Chapter 22 #2
“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. I need to 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 close my 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.
Three weeks here, and it never once crossed my mind to come up to this level.
The doors slide open into a wide, open space that takes my breath away.
There’s a couch tucked into one corner with a coffee table in front of it, a round table and chairs gathered in the center, and along the far side, there are a few lounge chairs.
Everything is dressed in the same pale wood tones as the rest of the house, everything except Alexander’s bedroom, which feels entirely like him.
But it isn’t the furniture that leaves me breathless. It’s the flowers.
Planters are lined up all along the terrace.
Vivid red geraniums blaze beside the soft lilac of lavender. Jasmine climbs the trellis behind the couch. Large terracotta pots cradle small lemon trees, their branches bowed with fruit, while low beds spill over with white and violet petunias.
“Angelo designed most of the terrace,” Alexander says, his voice laced with pride. “Except for what I’m about to show you.”
With our fingers entwined, he leads me toward the far corner, behind the lounge chairs. We stop before the largest planter of all, and he doesn’t need to say a word. I see them. Every one of them. The flowers carved into my wooden box.
White lilies. Zinnias in a rain of color. And then the last one, the one I never recognized in the carving. Up close, its petals look hand-painted, a pink that fades into white along the edges. They bloom in clusters next to deep green leaves. They are gorgeous.
I point to it, my hand trembling. “What is that one called?”
“It’s a Desert Rose,” he murmurs.
Alexander releases my fingers only to step behind me, drawing me into his arms and resting his chin over my shoulder. He points to each flower in turn, his voice close to my ear.
“White lilies for good fortune and new beginnings,” he whispers. His finger moves to the brilliant blooms beside them. “Zinnias for friendship and romantic love.”
Then he gestures to the last one. Gently, he turns me in his arms until I’m facing him.
“Desert Rose for purity, strength, courage, and resilience.” His voice roughens. “I searched for a flower that could hold all of that... something beautiful without being fragile. Exuberant in its simplicity. Unbreakable in its survival.” His thumb brushes my cheek. “And she was my choice.”
Tears slip free and trail down my cheeks. Alexander leans in and kisses them away with so much tenderness.
“I planted them myself. A few weeks after I sent you the box.” His eyes shine with emotion he doesn’t try to hide.
“For years, I barely remembered it was even there. I never imagined giving it to anyone, not even when I once believed I’d marry someone else.
” His gaze holds mine. “Not until you walked into my life.”
My hands rest on his biceps with trembling fingers.
“When my father gave it to me, he said I would know when the time was right.” His forehead rests close to mine; our eyes drift closed.
“And I did. I knew I couldn’t walk away.
Not when I finally had a chance to have you, or at least to try.
Whatever happened afterward, I didn’t want that box to belong to anyone else. ”
I wrap my arms around him and press my face into the curve of his neck. “Thank you,” I whisper.
He kisses the crown of my head, pulling me closer, holding me like he understands. He knows my thank you isn’t only for his words or the gift. It’s for him not giving up and being who he is. But more than anything... it’s for choosing me when it wasn’t easy.
When I pull back, I tangle my fingers into his hair and bring his mouth to mine. We kiss with a desperate intensity until the world outside fades away.
When we part, Alexander drags one of the loungers closer to the planter. He sits first, then draws me between his knees until my back fits perfectly against his chest. He folds his arms over my stomach and pulls me closer.
We watch the sun rising, as our hearts fall into the same rhythm. But my gaze stays on the flowers. Our flowers.
As we near the airport, Alexander keeps finding small ways to touch me. Resting his hand on my knee, lacing his fingers through mine whenever he can. His eyes never leave the road, but it’s as if he needs the contact simply to be sure I’m still here.
This time, it’s only the two of us. I think his family understood that we needed this last moment alone.
After we came down from the terrace, he made love to me as if we had all the time in the world. We stayed wrapped in each other’s arms until time gave us no choice but to move. We showered together, dressed, and then spent my final hours surrounded by his family.
They welcomed me the way they always have. Like I already belonged. But it was bittersweet.
There’s a tight knot in my throat that refuses to loosen, but I eat a little of what they prepared with such care. I talk and laugh, soaking up every last minute with them.
When it’s time to leave, I hug each of them and thank them for everything.
The hardest part is saying goodbye to the children, especially Cella and Bianca.
I sink down in front of them, and they throw their arms around my neck at the same time, begging me not to go.
My heart splinters a little as I promise we’ll see each other again.
I tell them I’ll remind their mothers to tell them I said hi whenever I call.
Nonna approaches a little while later, a notebook clutched in her hands. She holds it out to me and says something in Italian, her voice gentle. Alexander translates close to my side.