Chapter 22
Iwake slowly. That alone is strange—I never wake slowly. My eyes blink open to soft morning light filtering through the curtains…and the weight of something warm and delicate pressed against my chest. It takes my mind a full five seconds to understand what I’m feeling.
An arm. A leg tangled with mine. A cheek resting over my heartbeat. Soft breath brushing my skin.
Elena. My wife.
Sleeping in my bed. In my arms. And I’m holding her so tightly I could fuse us together. My heart slams once, hard, before steadying into something dangerously calm.
I have slept… longer than I have in years. Maybe ever. No sweat. No nightmares ripping me out of sleep. No pacing in the dark. No emptiness.
Just—Her.
The realization hits me like a fist. I haven’t shared a bed with anyone since I was twenty years old.
I tried—once. A girl I dated for three months.
I stayed the night. I warned her I didn’t sleep well.
She brushed it off, said it didn’t matter.
I woke from a nightmare with her screaming, scrambling away from me, sobbing that I scared her.
She told me she didn’t feel safe. Asked me to leave her apartment.
So I did. Walked home in the freezing cold at four in the morning, knowing deep in my bones that whatever broken pieces lived inside me meant I would never share a bed with someone again.
Not safely. Not without hurting them. Not without terrifying them. It scarred me in ways I never voiced.
But now—Elena is curled on top of me like she belongs there.
Like this is her place. Like she wasn’t afraid last night when I grabbed her arm in my sleep.
Like the nightmare that shattered me didn’t scare her away.
My little Dove isn’t just anyone. She came into my nightmare like a blade of light. She touched me—held me—calmed me.
And I slept. Christ, I slept. Something hot and unfamiliar twists in my chest. Not lust. Not possession. Something worse. Something inevitable.
I’m falling in love with her.
The thought terrifies me. Thrills me. Consumes me.
I tighten my arm around her, pulling her closer, needing her weight, her warmth, her breath against my throat.
She murmurs in her sleep and snuggles in deeper.
My breath catches. How the hell am I supposed to let her go now?
I won’t. I don’t care what her father expected of her, or what my father expected of me, or what this alliance was supposed to be.
Elena is mine. My wife. My partner. My anchor in every storm I never learned how to escape. Now I just need to make her love me—truly love me—so she never leaves. Because I am keeping her. Forever.
She shifts against me. A soft sound. A stretch of her leg sliding along mine. Her hand brushing across my stomach—And every muscle in my body locks. Her palm glides over the lines of my abdomen again—slow, exploring, curious.
I suck in a breath. “Dove…”
She blinks up at me, sleepy and unguarded, then lets her hand drift higher—fingertips tracing my ribs like she’s learning me by touch alone.
“Elena,” I warn, but my voice is already too low, too rough.
She shouldn’t touch me like this. Not when I’m barely holding myself together. Not when I’ve woken up with her in my arms for the first time in my life. But she does. She presses her hand to my stomach again, firmer this time, and my eyes slam shut.
“Dove,” I breathe, catching her wrist gently. “You should stop.”
“Why?” she whispers, her voice soft but steady. “I don’t want to stop.”
Her fingers curl against my skin, and something inside me snaps. Not violently. Not out of control. But with a clarity I’ve never felt before. She wants me. Not out of duty. Not out of fear. Not because of what this marriage was supposed to be. She wants me.
“Elena…” I say her name like it’s a prayer I’ve never let myself speak. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
Her lips curve into the smallest, bravest smile. “Maybe I do.”
Before I can gather the will to pull away, she leans up and presses her mouth to mine. Not tentative. Not hesitant. Bold. Hungry. Needing.
I groan—full, helpless—before I can stop myself, one hand sliding into her hair, the other gripping her waist and pulling her fully onto my chest.
She gasps into the kiss, and I take the sound straight into me, deepening the kiss with everything I’ve been holding back since the day I met her.
She tastes like sleep and warmth and the future I never believed I could have.
When her fingers slide up my chest, exploring the hard lines of muscle, I swear I lose my mind.
Her touch—every stroke, every pass of her fingertips—lights me on fire. I am instantly over her, pressing her firmly into the mattress.
“Slow,” I manage to say against her lips, even as I drag her impossibly closer. “Let me—God, let me take care of you.”
Her breath stutters, and I can feel her heart pounding where her chest presses to mine.
I run my hands over her—her waist, her back, the curve of her hip—worshipping her with every slow, reverent movement.
“You’re so beautiful, Elena,” I murmur into her jaw, kissing my way to the corner of her mouth. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
Her fingers clutch my shoulders. She arches into me. “Alessandro…” she whispers, and it sounds like surrender.
I kiss her again—slow, consuming, claiming—pouring every unspoken thing into her mouth. Her hands roam my torso, learning me, trusting me, wanting me.
And I cradle the back of her head, my forehead pressed to hers, forcing myself to breathe before I take things too far.
“Dove,” I whisper, my voice almost shaking, “I want every piece of you… but only when you’re truly ready. Not because you think you owe me anything.”
She looks at me with so much emotion it nearly buckles me. “I’m not doing this because I should,” she says quietly. “I’m doing it because I want you.”
My control wavers—dangerously. I cup her face, kiss her again—slower this time, deeper—letting her feel exactly how much I adore her.
“Every inch of you is mine. Tell me what you need, Dove.”
Her breathing accelerates as my touch moves lower. “I don’t know what I need,” she admits, her eyes wide.
“Then I’ll show you,” I whisper. I settle between her legs, spreading them gently. My mouth finds the soft heat of her core.
She cries out, a startled sound that quickly turns into a long, drawn-out moan.
I use my hands to anchor her hips. I use my tongue, circling and pressing with agonizing slowness, driving her higher.
“This is mine, Elena.” I murmur against her skin. “Every tremor, every gasp. I want to hear it. I want you screaming my name.”
Her fingers tangle in the sheets, her back arching, the pressure building until she is breathless.
“Alessandro! Please—oh, God—”
I only intensify the focus, using my fingers now, slow and deep, guiding her to the very edge.
I make her wait, savoring the building intensity, ensuring her body knows only my touch.
When she finally shatters, the cry she lets out is primal, beautiful, and utterly free.
She convulses against the mattress, her body shivering, lost entirely in the wave of pure sensation.
I hold her, watching the raw, gorgeous display of her release.
I slide up, pulling her tight against my chest, waiting for the tremors to subside.
Her skin is flushed, her eyes wet with pleasure.
“You are exquisite,” I say, pressing a kiss to her damp forehead. “My beautiful, strong wife.”
I move between her legs, my body finally claiming the space that will be mine forever.
She is still sensitive, still slick from her release. I use one hand to part her, and the other to guide myself slowly, carefully.
“Tell me if this hurts,” I instruct, my voice rough with strain as I pause at the entrance. “Don't lie to me, Elena. I stop if you say stop.”
She shakes her head, her gaze fierce. “No. I trust you. Please.”
I enter her with excruciating slowness, passing the final, fragile barrier. She gasps, a sharp sound of pain and adjustment. I freeze instantly. “Are you okay?”
“Pressure,” she manages, panting. “Just... be slow. Don’t go back.”
“Never going back,” I vow.
I ease in further, slowly, relentlessly, until I am buried deep inside her. The tightness is overwhelming. I wait, allowing her body to adjust to my size, moving only slightly, minimally, feeling the deep, intoxicating heat.
“You’re so tight. Like you were made only for me. I own this now. This exquisite feeling. Tell me you feel me, Elena.”
“Alessandro,” she cries, clinging to my shoulders. “Oh, God, I feel you. It’s too much.”
“It’s exactly enough,” I counter, kissing her hard, deep.
I begin a slow, measured rhythm, pushing into her depth, accelerating the pace as her hips begin to buck under mine.
I am lost in her heat, in her absolute responsiveness.
“Say it, Dove,” I rasp, my muscles screaming with the effort of holding back. “Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” she gasps, her voice breaking.
The affirmation, the absolute surrender that is not forced, shatters my control.
I drive into her, hard and fast, my body convulsing with a violent, consuming release.
I press my mouth to her neck, groaning her name, collapsing my weight onto her, anchoring her to the bed, to me, to this room.
I stay buried deep inside her, breathing her scent, kissing her shoulder.