27. Valentina
— ? —
Valentina
I stand outside his door for three full minutes before I knock.
The meeting with the lawyer went well. Better than well.
Patricia thinks we’re going to win - that when the judge rules, Sebastian will have to split the assets.
The house, the investments, everything I contributed over four years of marriage.
Nothing is decided yet. The final hearing is still ahead.
But for the first time, winning feels real.
But that’s not why I’m here.
I’m here because Nora almost died. Because I sat in a hospital hallway and realized I didn’t want to be anywhere else. Because every wall I’ve built since Sebastian has a crack in it now, and the light coming through looks a lot like Eric Bailey.
I knock.
He opens the door in jeans and a t-shirt, barefoot, hair still damp from a shower. He looks softer than I’ve ever seen him. Human.
“You’re early,” he says.
“I couldn’t wait.”
Something shifts in his expression. He steps aside to let me in.
His apartment is enormous. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Art on the walls that probably costs more than my yearly salary. Everything sleek and expensive and perfectly arranged.
I don’t care about any of it.
“The lawyer meeting went well,” I say. “Patricia thinks Sebastian will have to split the assets.”
“That’s good news.”
“It is.” I set down my bag. Turn to face him. “But that’s not why I’m here.”
“Why are you here?”
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. Every instinct is screaming at me to run, to protect myself, to remember what happened last time I let someone in.
I ignore all of it.
“I don’t want to be careful anymore.”
The words hang in the air between us.
Eric goes very still. “Valentina.”
“I know what I said. About the rules. About keeping things separate. About not making another mistake.” I step closer.
“But I’ve spent months being careful. Being afraid.
Waiting for you to turn into Sebastian, waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for proof that I was right not to trust anyone. ”
“And?”
“And you’re not him. You’re nothing like him.” Another step. Close enough to touch now. “Sebastian made me small. He made me doubt myself, question everything, disappear into his life until I didn’t have one of my own. You’ve never done that. Not once.”
“I don’t want to make you small.”
“I know.” I reach up. Touch his face. Feel his jaw tighten under my palm. “I know you don’t. That’s why I’m here.”
He catches my wrist. Not to stop me. Just to hold me there.
“Are you sure?” His voice is rough. Strained. Like he’s holding himself back with everything he has. “Because once we do this, I’m not going to be able to let you go. I need you to understand that.”
“I understand.”
“Valentina-”
“Eric.” I step into him. Press my body against his. Feel his breath catch. “I’m sure. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
Something breaks in his expression.
He kisses me.
Not gentle. Not careful. He kisses me like he’s been starving for it, like every almost-kiss and interrupted moment has been building to this, like he’s finally allowed to take what he wants and he’s not going to waste a single second.
His hands are in my hair, tilting my head back, changing the angle so he can kiss me deeper. His tongue strokes against mine and I moan into his mouth, clutching at his shoulders, trying to get closer even though there’s no space left between us.
He walks me backward. Through the living room, down a hallway, into a bedroom I barely see before I’m pressed against the door.
“Tell me what you want,” he says against my mouth.
“You. All of you.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me. His eyes are black, pupils blown, and he’s breathing hard.
“I’m going to take my time,” he says. “I’ve been waiting too long to rush this.”
He reaches for the hem of my shirt. Lifts it slowly, knuckles brushing my skin as he goes. I raise my arms and let him pull it over my head.
He looks at me. Really looks, his gaze moving over my bra, my stomach, the curve of my waist. I feel exposed. Vulnerable. But not afraid.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs.
His fingers trace the strap of my bra. Follow it down to the cup. Circle my nipple through the fabric until it hardens under his touch.
I gasp.
He unhooks my bra with one hand. Lets it fall to the floor. Then he just stands there, looking at me, and the hunger in his expression makes my knees weak.
“Eric.”
“I’m memorizing you.” His voice is rough. “I’ve imagined this so many times. The real thing is better.”
He bends his head. Takes my nipple into his mouth.
The sensation jolts through me like electricity. His tongue swirls around the peak, then he sucks gently, and I have to grab his shoulders to stay upright. His hand comes up to cup my other breast, thumb circling, pinching lightly.
“More,” I breathe. “Please.”
He straightens. Lifts me like I weigh nothing. Carries me to the bed and lays me down, then stands over me, pulling his shirt over his head.
God.
I’ve seen him in suits. I’ve imagined what was underneath. But the reality is better than anything I pictured. Broad shoulders. Defined chest. A trail of dark hair leading down below his waistband.
He undoes his jeans. Steps out of them. He’s hard, straining against his boxers, and my mouth goes dry.
He climbs onto the bed. Settles over me, one knee between my thighs, and kisses me again.
Slower this time. Deeper. His hand slides down my body, over my stomach, to the button of my pants. He undoes it without breaking the kiss. Slides his hand inside.
His fingers brush over my underwear and I gasp into his mouth.
“So wet,” he murmurs. “Is this all for me?”
“Yes.”
He pushes my underwear aside. Slides one finger through my folds. Finds my clit and circles it slowly.
“Eric-”
“I’ve got you.” Another circle. Slower. “Let me make you feel good.”
He works me with his fingers until I’m trembling, until my hips are rolling against his hand, until I’m making sounds I’ve never heard myself make. Then he pulls back.
“What-”
“I want to taste you.”
He slides down my body. Pulls off my pants and underwear in one motion. Settles between my thighs.
The first touch of his tongue makes me cry out.
He licks me like he’s savoring it. Long, slow strokes that make my back arch off the bed. His hands grip my thighs, holding me open, and he watches me while he works. The eye contact is almost too much.
“Eric, I’m going to-”
He sucks my clit into his mouth.
I shatter. The orgasm crashes through me in waves, and I’m clutching at the sheets, at his hair, at anything I can reach while he keeps licking me through it.
When I finally come down, he’s kissing his way back up my body. His mouth finds mine and I taste myself on his tongue.
“Good?” he asks.
“Yes. But I want more.”
He groans. Reaches for the nightstand. Pulls out a condom and rolls it on with hands that aren’t quite steady.
Then he’s settling between my thighs, the tip of him pressing against my entrance, and we both go still.
“Look at me,” he says.
I do. His eyes are dark. Intense. Full of something I’m not ready to name.
“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he whispers. “Wanted you for so long.”
“Then take me.”
He pushes inside.
We both freeze.
The stretch is perfect. The fullness is overwhelming. He’s inside me, finally inside me, and it feels like the first honest thing either of us has done in months.
“Move,” I breathe. “Please move.”
He does.
Slow at first. Long, deep strokes that make me feel every inch of him. His forehead drops to mine and we breathe the same air, our bodies finding a rhythm together.
“Faster,” I gasp.
He groans. His hips snap forward harder. The sound of skin against skin fills the room. I wrap my legs around his waist, changing the angle, and he hits something inside me that makes me see stars.
“There,” I cry out. “Right there-”
He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow down. Just keeps hitting that spot over and over until I’m climbing again, until I’m right on the edge.
“Come for me,” he says. “I want to feel you come around me.”
I do. I fall apart beneath him, clenching around him, his name torn from my throat. He follows seconds later, burying himself deep and groaning against my neck.
We lie there afterward, tangled together, breathing hard.
“That was…” I can’t find the words.
“Yeah.” He kisses my shoulder. “It was.”
Silence. Comfortable. Full of things we’re not saying yet.
“This doesn’t feel fake,” I whisper.
He’s quiet for a long moment. Then he shifts so he can look at me.
“It stopped being fake since you looked at me like that.”
My heart clenches.
“Eric…”
“You don’t have to say it back. I just needed you to know.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Whatever this is, wherever it goes, it’s real for me. It has been for a while.”
I don’t have words. So I kiss him instead.
And for the first time in a year, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.