28. Galena
GALENA
I woke up in the early morning before him, still rubbing dreams from my eyes.
Lately, sleep has come in fragments, but last night was the first time I didn’t wake up in a panic.
There were no dreams about alleyways, blood, or my mother’s fading voice.
Surprisingly, I didn’t even dream about the warehouse.
Maybe those nightmares will haunt me later.
Ilias was still beside me, one arm heavy across my waist, the other tucked behind his head. The room was silent, coated in silver by the morning light shining through the curtains. I watched him in that glow—his profile sharp and steady even while sleeping, a faint shadow of stubble.
I was still piecing together the puzzle of who he was.
There were three different sides to him: the person he was with his friends, the person he was when he talked business, and the person he was with me.
I still wanted to see him at work in the office he mentioned.
I knew that he had a fancy building in the financial district, according to a few conversations I’d overheard.
Sometimes, he and his brothers would gather around the table during quiet moments, discussing business.
Kostas would shuffle through folders full of manifests and talk about the docks while Ilias would give him pointers.
It was just glimpses of what Ilias’s other life was like, but I was curious to see it in person.
I’d imagine what his daily life looked like when he wasn’t trying to solve the problems that he’d been saddled with when he’d married me.
It had seemed like we had been wrapped up in my problem for so long, and I was done with that.
I knew he’d argue that Scarpato wasn’t my issue, but theirs … I didn’t think that was true.
My lips brushed against his bare skin, and before I could pull back, he stirred—slowly, then all at once. His hand tightened at my hip, his voice rough with sleep.
“Do that again.” His eyes opened. “ Wife .” Those cool, brown eyes latched on to mine like they knew everything I hadn’t said .
I leaned in and kissed him. It started soft, but when his mouth opened beneath mine, when his hand slipped into my hair and tugged just a little, everything else fell away.
My hands flattened against his bare chest. He was all heat and muscle and slow-burning fire—the kind of man who didn’t rush anything he truly wanted.
Every time we were together was incredible, but this seemed different. It felt as if it carried even more meaning. Like Ilias was trying to tell me how he felt with every touch. Every tiny kiss he pressed against my skin, every caress I felt was seared into my heart.
He rolled over me, bracing his forearms beside my head, keeping his weight off me while his mouth moved over mine like a promise. He kissed down my jaw, then along the line of my throat. I moaned when he bit gently at the soft space just below my ear.
His hand slid beneath my tank top, fingers teasing the curve of my waist, my ribs. I arched toward him, craving the friction, the connection. My nipples brushed against his chest, and I gasped—more from the intimacy than the sensation.
“Ilias…”
“I’m here,” he said. “Right here.” He sat back slightly, pulled my top over my head, and stared. “Fuck,” he whispered. “You take my breath away. Every time.”
Ilias touched me as if he had all the time in the world to learn every part of me when he kissed his way down my throat to my breasts. His tongue swirled around one aching nipple and then the other, as my fingers tangled in his hair.
By the time I was completely naked beneath him, my heart was thudding like a drum. He kissed his way back up, his mouth lingering at the soft crease of my hip, the tender space below my navel. When his hand slid between my thighs, his fingers found my slit wet, aching, already open to him.
“You’re soaked, you naughty girl,” he groaned.
My hips lifted instinctively. He gave me another stroke, curling just right, his thumb brushing my clit with maddening precision. I moaned, soft and sharp, and his mouth covered mine to swallow the sound.
“I’m going to make you come so hard,” he whispered.
He slid down the bed, kissing down my stomach.
When his mouth found me, hot and wet and relentless, I cried out as he sucked hard on the pulsing bud that seemed to be almost bursting before he darted away from it.
He teased, flicking it with his tongue and then rimming it so my hips pumped against his mouth.
Long calloused fingers speared inside me in time with his tongue, curling up against the spongy G-spot until I shattered like a wave against rocks.
He kissed his way back up, lips slick with me, and I pulled him in like I was drowning, tasting myself on his lips as he pressed into me, his dick bobbing against my stomach, slick and hot.
“I want you inside me. Now.” He was so beautiful leaning over me, the muscles straining as he held himself in check.
“Condom,” he rasped. “Drawer.”
I reached, trembling, and handed it to him. He rolled it on, and when he hovered over me, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, grounding myself in the press of his body, the scent of his skin, the weight of his gaze.
“Ilias,” I whispered.
“I’m here. I’ll always be here, my lovely girl.”
Then he pushed inside. Slow. Deliberate. Watching every shift of my expression as he filled me like he belonged there inside of me. My body opened for him without resistance, and when he bottomed out, both of us moaned. The deliciousness of the moment as we connected wasn’t lost on either of us.
“It feels,” he stilled. “Do you feel that?” He began to move, slow and deliberate.
Every thrust was deep, controlled, paced like he could feel me unraveling and didn’t want to miss a second of it.
“I want to live inside this pussy. Feel how much I want you. Fuck, liakáda.” His forehead pressed to mine, his breaths sharp against my cheek. “Tell me you want that.”
My legs wrapped around his waist, locking his body to mine as my hips rose to meet him.
“Yes. I want that too.” The rhythm built, my body moving with his, moans caught between our mouths.
It wasn’t just sex—it was something raw and wordless.
I came again, crying out into his neck, and digging my nails into his back as it rocketed through me.
He followed with a low groan, his body trembling above mine, as my hands gently traced over his back. When he collapsed beside me, pulling me with him, we were both shaking, not from exertion, but from everything else. I was having all the feels, and I could tell he was too.
He brushed the hair from my face, his thumb stroking the corner of my mouth.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” he whispered, pulling from me to go dispose of the condom before returning to curl back against me.
I’d need to get up in a minute to pee, but I allowed myself a second to melt.
Last night had been emotional, and just now the connection I’d felt like during sex was like nothing I had ever experienced before.
Burrowing back against him, I let myself fall even more into my feelings.