The moment we step into the house, we take the stairs, kissing and touching each other all the way to the bathroom. Undressing becomes a wordless, intense act of worship. My bluedress pools on the floor, followed by his shirt. At no point do we look away; eyes locked as every barrier is discarded.
Inside the shower, the hot water cascades over us, creating a curtain of steam, but nothing compares to the heat radiating from him. The soap makes our skin slick as we exchange slow caresses. My hands roam the tense muscles of his back while he traces the line of my spine, kissing me with a hunger that feels impossible to sate.
I pull away reluctantly, water trailing down my face. My hand travels down his abdomen until I find him hard and throbbing. I wrap my fingers around him, squeezing gently and feeling the jump of his body against mine.
“You are always teasing me...” I murmur, grazing my lips against his jaw, loving the rough texture of his wet beard. “Always tasting me at every opportunity. I always let go, let myself get lost in you... but I haven’t had your taste in my mouth yet.”
I lift my eyes to his, finding them dark with desire. “I won’t leave tomorrow without tasting you, Alexander. Ineedto know exactly how you taste before I go.”
He stares at me, his jaw clenched. When he speaks, his voice comes out rough, a deep guttural order that makes my stomach flip.
“Get on your knees for me, Cecilia.”
Heart racing, keeping my eyes fixed on his, I slide my body down his wet skin until my knees hit the hard stone. The hot spray beats on my back, but my focus is on him.
I stare at his length. Imposing and demanding. He is far more than I can easily take. Not without choking. I hold his hips, feeling his skin shudder under my touch, and then I move in.
I wrap my mouth around the tip of his cock, tasting the bead of precum. Sucking him avidly, I take him as deep as I possibly can, letting my hand capture what my lips can’t reach. I closemy fingers around the base and begin to pump, finding a perfect rhythm as my hand slides down and my mouth moves up.
A hoarse groan escapes Alexander’s throat, and I feel his hands tangle in my wet hair, guiding the movement, his hips bucking forward to meet my throat.
“Cazzo, Cecilia...” he gasps, his voice breaking. “Just like that. Don’t stop.”
I’m in control of his pleasure. And the sight of him—tall, powerful, and coming undone above me—is the most beautiful view I could ever ask for
Even after the water cuts off, Alexander doesn’t stop.
He kisses me as he dries me off, his lips following the path of the towel over my skin. He leans in close, whispering close to the damp curve of my neck that my mouth is going to torment his thoughts even more now… and for the very best reasons.
The words make a flush rise to my cheeks, and I laugh, a little shy but deeply satisfied.
We collapse into bed, limbs tangled together.
We trade lazy caresses and half-whispered secrets in the dark. My eyes start to droop, tired from exhaustion, but I fight sleep with everything I have. I don’t want to close my eyes and lose these last few hours with him. We talk for hours, and outside, the sky has already begun to fade into that ghostly gray that announces dawn.
That’s when Alexander moves. He flips us until he is hovering over me. He kisses me, deep and consuming, a kiss that quickly dissolves into broken moans as his mouth trails down, finding the path between my legs. He doesn’t wait long. He moves up and takes me with a mixture of ferocity and reverence that only Alexander possesses.
It’s different this time. Urgent, possessive. It feels as if he is trying to imprint himself onto my soul, marking his presence in every part of me so that I carry him with me when I leave.
When our breathing finally evens out, he presses a last, lingering kiss to my lips and withdraws. He disappears into the bathroom to dispose of the condom, and as he steps back out, I slip past him to freshen up myself.
I return wrapped in the blue satin robe he bought for me. I climb onto the bed and sit cross-legged, facing him. Alexander is leaning back against the headboard, sprawled out and naked, watching me with a focused intensity that makes my heart stutter in my chest.
“The wooden box you sent me on my birthday...” I murmur, holding his gaze. “Was it made by your father?”
He gives me a small smile. “Whose box did you see?”
“Anna’s,” I answer. “Which is Cella’s now.”
He nods. “Yes. My father made it… And I carved yours.”
“Can you tell me why you chose those flowers?”
He shakes his head. “I’ll do better,” he says. “Let me show you.”
I frown when he gets up and walks toward the bedroom closet. Moments later, he returns wearing only black sweatpants. He takes my hand and leads me forward, but then stops, his eyes dropping to my feet. Without a word, he turns back, picks up my slippers, and places them in front of me. Once they’re on, we continue walking. Down the hallway, past closed doors, until we reach the elevator.
We step inside and he presses the button. “It’s the only internal access to the terrace,” he explains.
