Then he exhales, the tension easing in his shoulders as he runs his thumb over my cheek. “No pressure or demands. Wedon’t have to figure everything out now. But will you make a deal with me?”
I nod, unable to speak.
“Honesty above all else,” he continues softly. “Talk to me. Tell me how you feel... what you want... what you need. And I’ll do the same. No hiding from me. And no running away.”
He doesn’t have to explain. I know exactly what he means.
My throat tightens, stinging with regret. “I promise,” I whisper. “No more running.”
Alexander smiles and leans in to kiss me. When he pulls back, he’s still looking at me with that same tenderness... that same intensity.
A thought surfaces through the haze. “You keep calling metesoro,” I murmur. “I never thought to ask what it really means.”
He traces his thumb over my lower lip, his gaze dipping there before returning to my eyes.
“It’s usually translated as sweetheart,” he says gently. “Or darling.”
His hand slides up to cup my jaw. “But what it literally means... istreasure. Because that is exactly whatyouare to me, Cecilia. Somethingrareandprecious.”
I try to answer him, to say anything at all, but the words won’t come. I am utterly undone by the way he looks at me. Not like I’m simply desired... but like I’m seen. Chosen.
Alexander seems to understand that he’s taken my breath away. He doesn’t push or rush me; he simply asks how I’m feeling.
I whisper the truth:I’ve never felt better.
We trade a few words after that—murmured confessions, hushed laughter—his hand never leaving my side, mine tracing lines that feel like home, even though I’m only just learning them.
And when the words finally run out... His mouth finds mine again. I pull him closer as the kiss deepens, changing into an intense tangle of tongues and heated breath.
My hands roam his sculpted body, never getting tired of feeling the way he reacts to my touch.
Alexander matches my hunger, his hands gripping my waist to pull me flush against him. Then, with a swift, fluid motion, he slides an arm beneath me, tightening his grip around me. He shifts his weight, kneeling on the mattress and sinking back onto his heels, guiding me down with him until I am straddling his lap, my thighs resting over his, locking us together.
He keeps one arm clamped around my waist to hold me in place while he grabs a condom from the mattress and tears it open with his teeth.
I can’t look away as he rolls it down his length, his movements quick. I meet his gaze, and his eyes burn into mine, making my heart race.
His fingers tangle in my hair, gripping the strands firmly at the nape of my neck. It’s a possessive hold, as if he’s afraid I might vanish if he dares to let go.
But there isnowhere else I would rather bethan right here, captured by him, with him looking at me like I am everything he wants. Our bodies press together, skin against skin, his breath hot against mine.
A broken moan escapes my lips as I grind my hips against him, craving more. His hand slips down to guide himself. He rubs the thick head of his cock over my clit, sliding down to my entrance, then dragging it back up. A wet, torturous caress.
When he reaches my entrance again, I rise on my knees, needing him more than I can stand. He holds me firmly by the waist, and I sink down on his cock, inch by inch, shivering as he stretches me, filling me completely.
In this position, he hits a spot inside me that makes it hard to breathe.
He leans forward, his mouth hovering over my breast, teasing my nipple with his tongue until it hardens into a peak, aching and sensitive against his lips.
He shifts his attention to the other breast, and I grip his hair, tugging at the strands.
“I think I’m obsessed with your breasts, Cecilia,” he growls against my skin, the rough graze of his beard dragging over my chest.
“They’re not even big,” I manage to gasp, the words spilling out as a self-conscious moan and a laugh.
He ignores my protest, doesn’t dignify it with words. He flicks his tongue against the nipple before sealing his lips around it, sucking hard. His hands dig into my hips, holding me to him with a bruising, possessive hold.
I begin to move, grinding down against him, gasping every time he hits that sweet spot buried deep inside.
