I lift my hand and let my chilled fingertips graze her lips, her collarbone, her nipples—her breath catches, a gasp tearing free as her body arches instinctively toward my touch.
And then, I lower the necklace. A ruby, dark and deep red, bold, set in gold. The ice-kissed stone rests just above the swell of her breasts, over her heart, catching the firelight until it looks as though it’s burning from within.
“Open.” I breathe as I place a soft kiss on her lips, inhaling her hypnotizing scent.
Her eyes fly open, and for a moment she doesn’t breathe.
“Dorian…” she whispers, fingers trembling as they rise to touch the gem, as if afraid it isn’t real.
I cover her hand with mine, pressing stone and heart together. My eyes lock on hers.
“I was like this once,” I say quietly. “Cold. Hard. Until I met you. Your fire, your heart—turned stone into flesh. You made me want more. Made me alive.”
The ruby glows between us, firelight sparking in its facets.
“This isn’t the rarest stone in the world,” I continue, reverent. “But it is the most powerful. It’s the stone of heart. Of passion. Of love. Just like you. It protects, it burns, it endures— as I will, for you.”
Her throat works. Tears gloss her eyes, but she doesn’t look away.
“You are my ruby, Della. My fire.”
Behind her, the flames bend and leap, casting her in shadows and light, gilding her skin until she doesn’t just look like fire—she is fire.My fire.
She parts her lips, but no words come. Her breath trembles, her body trembles, and I know this is enough.
I let the last barrier fall—boxers sliding to the floor—leaving me bare before her, offering not just my body, but all I am.
“Goddess,” I whisper, bowing my head in surrender. “I am all yours.Desnudo, as requested.”
Her hand rises to the ruby, her eyes burning into mine.
“And I am all yours,” she breathes, every word a vow.
For a moment, neither of us moves. The silence between us is holy—flames crackling, shadows bending, the world held back by walls of stone and love.
Then I take her into my arms, into the firelight, into the promise of forever.
* * *
Della
The highway unfurls like a ribbon of black silk ahead of us, landscape blurring past, the late afternoon sun slanting low, gilding the windshield in gold. His car—a sleek black beast of power and elegance, everything a man like Dorian Marshall should drive—hums beneath my hands, smooth and obedient, begging to go faster.
His knuckles are white against the door handle, his arm taut. His shirt pulls tight across his chest with every small shift, and his eyes—those endless black eyes—are wide open, flicking from the road to me like he’s not sure which is more dangerous.
And I?
I smile.
A wide, reckless smile that stretches to my ears.
The wind is rushing through the open window tugging strands of hair free until they whip wild around my face.
I feel alive.
“Oh, God, Della, slow down!” His voice hits somewhere between command and prayer.
“I am fast and… not furious,” I laugh, tipping my head toward him, letting the speed fuel me. “Fast and Fortunate. Yes, that’s what I am.”
