Seen by Him - Fictional Story
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Chloe stared at her reflection in the mirror, running her fingertips slowly down her collarbone. Her silk robe slipped slightly from one shoulder, exposing the delicate curve of skin that hadn't been touched in months—years, if she were being honest with herself. She didn’t look bad. But she didn’t feel seen. The divorce had been final for six weeks. The silence between her and her ex-husband had stretched for far longer. She’d done everything “right” — married young, supported his dreams, raised their kids, kept the house warm and welcoming. Somewhere in the middle of it all, she had faded. She became useful. Efficient. Predictable. But no longer wanted. Tonight was about reclaiming something.
The profile had caught her attention by accident — or fate — when she was aimlessly scrolling late one night, wine glass in hand, alone in her dimly lit bedroom. “Mick — discreet, professional, and present.” The photos were tastefully seductive: a tailored black suit, an open-collared white shirt, a bare chest in low light. But it was the eyes that hooked her — warm, intense, confident. He looked like a man who listened. She’d stared at the screen for an hour before sending the message. Now, her heart raced.
The knock at the door came exactly on time — 8:00 p.m. Chloe opened the door and froze. Mick was taller than she expected. Dark-haired, sharply dressed in black slacks and a charcoal blazer, but casual enough not to intimidate. His stubble was clean, curated. But those eyes — exactly like the picture — locked onto hers with a quiet gentleness that made her breath catch. "Chloe?" he asked, voice low and warm. She nodded, trying to remember how to speak. "Yes. Come in. "He stepped inside slowly, giving her space. “You look beautiful,” he said, his gaze appreciative but not greedy. “Thank you. I... wasn’t sure what to wear.” “You wore you,” he said, with a soft smile. “That’s always perfect. ”The comment struck something deep in her. It wasn't a line. He meant it. She led him to the living room. The lights were dim, candles flickered. A bottle of wine already open. Her nerves screamed for something to do, so she handed him a glass. “First time?” he asked gently, not in jest, but like someone offering a steady hand. She sipped. “Yes. Is it that obvious?” “No,” he said, leaning closer. “You just look like someone who’s been waiting to feel again.” Her lips parted. Heat spread across her chest. She didn’t answer — didn’t have to.
They talked for an hour. He let her lead the conversation. He asked just enough to let her be seen, and not once did he make her feel silly or small. She told him about the marriage — how it withered, not exploded. How she began to feel like a ghost in her own home. How the touch had disappeared first, then the laughter. She wasn’t trying to get sympathy. She just wanted someone to hear her. He reached out eventually, brushing her knee with his fingers. “You’re not invisible,” he said. The air grew heavier. “You don’t have to pretend tonight. You don’t have to perform. Just… be.
” Something inside her cracked open. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, softly. Chloe hesitated for just a moment, then nodded. He leaned in slowly, giving her every chance to change her mind. When his lips finally met hers, it was nothing like her ex’s cold, habitual kisses. Mick kissed with intention — slow, deliberate, like he was savoring the moment more than the reward. His mouth was warm, his hands stayed respectfully at her waist, fingers spreading with gentle pressure. She moaned softly into him, surprised by how hungry she felt. How long it had been since she felt like this — wanted, cherished, desired. He pulled back just a little, brushing his nose along her jawline, whispering, “You taste like curiosity and wine. ”She smiled — truly smiled — and whispered, “Don’t stop.”
Mick took her hand and led her to the bedroom without rushing. Every movement he made was confident but never dominant. He undressed her like he was unveiling art — slowly, reverently, with eyes that appreciated every inch of her. Her robe fell to the floor, and she instinctively moved to cover her stomach. “No,” he whispered. “Don’t hide. You’re stunning.” When he stripped, she saw the body — yes, strong, lean, athletic — but it was his presence that made her legs tremble. He didn’t just strip for her. He undressed with purpose, like offering himself in return. He laid her down gently, his hands exploring her skin like he’d waited hours to get here — as if this was the reward, not what came after. When his mouth found her breast, she gasped, arching into him. He teased her nipple with lips and tongue, one hand gripping her hip, the other tracing soft circles down her thigh. “Mick…” “Tell me what you want.” Her breath hitched. “I want to feel again.” “Then I’ll make you feel everything.”
His lips traveled lower, kissing along her ribs, down her belly, pausing at her hips. She parted her legs instinctively, need throbbing between her thighs. He kissed the inside of her thigh, then the other, teasing her until she whimper ed. Then his mouth found her — tongue slow at first, drawing long, lazy circles. Her hips jerked. “Oh, God…” He hummed in approval against her, the vibration making her cry out. She gripped the sheets, eyes squeezed shut, head falling back as waves of pleasure built — and he didn’t stop. He moved with a rhythm that matched her breath, her gasps, her rising whimpers. She shattered on his tongue, thighs shaking, moaning his name like a confession. He held her through the orgasm, mouth softening, hands steady, lips kissing her back to earth. And when he moved over her again, hard and ready, she pulled him close. “I want you,” she breathed. “You have me.” He slid inside her in one long stroke, their eyes locked, and Chloe forgot everything — the years, the silence, the ache. She was full. She was seen. They moved together in slow, grinding rhythm — not rushed, not mechanical. Every thrust felt like a conversation, every moan a sentence. She cupped his face as he moved, kissed him deeply, nails raking down his back as her pleasure built again. Her second climax came unexpectedly — smaller, more intense. Her body shook beneath him, and he held her tighter, whispered her name like a mantra. He followed after, growling softly in her ear as he came, their bodies still moving, sweat-slick and tangled, long after.
They lay together, quiet, tangled in the sheets. Mick ran his fingers along her arm, then brushed a kiss to her shoulder. “Still with me?” “Very much.” He smiled. “You’re different than I expected,” she said. “Good different?” “Very.” They talked softly for another hour. No pressure, no awkwardness. It felt like she'd always known him. When he finally stood to leave, she felt something tighten in her chest. He noticed. “Chloe…” “I know,” she said, sitting up. “It’s just a lot. But it’s okay.” He leaned down, kissed her slowly. “You’re not broken. You were just waiting for someone to see you.” She nodded, throat thick. As he walked out the door, he turned back. “And Chloe?” “Yeah?” “If you ever want to be seen again… you know where to find me.”
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