Chapter 42
Penelope
Xander’s touch was velvet as we entered the penthouse. Unlike most nights where things escalated quickly, he was patient on
the ride back home.
Gentle strokes along my back, feathered kisses down my neck. The air between us stretched impossibly thin, but he kept an
unhurried pace.
Making no detours as we entered the house, I took his hand and began leading him to our bedroom. He stopped me in the grand
foyer. Looming behind me, he ran his hand down my hips, splaying along my stomach.
“Darling.” My nipples hardened against the silk. I let my head lean back onto his shoulder. “You can rip this one.”
“Maybe another night,” he whispered along the curve of my neck as the short zipper slowly traveled down around my hips. “I’m
in no rush.”
The metallic zip spread heat along its path. His palms burned as they slipped beneath the fabric and let it fall down my body.
His words from the party played in my head.
Hearing that he loved me didn’t feel like a surprise. It felt like the slow culmination of a long, drawn-out path that was
equal parts beautiful and terrifying. All leading to something entirely new.
It felt like dawn.
Something we’d both known was coming, but now was so bright we couldn’t possibly hide from it. And we didn’t want to. Not
when basking in it felt so good.
He lined kisses down my back, until he was on his knees at the base of my spine. He looked up at me with a devious grin as
he helped me out of my heels. “Where are we going, Poppy?”
His words throbbed in my ears.
I wanted him, impatiently. But I also wanted to relish the feeling, the one I’d been searching for only to find it directly
in front of me.
“Take me to bed,” I murmured.
I didn’t want to think of anything other than how good it all felt. How perfect we were together and ignore the hard truths
that lay before us.
With a slow groan he stood and captured my lips. After a few extended pecks, he deepened the kiss languidly. Sliding his tongue
leisurely against mine. I savored the taste of him. The way every single touch was heavy, but I’d never felt lighter. Every
anxiety washed away with each fused breath.
He began to maneuver us to the bedroom, careful not to pull away from the deep, aching kiss.
He watched patiently, the moonlight streaming over his sharp features, when we made it to our room, and I began removing his
clothes.
Another kiss brought us to the bed, and we became tangled in each other. Our hearts beat in tempo together. Slow hands grew
firmer with intensity as I straddled him.
I sank onto him, gradually. Taking him inch by inch. My hitched pants laced around his groans until he was completely buried
inside me. I let a suspended beat pass between us before my hips gave him a pleasing swivel.
His muscles grew taut, straining against the overwhelming pleasure but he didn’t take control.
“Poppy...” His heavy-lidded eyes finally closed, and his head pushed back against the mattress.
Now was usually when he’d flip me over. Instead, his fingers grooved into my hips, not pushing or pulling, patiently waiting
for my next move. His neck drew tight lines along the column of his throat.
Emotion strangled my voice as I began to rock against him faster, my heart pounding in my ears.
“Darling...” My nails carved into his chest, the tempo finally reaching a fever pitch.
He pushed himself up just as the orgasm began to crest. I rode him faster. Sweat misted my skin, fog blurred my vision, and
the pressure pushed past its restraints. His arms wrapped tight around me, holding me when all of it broke over us and we
climaxed together.
My head leaned against his as the aftershocks rolled through.
He pulled me into a long, adoring kiss; his lips painted the beautifully imperfect version of a fairy tale I’d longed for.
“The poppies...” I whispered, refusing to move even an inch away. I didn’t know why I said it, but they kept appearing
in my mind. He’d held on to them all this time.
“They’re mine.” His satin tone brushed against my cheek. He ran a thumb along my collar. “I’m never letting them go.”
I smiled. I couldn’t think of a better caretaker.
***
The next morning, I woke to a rustling that echoed through the halls.
Xander had a staff, but they weren’t around-the-clock. I could hear a bit of shuffling, a short thud, and then silence again.
Probably one of the few staff members that took care of tasks at odd hours.
I glanced over to Xander, sound asleep, and carefully stepped out of bed. His shirt from the night before was in the doorway, so I quietly slipped it on and made my way downstairs to the large brown box awaiting me in the living room.
Sitting in the middle of the open-concept main floor, the large brown box stuck out. I knelt down in front of it, my heart
racing, and slowly pulled the tape back.
The delivery was from the Augustus.
My piece was finished. I pulled the sides of the box away, careful with each fastener. Once the box was removed, the entire
piece sat completely covered in bubble wrapping.
“Poppy?” Xander walked out to the living area with a yawn, his eyes squinting as he adjusted to all the light streaming in.
He sat down next to me on the floor.
“Sorry I woke you.”
“Don’t be. I don’t like sleeping without you, anyway.” He leaned in and kissed me. I then turned back to my task, unwrapping
it slowly. “What is that?”
“It took some convincing to allow a jeweler to use the club facilities,” I explained as I got up on my knees and began to
carefully remove the protective wrapping around it. “And then of course, I wasn’t allowed to actually help. Given the danger
around melted metal...”
I looked back at him and realized I wasn’t making a lot of sense, but I had his complete attention as if I were.
“I took the globe, the one I broke. I took the pieces and had them mended.” I pulled back the last protective covering.
The globe was its same painted ceramic. Navy blue oceans and amber-colored continents. Silver lines that designated different
latitudes. The only, extremely noticeable, difference was the large golden seams that covered the cracks.
“I was thinking about what you said that day, when I broke it,” I told him, running my finger down one of the golden seams. “Maybe things are meant to be broken, so we learn how to fix them.”
That day was the first time I started feeling comfortable enough to let out some of the pressure that built in my head. He
was the first and only person I felt that way around.
He didn’t care if I broke something, as long as I was alright. It was simple, but to me it was foreign.
“It’s called kintsugi,” I went on, turning the globe to see all the places the gold snaked around it. “The Japanese art of
repairing broken pottery with gold or silver. The idea is that the cracks shouldn’t be hidden; they should be celebrated.
They’re a part of its history and make it more beautiful.”
I turned to him.
His countenance was a canvas of emotion. His mouth hung slightly open. Beneath the easygoing mask, an ocean of feelings threatened
to breach his well-leveed composure.
“Poppy,” he whispered. His throat bobbed with a hard swallow.
I moved to sit in his lap and his arms tightened around me.
“There isn’t anything broken that can’t be fixed,” I told him. A simple fact I learned that day.
“I love you,” he said gently, but definitively, like a promise. I hummed softly in overwhelming happiness. I heard those words
last night at the party, while we made love and after, and I’d never get tired of hearing it. “And I love this.”
“You don’t have a list, so I had to improvise.”
“I don’t need a list.” He kissed along the back of my neck. “I have everything I need right here.”