Chapter 12
ALENA
I woke up reaching for him before my eyes were even open. My hand slid across cool sheets, empty space, the faint indent where his body had been. For one stupid second my heart forgot how to beat.
Then memory slammed in—he had to leave early. Work trip. New York. Few days.
Right.
I exhaled, slow and deliberate, staring at the ceiling like it owed me an explanation.
The room still smelled like us—like sex and smoke and the kind of night that rewrites everything.
My thighs were sticky. Actually sticky. I shifted and felt the slow slide of him still inside me, and Jesus Christ, how was that even possible?
The man came like a fire hose and apparently left souvenirs.
I laughed—short, sharp, a little unhinged—into the empty room. Perfect. Just perfect.
Phone on the nightstand. Screen black. Switched off. Of course, he'd done that—Mr. Control Freak didn't want notifications waking me. I powered it on, thumb hovering.
Good flight, babe. Land safe. And a kissing emoji.
Sent.
I tossed the phone aside and swung my legs out of bed. The air hit my bare skin and I shivered—not from cold, but from the sudden, ridiculous awareness that I was naked in sheets that smelled like him. Like what we'd just done.
Shower. Now. Before I did something stupid like bury my face in his pillow and inhale until I passed out.
The hot water did nothing to wash away the ache between my legs or the one in my chest. I stood under the spray longer than necessary, letting it pound my shoulders, trying to rinse off the panic that kept trying to crawl up my throat.
The bathroom mirror fogged completely. I wiped a hand across it—and froze.
A handprint. Not mine.
Larger. Masculine. Like someone had pressed their palm against the glass from the other side.
I blinked. It was gone.
I'm just tired. That's all.
He left for work. People do that. Normal. Adult. Not the end of the world.
I told myself that three times. Didn't believe it once.
Black jumper, black sweatpants—armour. Hair twisted up wet, no makeup. Good enough.
I padded to the kitchen barefoot and stopped dead.
Coffee machine primed, timer blinking ready. Little green light like a smug wink.
Every. Fucking. Time.
That bastard. He could be halfway across the Atlantic and still manage to take care of me from thirty thousand feet. I hated how much I loved it. My mouth curved without permission—stupid, helpless smile.
Then I saw the note on the counter, propped against the fruit bowl like it belonged there.
My smile faltered.
Baby,
Coffee's ready, sandwich in the fridge.
I had to go early, but fuck I miss you already. As I always miss you when I'm two steps away from you.
Think of me when you drink the coffee. Think of me when you're alone. Think of me every second until I come back.
I love you, Alena.
Wait for me, please.
- D
I read it twice. Three times.
My fingers trembled on the paper, like it was already a goodbye.
I love you.
Wait for me please.
Wait for what? A few days? What the hell could happen in a few days that I needed to wait? Was he afraid I would go out and a male model with an ass of a god would steal me away? A sudden personality transplant?
I'd been in love with him for seventeen years. Seventeen. I wasn't going anywhere.
But that line—wait for me please—sat heavy in my chest like a stone.
I grabbed the sandwich anyway—raw tuna and avocado, exactly how I liked it—wrapped in parchment like a gift. Took a savage bite. The tuna tasted like him—like salt and care and the kind of love that doesn't ask permission.
I dialed Lucy.
"Babe," I said the second she picked up, "is it too early for wine?"
A gasp. Dramatic. Perfect. "Alena Lupus asking for wine before noon? Spill it, you slag. Your place or mine?"
"Mine has ghosts. Yours has vodka. Yours."
"Marcus is at work. Door's open. Bring the filth."
I got in my Mustang and revved it hard. "Good morning, babe!
" I smiled at the wheel and pushed the first gear in.
The drive to Lucy's was a blur. By the time I pulled up, she was at the door—pyjamas with little cartoon ghosts, taking the piss, as usual.
Hair in a messy bun, two bottles already open.
She took one look at me and grinned like a shark. "Oh love, you've got that freshly-fucked glow. Sit your arse down and start talking."
We collapsed on her sofa, wine sloshing.
"So," I said, "I finally shagged Drogo."
Lucy actually choked on her wine. "You what?
! No fucking way!" She slapped the table, eyes massive.
"I knew it! I bloody knew it! I've been saying since we were spotty seventeen-year-olds sharing that manky flat—'He's proper gone on you, Alena, mark my words.
' And you two just kept dancing round it like a pair of muppets! "
I hid my face in my glass, cheeks on fire. "It was... a lot."
"A lot how? Come on, spill the beans. I've waited half my life for this gossip."
I took a massive swig. "Okay, so—started with him fingering me in my sleep. Except I wasn't actually asleep."
"You slut!" Lucy gasped, grinning wide.
"I know, right? Then I wanked him off like it was no big deal."
"Another slut moment!" She laughed, raising her glass.
"Wait, it gets better. I ended up on my knees giving him head, then he ate me out on the dresser—"
"On the dresser?!"
"Like a starving man. Then fucked me against it, flipped me onto the bed. Multiple orgasms. He came inside me. No condom. And babe—" I leaned in, "—I held him there so he couldn't pull out."
"Fuck!"
I bit my lip, grinning. "Oh, and I squirted. At his face."
Lucy's jaw dropped. "Shut up!"
"I swear to God. I didn't even know I could do that!"
"I've never done it!" Lucy groaned, slumping back. "How is it? What's it feel like?"
"Intense. Like— fucking intense. I couldn't control it. Just happened. And he—" I laughed, "—he shoved his face back in and took everything."
"Fuck!" Lucy slapped the couch. "Marcus has to step up his game! Seriously, how did I miss out on that?!"
"And babe," I continued, "he said if I got pregnant, he'd be okay with that."
Lucy's hands flew to her cheeks, spilling wine all over the couch. "Shut up!"
I laughed. "Imagine—first time and he actually manages to do it."
"No! That would have been perfect!" she laughed.
"No! Too much."
She fanned herself with her hand, proper dramatic. "Fuck me. Our boy's hung like a horse and knows what he's doing? Colour me shocked." She leaned in, grinning wicked. "Marcus pulls that bareback trick when he's feeling extra possessive—drives me up the wall in the best way. So... big?"
"Big. Thick. Ruined me for life."
"Thought so. Always had that vibe." She topped up our glasses, eyes sparkling.
I took another sip, voice going quieter. "Lucy... he was so possessive. Like, scary possessive."
She leaned in, eyes wide. "How possessive we talking?"
"He grabbed my chin—hard—and said 'no way out, mine.' Like he'd snap if I tried to leave. He said I took the deal and there's no going back."
Lucy's jaw dropped. "Fuck."
"And I loved it," I admitted. "I smiled. I felt safe. Like he'd burn the world down for me."
Lucy stared at me for a long moment, then slumped back on the couch. "Why isn't Marcus like that?"
I blinked. "What?"
"Marcus is possessive, yeah, but not like that. Not 'I'll destroy anyone who touches you' possessive. More like... 'Hey babe, maybe don't wear that to the pub' possessive." She groaned. "I want the scary kind. The kind where he'd lose his mind if I even looked at someone else."
I laughed. "You're insane."
"And you're lucky," she shot back. "Drogo's been obsessed with you since day one. That man would kill for you. Marcus would... I don't know, write a strongly worded email."
"The fuck you talking about? Marcus is a pit fighter also. The only one that made Drogo kneel. You remember that punch?"
"Eh, yeah, but they were young. Now Marcus, with the money, the success... he's gotten soft. Sometimes I would love that he would return to that primal state he was."
I looked at her. "Preach woman. The primal state stands!"
We clinked our wine. We drank. We both laughed till tears ran down our faces.
"But babes, what does this mean? 'Wait for me'?" I handed her the note.
"Oh, look at that, the fucker is romantic." She said as she took the note. "And the note? 'Wait for me please'? That's pure Drogo panic. Man's terrified you'll wake up and realise you can pull anyone."
I stared into my drink. "What if he wakes up in New York and thinks 'shit, bad idea'?"
Lucy snorted so hard wine nearly came out her nose.
"Not a chance, you daft cow. That man built his entire empire around keeping you safe and fed.
Tattoo with your name, fairy tales when you're falling apart, sandwiches like it's his religion—he's been arse-over-tit for you since day one.
This trip's just rotten timing. He'll be back before you can blink, probably with a ring hidden in his suitcase. "
I smiled—small, wobbly. "Yeah. Maybe."
We drank. Gossiped proper—comparing notes on positions, how loud the boys get, aftercare habits. Laughed till my ribs hurt and tears ran down my face.
When we finally came up for air, Lucy raised her glass.
"To Alena and Drogo—finally shagging like they were born for it. And to whatever comes next."
I clinked mine against hers.
"To whatever comes next."
But that note still nagged at the back of my mind.
Wait for me please.
I'd wait.
But Christ, I hoped he hurried.