Chapter 20
Mine. Not by possession. By choice.
Alexander
I wake up to the frantic beat of my heart as my hands find the other side of the bed empty.
But it doesn’t last. As soon as I jolt upright, I see her.
Cecilia stands on the other side of the room wearing nothing but my black T-shirt, the hem brushing the tops of her knees. Her back is to me, her red hair falling down her spine in a messy cascade as she stands perfectly still in front of the painting.
Her painting.
The one I brought home back when the idea of having her here was just a distant dream.
She studies it like it might speak back to her. And standing there, wrapped in my shirt, framed by morning light, she looks exactly like the thing the canvas has always been trying to become. Human. Unapologetic.
I leave the bed and move to stand behind her.
My arms slip around her waist, drawing her back into me until there is no space left. I bend my head to the curve of her neck and breathe her in. “I thought you’d run,” I confess, my tone rough.
She melts into my hold before tilting her head back to look at me.
“Never again,” she whispers. “I promised, remember? There’s no reason to run when I’m already where I want to be.”
The certainty in her voice hits me harder than any grand declaration ever could. I kiss her, sealing the vow like something sacred between us.
Then her gaze goes back to the painting.
“Why did you bring this one and not yours?”
I tighten my arms around her and rest my chin on the crown of her head. “Because I needed a piece of you here,” I murmur. “And I saw the way you looked at mine... I knew it belonged with you.”
She laughs, seeming satisfied with that answer.
I trail my nose behind her ear, tightening my hold until I draw her fully against me. “Waking up and finding you in my shirt...” I murmur close to her ear, my voice honest in a way I’m not with anyone else. “It’s the kind of wish men don’t say out loud.”
Her body curves into me with a shiver that answers before she ever does.
My mind takes me back to last night when I tugged her into the shower with me, and she followed without question
We shower together.
At first, we only stand under the warm spray, studying one another. Water traces the lines of her body, darkening her hair… and it doesn’t take long before my hands find her, and hers find me.
But we don’t go further. I know she is still sensitive, and truth be told, I’m not a boy anymore; I don’t feel the need to prove my virility or stamina.
What we shared in that bed—the urgency, the way we reached for each other without reservation—was beyond any wish I ever had.
We let our hands talk for us, as I wash her and she washes me with tender touches.
When we finally step out, I leave her in the bathroom drying her hair, a towel draped over her shoulders, while I change the bed. I strip away the used duvet and dress the mattress in fresh linens.
By the time I return from the closet, dressed only in my boxer briefs, she has just stepped out of the bathroom. Cecilia stands there wrapped in a towel, her skin damp, flushed from the shower.
I open my mouth to tell her I left her pajamas folded neatly on the dresser. But I never get the chance.
She walks straight to the armchair, picks up my black T-shirt, and turns to me with it clenched in both hands, her eyes lifting to mine. “Can I?”
My heart stutters, and all I can do is nod.
I stay where I am, watching as she lets the towel slip from her fingers. It pools at her feet, drawing my gaze to the soft curve of her waist, the pale skin now marked with proof that what we did was real.
Then she pulls the shirt over her head and disappears back into the bathroom, returning barefoot and pausing beside the bed.
An irrational fear grips me at the thought that she might go back to the guest room, needing distance and space.
But she looks at the mattress and then at me. “Do you have a side?”
“Whichever one you’re on,” I blurt out.
Her laugh reaches me, easing the tight knot in my chest.
Cecilia chooses the left side, and I settle behind her on the mattress, drawing her back into my chest, fitting her body to mine, right where it belongs. When my hand slips beneath the hem of the shirt to rest on her stomach, my fingers meet nothing but bare skin.
I bury my face in her hair, breathing her in deeply, fighting my body’s natural reaction. It is sweet torture, having her like this, wearing only my shirt, her scent tangled in mine…
My hand traces lazy circles at her waist. I pull her closer until her breath and mine fall into the same rhythm. She relaxes, her body trusting mine to hold it through the night. And eventually... I let myself follow her into sleep.
Cecilia turns in my arms, facing the room. I feel her gaze sweep the space, taking in every detail.
“By the way,” she murmurs, “your bedroom is beautiful. I didn’t even notice yesterday and...”
A laugh escapes me. We both know exactly why she hadn’t noticed anything beyond the two of us.
I follow her gaze, trying to see the room through her eyes.
It’s spacious. The walls are painted in sober shades. The furniture is dark wood. And then there is the glass.
A wall of sliding glass doors runs from floor to ceiling, opening onto the balcony overlooking the valley. Beyond it, the olive groves stretch endlessly, their silver leaves already shimmering in the early sun.
It’s an ordered room with a view built to calm the mind.
I kiss the delicate hollow beneath her ear, fighting the pull to stay exactly where I am. “I’m going to start breakfast,” I murmur against her skin, and feel her shiver. “Take your time.”
Pulling on black sweatpants I go downstairs and make myself human again at the bathroom sink on the lower floor.
In the kitchen, I start the coffee maker with a big smile on my face. Soon the bacon is hissing in the pan, and I turn to the French toast. Cecilia’s favorite, and according to her mine was the best she’d ever had.
The thought curves my mouth into a smile as the scent of cinnamon and melting butter fills the kitchen.
I’m flipping the last slice just as I hear her light footsteps behind me. Cecilia stands in the doorway, wearing a blue dress with thin straps, the light fabric whispering around her legs when she moves.
Blue has become my favorite color since she walked into my life... though after yesterday, green has taken on an entirely different meaning.
She crosses the kitchen, her eyes roaming my bare chest... pausing on the tattoo on my left bicep—the only one I have, the one I caught her studying yesterday but never asking about—before lifting back to my face with a teasing curve to her lips.
“No shirt today?”
A low chuckle leaves my throat as I round the island and pull her to me, her back resting on the cool marble.
“Now that you’ve seen me naked,” I murmur, my nose brushing hers, “I figured modesty was no longer necessary. I wouldn’t want to insult you by pretending otherwise.”
She shakes in my arms with laughter, and I kiss her, feeling her smile into my mouth.
Breakfast passes in easy banter and plans for the day.
Sunlight pours through the kitchen windows as we talk about the day ahead, about medieval villages and long drives through narrow roads. I watch her speak, the way her hands move when she’s animated, how her eyes catch the light when she’s excited.
I could spend hours, days, just listening to her talk.
Having her here—barefoot in my kitchen, eating the food I made, laughing like this place has always belonged to her—does so many things to me.
When we’re done, she gathers the plates and walks toward the sink. Before she can reach the dishwasher, my hand closes gently around her wrist.
“Leave it,” I say, rougher than I intended.
She turns to face me. The soft smile she’s wearing falters as she reads my face, as she feels the shift in the air.
“I haven’t finished my breakfast yet,” I tell her, holding her gaze so there’s no doubt what I mean.
Her breath stutters. “Oh...”
I don’t give her time to think.
My hands find her waist and I lift her, setting her down on the marble island. The dress slides up her thighs, and I step into the space between her legs, my palms pressing over her bare skin.
I lean forward, until my mouth hovers just short of hers, our breaths tangling, her body already reacting to the briefest contact.
“To start my day right...” I murmur, nipping at her lips, drawing out the moment. “I want another taste of you.”
I watch her chest rise and fall, feel the tremor beneath my palms. She leans closer and that alone is answer enough.
Needing to be sure, I hold her eyes, searching her face for the slightest doubt or hesitation. “Unless you don’t want to.”
She bites her lower lip, her gaze moving to the door, then to the wall of glass to our right.
“What if someone comes?” she whispers.
Cupping her jaw, I guide her eyes back to mine. “No one comes here unannounced,” I promise, my voice leaving no room for doubt. “Not while you are with me.”
I watch the tension drain from her shoulders, changing into something deeper than desire: trust. That is the breaking point.
I take her mouth, chasing the taste of cinnamon on her tongue. I take my time as the kiss deepens, turning more demanding.
Trailing my lips along her jaw, I move down the curve of her throat, feeling her pulse hammering.
All the time there’s only one word chanting in my mind. Mine.
Not by possession. By choice.
“Alexander...”
Dio—the way she whispers my name.
I slide my hands up her legs, savoring the smooth skin against my calloused palms, as I bunch the fabric of the dress at her waist.
The sight alone is nearly enough to undo me.
She is wearing simple black cotton panties, and it’s by far more erotic than any elaborate lingerie could ever be.