anyone who stood in his way, because he was The Simon Winchester.
As much as she tried to resist, a part of her was intrigued by the thrill he brought, the way he made her feel alive in a way no one else ever had. It terrified her. This was uncharted territory, a game of emotions she was unprepared to play, and yet she found herself drawn to him like a moth to a flame.
With every passing moment, Stella felt the tension between them grow thicker, a heavy mist of longing that wrapped around her, suffocating yet intoxicating. She was caught in a whirlwind of desire and fear, and the more she tried to fight it, the more she found herself surrendering to his charm.
She made her way outside, the cool air wrapping around her like a comforting embrace. Simon was sitting on his bike, his figure relaxed yet exuding an undeniable charisma that made her heart race. As she climbed onto the seat behind him and slipped the helmet over her head, she felt a flutter of excitement mixed with trepidation.
The engine roared to life beneath her, vibrating through her body as Simon took off, the wind whipping through her hair, the world around them blurring into a haze of colors. Each twist and turn felt exhilarating, and for a moment, Stella allowed herself to forget the tension that hung in the air between them, lost in the thrill of the ride.
When they finally arrived at her house, she reluctantly unstrapped the helmet, the reality of the moment settling back in. As she stepped down from the bike, her heart still racing, she heard a cheerful voice calling out from the porch.
"Stels, did you get a boyfriend?" Gigi's voice rang out, laced with curiosity.
"No, Gigi, he's just a friend," Stella said, attempting to sound nonchalant, but the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her.
Elizabeth, who had been observing from the porch, turned her attention from Stella to the dark-haired, handsome boy beside her. As Simon dismounted from his bike, the confidence in his stride caught her eye. He walked toward Elizabeth, a charming smile playing on his lips.
"My name is Simon," he said, extending his hand to shake hers, his grip firm yet warm.
"Nice to meet you, Simon," Elizabeth replied, a glimmer of approval in her eyes as she took in his demeanor. "You seem like a good young man. How about you come in for a bite to eat? It's already late."
Stella felt a rush of warmth at her grandmother's invitation, mingling with a hint of anxiety. She was not sure how she felt about Simon spending more time with her family, yet the way he looked at her grandmother, genuinely interested and respectful, made her heart flutter.
"Thank you, Mrs. Elizabeth, but I don't want to intrude," Simon replied, his voice smooth and polite. There was an undeniable charm about him that seemed to put both women at ease, yet beneath that charm, Stella sensed an intensity that both intrigued and frightened her.
"Nonsense!" Elizabeth insisted, her eyes sparkling with warmth. "It's not every day we get such charming young men dropping by. Besides, I made your favorite, Stella—pasta with pesto. You can't pass that up!"
Stella glanced at Simon, who raised an eyebrow, a teasing grin spreading across his face. "Pasta, huh? That's hard to resist."
"See? Even Simon knows it's a good deal," Elizabeth winked, gently nudging Stella toward the house. "You're going to love it."
Stella hesitated, glancing back at Simon, who looked utterly unbothered by the invitation. The way he stood there, relaxed yet intrigued, made her stomach flutter with a mixture of excitement and nerves. She knew that inviting him into her home meant crossing a line that had yet to be drawn.
"Okay, fine. You win, Gigi," Stella relented, letting out a resigned laugh. "Just this once."
As they stepped into the house together, Stella felt a rush of warmth flood her heart, an echo of a different kind of connection forming between them. The familiar scent of home—freshly baked cookies mingled with a hint of lavender from Gigi's potpourri—wrapped around her, but it was the presence of Simon that made her pulse quicken. She caught his eye as he stepped in behind her, and for a brief moment, the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of them suspended in time.
"Stella, where are your manners? Show him the house," Gigi called out from the living room, her voice a blend of reprimand and warm affection.
"Sure, come on," Stella said, glancing back at Simon, who was watching her with an amused smile that sent butterflies fluttering in her stomach.
"This is the hall," she began, gesturing with a sweep of her hand, "that's Gigi's room," she pointed towards a door adorned with colorful magnets. "The kitchen's over there, and that door leads to the backyard." She led him up the staircase, her heart racing as they ascended together.
"What's that room?" Simon asked, as he noticed a door slightly ajar at the end of the hall.
"Oh, that is where the devil of the house resides," Stella said.
"Fuck," thought Stella, panic coursing through her veins. She had completely forgotten about Mallory's strong hatred for boys. The dread settled in her stomach; she knew Mallory would be upset if she found out Simon was there.
"Come on," Stella said, her voice slightly higher than usual as she quickly pulled Simon upstairs, desperate to get him out of Mallory's line of sight.
"What happened?" he asked, curiosity piqued as he followed her up the stairs.
"Nothing, it's just my friend gets a bit mad when she sees boys," Stella replied, feeling uncomfortable under the weight of Simon's gaze. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, aware that she was trying to minimize the situation.
"That is my room," she said, pointing toward a door at the end of the hallway, "and that is an indoor swimming pool." She gestured toward a large window that revealed the shimmering blue water. "Now let's go downstairs."
Simon smirked, amusement dancing in his eyes. What an interesting family, he thought, intrigued by the dynamic unfolding before him.
As the door swung open, Mallory emerged. When she finally caught sight of her grandmother approaching, she raised an eyebrow, the coolness in her gaze cutting through the air like ice. She removed her headphones, the faint sound of a haunting melody spilling out, but her expression remained unreadable—a mask of indifference that made it clear she was not one for idle chit-chat.
"Who came?" she asked, her voice flat and devoid of emotion, as if she were asking about a passing shadow rather than a guest in their home. The question hung in the air, laced with an unspoken judgment, and the atmosphere shifted as her presence loomed large, enveloping the room in a chill that left little room for warmth or camaraderie.