30. CHAPTER 27
Orion
I rescheduled the last three items on the agenda and pushed my chair back before anyone could protest.
“Something urgent’s come up. We’ll finish this tomorrow,” I said, already on my feet.
Half the board thought urgent meant a business call. The other half thought it meant my mother. I didn’t bother clarifying. I just left them to their theories. The truth was that I was chasing a feeling I couldn't put down on paper even if I tried.
Neither of them would suspect it was a silent notification on my phone that had kept me on edge for the better part of the day and jolted me out of the room.
Léonie – fertile window.
A bland little line on an app I’d synced to my calendar weeks ago, filed under logistics like a regular shipment schedule. The reaction it provoked was wildly disproportionate to a simple calendar alert.
It turned the air in the boardroom stale and the numbers on the screen meaningless. Suddenly, the only thing that carried any weight was the thought of her.
The thought of her skin, the way she’d responded to me at the ranch, the sound of my name on her lips when she came apart in that storm—every memory sharpened under that one new fact. Timing. Possibility. Everything was aligning, and I couldn't waste another second in this room.
By the time I reached the car, my pulse was a controlled sprint.
Stephen had asked to drive me but I let him off early. I needed the steering wheel in my own hands, the violence of the engine and the mindless focus of the road to burn off the restless energy crawling through my veins.
It didn’t work. If anything, the speed only heightened the anticipation, turning the drive into a pressurized tunnel of intent.
The sun was already setting as I pulled into the estate, the gravel dark in the fading light. I'd made it home before six. A new record.
I scanned the windows of the east wing; her studio was dark. But when I looked toward the other end of the manor, I saw the library was glowing.
There she was.
I stepped in, responding to staff greetings as I made my way straight to the low-lit library. The room smelled mostly like paper, polished wood and roses, mixed with the sweetness of her perfume, filling the space.
The sound of pages turning pulled my attention upward.
She was halfway up the rolling ladder, one foot braced, her body stretched to reach a higher shelf.
She was wearing color again today.
An emerald blouse, tucked into a soft silk skirt that skimmed her thighs.
The fabric caught the light when she moved, drawing my attention.
Her hair was tied back in a high ponytail, the sexy curve of her neck exposed, and fuck, it made her look younger, wilder, like she was daring me to unravel her.
Ovulating. That had to be it.
Her hips seemed rounder, her ass curving out more invitingly as she balanced, and her breasts were swollen, straining at the blouse buttons, begging to be freed.
For a second, I just watched.
She reached higher. The ladder rocked very gently under her weight. I reached for her on instinct.
I crossed the room fast and planted my palm on the ladder just behind her hip, steadying the frame, caging her between my arm and the shelves.
She startled, the book barely slipping in her grip. She didn't pull away.
I hadn't touched her since a month ago when we went away for the weekend. Being able to hold her like this, without her tensing or evading my touch was a win.
Her eyes met mine, warm and amused, her lips forming a small smile.
Beautiful.
My pulse kicked, blood rushing south as I took her in—lips that made restraint difficult, the subtle curviness of her body that screamed for me to touch her.
“Hi,” she breathed. A hint of surprise that melted into tender relief when she noticed me.
That tenderness hurt in a way I didn't want to stop.
“I like the colour,” I said, my voice coming out lower than I meant to. “It suits you.”
Her smile widened. “You noticed?”
I stepped closer, pressing my palm against the wood, her body a line of heat in front of me.
“I notice more than you think.” I notice everything about you.
Her gaze roamed over my face, searching. She didn’t look away. That alone was progress.
So I complimented her some more because honestly, there was no use stopping now.
“And the ponytail. You should wear it like this… for me… always?”
I searched her eyes at “always” for a reaction. Maybe a “no.”
Her lips quirked into a secretive, playful smile, sending a jolt straight to my groin.
I stared, transfixed, her beauty hitting me like vertigo.
My eyes drifted and I saw what she was holding. A romance novel, worn spine, a page marked with a red ribbon.
I plucked it gently from her fingers, our hands brushing, electricity sparking from the brief contact.
“What are we escaping from today?” I asked, opening to the marked page.
She bit her lip, fighting a smile. “You’re supposed to say ‘what are we reading’.”
“I’m not supposed to do anything,” I replied, scanning the paragraph. The sensual lines—descriptions of hands pinning wrists, mouths claiming skin, a ladder much like this one propping the heroine against the wooden surface. Heat flooded me. It was almost cliché.
I snapped the book shut, my eyes lifting back to hers.
“Is this what you like? Him trapping her here, teasing until she breaks?” I asked, letting the corner of my mouth tilt.
She swallowed, her chest rising faster, but her voice didn’t waver, laced with that fire I craved.
“It’s the intensity of it,” she shot back, not missing a beat. “The way he sees her, pays attention to her, and doesn't hold back.” Her gaze held mine in a challenge, as if daring me to prove it. She cocked her head to get my attention.
“You think I’m not listening?”
“Are you?”
I moved closer, the ladder creaking as I braced my arm above her shoulder, boxing her in completely.
“I’m listening—” I whispered. “Loud and clear.”
“But I'm also picturing it,” I continued. “enacting every line right here on this ladder. You, pinned. Me, making you beg.”
A warm glow spread across her skin as her thighs pressed together below her skirt.
Fuck, the look in her eyes rivaled the book’s heat.
I watched as her throat bobbed. Her fingers clenched around the side of the ladder, pulling her knuckles tight. She was trying very hard not to show anything.
Too bad I’d had months of practice reading her tells.
Then, unexpectedly—perhaps to divert my attention from her—she pressed a quick kiss to my mouth. A test… again. Or maybe a tease. It was gone before I could feel the full impact.
But it ignited everything.
I caught her chin gently with my fingers and kissed her back properly, swallowing whatever clever thing she’d meant to say. Her lips parted instantly, like she’d been waiting for this too, and I didn’t waste the invitation.
She tasted of whatever sweet thing she'd found in the kitchen and the familiar mint tea she liked in the afternoons.
The ease in which she melted into me was ruinous. Her hands abandoned the ladder and fisted my shirt, pulling me closer.
One thing I appreciated about Léa was how she never held back when we kissed.
This was only our third time like this, and she gave it her all—fierce, intoxicating, her body arching to meet mine.
It made me ache for more, for the when I'd have her writhing beneath me, fully surrendered, no reserves.
She'd give me everything then, I knew it—clenching around my cock, screaming my name without restraint.
My cock throbbed painfully at the thought, harder than ever, the lust for her a constant burn, amplified since when she'd paraded her curves like a fucking siren in that yellow bikini.
She kissed me again, deeper, her tongue tangling with mine, and I'd never been so turned on in my life.
A low growl tore out of me as I gripped her thighs and lifted her. She looped her legs around my waist instantly, skirt riding up, her heat seeping through my belt. The ladder groaned in protest, so I turned, pinning her to me, and carried her the short distance to the couch.
I sank down with her in my lap, keeping my hands splayed in safe places—her back, her hip—without breaking the kiss, my mouth devouring hers as she held on tightly to me.
She tilted her head back, breathless, giving me access to her throat.
I took it. I trailed kisses down, nipping near her collarbone, close to that sensitive spot on her shoulder.
A tiny giggle escaped her, breathy and delighted, vibrating against my lips.
I loved that sound, chased it with my tongue, sucking teasingly until she squirmed, her hands threading into my hair.
Reluctantly, I pulled back, my eyes locked on hers as my fingers worked the buttons of her blouse, one by one, revealing the lace beneath. She tensed, breath hitching, her body going still under me.
"Relax, mon ciel," I whispered, the endearment slipping out for the first time, soft and possessive against her skin. “I’m not in a hurry.”
That was a lie. I was very much in a hurry. But not enough to risk spooking her again.
My hand slipped inside, cupping her breast, my thumb circling the hardening nipple through the lace.
“Orion,” she whispered.
She exhaled, melting again, her tension easing as I kneaded gently—and then a sharp knock hit the door.
The timing was so atrocious I almost laughed.
“Dinner is served, Monsieur et Madame Kade,” Mrs Lewis called, in the same prim tone she used to scold the staff.
Léa froze.
There was a beat of silence. Then, because she knows my wife far too well, Mrs Lewis added, “Madame Kade, you need to eat, dear. You barely touched your lunch.”
I closed my eyes for a second, breathing out a curse in my head.
Léa bit back a smile, her teeth pressing on her bottom lip. “She’s going to start smuggling food into my room if I keep skipping meals,” she whispered.
“Would you rather I shared this particular reason with her?” I asked dryly.
A feverish bloom flared high on her cheeks that made her skin look like molten silk. “Absolutely not.”
“Then we let her win this round,” I said, brushing a thumb once over the side of her neck, where my mouth had just been. “You alright?”
She nodded, still a little dazed. “I’m fine.”
Fine. Right.
I was far from fine.
I helped her straighten, smoothed a stray wisp of hair near her temple, and watched her refasten the top buttons carefully. There was something dangerously intimate about it—watching her put herself back together, knowing exactly how close I’d been to undoing all of it again.
When she stood, I caught her hand.
“Dinner,” I said. “Then the staff disappears. Then we finish this.”
Her eyes flicked up, searching my face for a joke, a trap, anything she could use to argue. She didn’t find one.
“You’re remarkably certain of how this night ends,” she said, trying—and failing—to sound unaffected.
“I’m not certain, I’m intentional about it,” I corrected, stepping into her space until she had to tilt her head back. “I’m giving you dinner because you need it. I’m giving myself the wait because I want it. That’s called discipline.”
Her fingers tightened around mine for half a second before she tried to pull away. I didn't let go; I simply laced our fingers together. The touch was grounding, yet electric.
She glanced down at our joined hands and started to protest, but the words died in her throat when I leaned in, my lips grazing her earlobe.
“You shouldn’t skip lunch next time.”
She shivered from the contact, then found her balance quickly, as if nothing had happened. I smiled to myself as I led her out to the dining room, the unfinished heat crackling between us.
That was supposed to be the goal today. Mrs. Lewis wasn’t wrong to call us to dinner; I’d been in too much of a hurry to follow my own protocol. It was meant to be dinner first, staff dismissed, and then her. Not me losing my head before the sun had even fully set.
Yet, the closer we got to the dining room, the more the wait felt almost unbearable.
I couldn't wait to have my wife all to myself. And if she let down her guard even half as much as she had on that ladder, I had every intention of spending the rest of the night proving just how closely I’d been listening.