Chapter 31 No More Patience
Isabella’s POV
The ride home was silent.
Not the tense kind filled with words waiting to explode.
The heavier kind.
The kind that meant something had already been decided.
When the car pulled into the underground garage, he didn’t wait for the driver. He stepped out first, walked around, and opened my door himself.
His hand closed around mine.
Not gentle. Not rough.
Certain.
He didn’t speak as he led me to the private elevator. Didn’t look at me either. His jaw was set. His focus locked somewhere ahead.
The elevator doors shut.
The mirrored walls reflected us back: him controlled and sharp in his dark suit, me in a dress that suddenly felt too tight against my skin.
My pulse was loud in my ears.
The elevator opened directly into the penthouse.
He didn’t hesitate.
He walked straight down the hallway toward his bedroom, still holding my hand, like I might disappear if he let go.
The door opened.
The room was dim, city lights spilling through the tall windows.
He finally released me.
Without a word, he removed his jacket and tossed it onto the arm of a chair. He loosened his tie slowly, deliberately, then dropped into the leather chair near the window.
He leaned back.
Relaxed.
In control.
One ankle crossed over his knee. Shirt collar open. Sleeves still rolled.
Watching me.
I stood near the bed, frozen.
He studied me openly now. No disguise. No polite mask. His gaze moved from my face down the length of my body and back again.
Possessive. Appraising.
“You wanted honesty,” he said quietly.
His voice was calm. Deep. Certain.
“I’m done pretending I’m not going to take what’s already mine.”
My breath caught.
He tilted his head slightly, gray eyes steady.
“Take your clothes off.”
It wasn’t loud.
It wasn’t shouted.
It was a command.
The air in the room shifted.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
Alexander , ”
His eyes darkened just slightly.
“You misunderstand something,” he said evenly. “I gave you space. I gave you four days. I let you sleep peacefully beside me.”
He leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs now, gaze never leaving mine.
“That wasn’t weakness.”
Silence filled the room.
“I decide when patience ends,” he continued evenly. “And tonight, it ends.”
My fingers trembled at my sides.
He leaned back in the chair again, calm. Controlled.
“Take it off,” he repeated.
I couldn’t move.
I knew this day would come. I knew he wouldn’t wait forever. But knowing didn’t make it easier. My heart was racing so hard I could barely think.
I hadn’t been with a man in a long time.
And the last time he saw me naked… he walked away.
I stared at the floor, twisting my fingers together, unable to lift my head.
“Don’t make me repeat myself, Isabella,” he said, voice firmer now. “Strip.”
My throat tightened.
The memory hit me hard. Standing there before him. Vulnerable. And then him turning his back.
Maybe my body wasn’t what he was used to.
Maybe I wasn’t what he wanted.
Slowly, I looked up at him.
“Since… you didn’t like how I look,” I said nervously, words barely steady, “can I just keep my clothes on?”
His expression changed instantly.
He looked at me like I’d said something impossible.
I dropped my gaze again, bracing for whatever came next.
I heard the scrape of his chair.
Footsteps.
He stopped in front of me.
I still couldn’t look at him.
His fingers touched my chin and lifted my face gently but firmly.
“Who said I didn’t like your body?” he asked quietly.
“You did,” I whispered.
“I did no such thing, Isabella.”
“But last time,” I said, my voice unsteady, “you walked out. I was standing there… and you left.”
His eyes moved over me again, slower now. Not distant. Not dismissive.
Intent.
“I didn’t walk away because I didn’t like what I saw,” he said quietly. “I walked away because I liked it too much.”
My heart stumbled in my chest.
His voice dropped lower.
“And when I tell you to take that dress off, it’s not because I don’t want to remove it myself.”
His fingers slid from my chin, down the line of my jaw.
“It’s because I want to look at you,” he continued. “I want to take my time.”
He lifted my chin again, just slightly higher. His eyes moved between mine, searching, steady and intense. Then his hand shifted, cupping my cheek.
The way he looked at me made it hard to breathe.
There was no mockery in his expression. No cold distance.
Only heat. Control. Want.
I didn’t understand why he was studying me like that , like I was something rare, something he intended to claim completely.
He leaned down slowly.
His lips brushed mine at first , soft, controlled. Not rushed. Not demanding.
A slow kiss.
One that made my knees weaken more than any command he’d given.
His lips lingered on mine, slow and controlled, not demanding, not rough. Just there. Warm. Steady.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against mine. His hand was still at my cheek, thumb brushing softly along my skin.
His voice, when he spoke, was different. Lower. Quieter. Not sharp. Not commanding.
“Are you nervous?” he asked.
The question caught me off guard.
He wasn’t smirking. He wasn’t towering over me.
He was just… asking.
“I , ” I swallowed. “Yes.”
He nodded once, like that answer mattered.
His fingers moved to the zipper at my back, but he didn’t pull it down yet.
“Do you want me to take it off for you?” he asked gently. “If that makes it easier.”
I stared at him.
This wasn’t the same man who barked orders. This wasn’t the cold voice that told me to obey.
He was calm. Careful.
“You’re asking me?” I whispered.
“Yes,” he said simply.
The softness in his tone unsettled me more than his dominance ever had.
I gave a small nod.
His hand slid to the zipper and lowered it slowly, deliberately. The fabric loosened around my shoulders. He didn’t rush. Didn’t tug. He let the dress slip down inch by inch, his knuckles brushing my skin in a way that made my breath catch.
When the dress pooled at my feet, he stepped closer.
His hands settled at my waist first, warm and steady. Not gripping. Just holding.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured.
“I know.”
He leaned down and pressed his lips to my shoulder.
Not possessive. Not claiming.
Reverent.
The kiss was slow. Lingering. His mouth moved along the curve of my shoulder, then to the other side, as if he was mapping me carefully.
His hands slid up my arms, then back down, slow and grounding.
He kissed the side of my neck next. Soft at first. Then slightly firmer. His breath warm against my skin.
My fingers, without thinking, moved to his chest.
He didn’t take control of them.
He let me touch him.
His lips trailed upward, brushing my jaw, then the corner of my mouth. Not forcing another kiss. Just grazing.
My body felt different under him like this.
Not cornered.
Not commanded.
Seen.
Each kiss was unhurried. Intentional. His mouth moved down my neck again, and his hands slid around my waist to my lower back, pulling me closer without pressure.
The words made my chest tighten.
His lips pressed gently below my ear. Then along my collarbone. Slow. Patient.
The tension in my shoulders eased without me realizing it.
My breathing slowed.
He wasn’t taking.
He was savoring.
And for the first time since this began, I didn’t feel like I was bracing for impact.
I felt wanted.
Carefully.
Completely.
His arms slid around me, one behind my knees, the other cradling my back, and he lifted me as though I weighed nothing. The movement was smooth, unhurried. My bare skin met the cool air for only a second before the heat of his body surrounded me again.
I wrapped my arms around his neck instinctively, face tucked against the open collar of his shirt, breathing in the faint cedar and clean cotton that clung to him.
He carried me the few steps to the bed and lowered me onto the edge of the mattress so my feet still brushed the floor. When he straightened, the city lights carved sharp angles across his face , high cheekbones, shadowed jaw, eyes that hadn’t left mine since the dress fell.
He didn’t speak.
Instead he reached behind me with both hands, fingers finding the clasp of my bra. The hooks gave way with a soft click. Cool satin straps slid down my arms; he caught the cups before they could fall away completely, peeling the lace slowly, reverently, until my breasts were bare to him.
His thumbs grazed the undersides as he set the bra aside , barely a touch, yet my nipples tightened instantly.
He sank to one knee between my parted thighs.
The position put his face level with my chest.
He leaned in first, pressing the softest open-mouthed kiss to the inner swell of one breast, then the other.
No teeth. No urgency. Just warm, lingering pressure that made my breath hitch.
His hands rested lightly on the outsides of my thighs, thumbs drawing slow, soothing arcs against my skin.
Then those hands slid higher.
Fingertips hooked the delicate waistband of my underwear. He paused, eyes lifting to mine , asking without words. I gave the smallest nod.
He drew the fabric down inch by inch, past my hips, along my thighs, over my knees, until it slipped free of my ankles.
The silk whispered to the carpet. Naked now, completely, I felt the urge to close my legs, but his palms settled on the insides of my knees , gentle, steady pressure keeping them apart just enough.
He dipped his head.
The first kiss landed high on the inside of my right thigh, close to where skin meets softer skin. Then another, lower. Then the left thigh. Slow. Methodical. Each press of his lips sent tiny shocks racing upward. My fingers curled into the sheets.
He worked his way inward with maddening patience , kisses that turned into soft, wet drags of tongue, then back to kisses.
The higher he climbed, the more my hips shifted, searching.
He noticed. One large hand splayed across my lower stomach, holding me still without force, thumb stroking the sensitive skin just above my mound.