Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
RICCI
Iwait in the living room and feel restless as hell.
The penthouse is soundproofed from the low hum of the city far below or the sound of constant sirens.
I force myself to sit on the leather sofa, elbows on my knees, fingers steepled.
I swore I wouldn’t force her and I’m not going to, but I really can’t wait any longer.
The need to see her, to be near her, is crawling under my skin like a swarm of fucking insects. I leap up and sprint up the stairs.
The hallway is dimly lit, soft recessed lights casting long shadows across the dark wood floors. I move quietly until I see the light from underneath one of the bedrooms. I knock once.
There is no response so I push the door open and step inside. The room is empty, but I see her purse on the bed. I cross the bedroom and quietly pull open the door to the en-suite bathroom.
Ah…
Asleep in the bath.
It is like an enchanted scene from a fairytale.
Steam curls lazily through the air, thick and fragrant with jasmine and something I don’t recognize.
The marble tub glows under the low lights, water still rippling gently around her body.
Her features have softened completely in sleep—lashes dark against her cheeks, lips slightly parted, the usual guarded tension gone from her brow.
Her blonde hair is wet, clinging to her shoulders and the edge of the tub in damp strands, glistening like threads of gold.
Her skin… God, her skin is slick and luminous, flushed from the heat, droplets sliding slowly down the curve of her throat, over the swell of her breasts, disappearing into the water.
She looks vulnerable. Ethereal. So breathtaking I forget how to breathe for a second.
I watch her for a long moment, heart pounding so hard I feel it in my throat.
I can’t look away. Every inch of her is laid bare to me—slim waist, the gentle flare of her hips, the way the water ripples just below her collarbone—and all I want is to memorize her like this.
She looks so peaceful and I almost can’t believe she is mine.
Then, as though she feels the weight of my stare, her eyes flutter open.
She wakes with a start, body jolting upright in the water. Fear flashes across her face—raw, instinctive—widening those green eyes, making her breath catch sharply. Water sloshes over the edge of the tub.
“You fell asleep,” I say softly. “I came in search of you.”
She recovers quickly, blinking, chest rising and falling faster now, arms crossing instinctively over her breasts. I shut the door behind me with a quiet click, sealing us in the warm, steamy room. The air becomes charged.
She draws her knees up in the bath, hiding herself from me.
The movement is protective, but also strangely coy, and it makes something fierce twist inside my chest. Droplets of water slide down her throat in slow, lazy paths, tracing lines I want to follow with my tongue.
She’s trying to shield herself, but all it does is make her look even more irresistible.
My throat tightens. I want to tell her she doesn’t have to hide. Not from me.
I stop a few steps away, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off the water but far enough that she doesn’t feel cornered. “Are you afraid of me?” I ask, voice low, careful.
She seems to wake up fully then, the fog of sleep clearing from her eyes. She shakes her head quickly, almost defiantly. “No. I’m not. I’m just… startled.”
A long silence stretches between us. The only sounds are the soft drips of water from the faucet, the faint hum of the city far below, and the slow, uneven rhythm of her breathing.
My own heart is pounding so hard I feel it in my fingertips. I tilt my head, watching her carefully, letting the question hang for a beat. “Want some company?”
She looks stunned for a second—lips parting, eyes widening, breath catching audibly. The question lands heavy with possibility, thick in the humid air. Her cheeks flush deeper, the color spreading down her throat, across the tops of her breasts. She swallows, and I watch the movement, mesmerized.
“You can say no,” I add quietly, holding her gaze.
She hesitates. Her breath catches again—sharp, almost pained. Water laps softly against the marble as she shifts, tiny waves rippling outward. Her fingers tighten on the edge of the tub, knuckles whitening. Then she whispers, “Okay.”
The word lands like a spark on dry tinder.
Heat surges through me—low, fierce, immediate.
My fingers go to the buttons of my shirt.
One by one, I undo them. The fabric parts, exposing the hard planes of my chest, the dark trail of hair leading down my abdomen.
I shrug it off, letting it drop to the tiled floor.
Her gaze flicks down my chest, my stomach, then quickly back to my face.
I take off my shoes, socks, then my hands drop to my belt. The leather whispers as I pull it free. Pants next and I’m left in black briefs that do nothing to hide how fucking hard I am for her.
Her eyes stay on mine the whole time. I hook my thumbs into the waistband of my briefs, and I see her breath quicken and her lips part. The fabric catches for a second on my erection, then pulls away. I’m thick and heavy from the sight of her. I step toward the tub.
There’s a little splash of water as I lift one leg over the edge.
Of course I’m too big for it. Way too big.
My frame barely fits. My knees are bent awkwardly and water sloshes dangerously close to the rim.
I shift, trying to find space, and that’s when I see it: the laughter in her eyes.
Real laughter. Bright. Unexpected. Then it spills out of her—soft, genuine, echoing off the marble walls like music.
“Baths were definitely not made for men of my height or stature,” I say.
“No,” she agrees softly.
I grin. “Come over here and,” I invite. “Lean on me.”
I can see the war in her eyes—trust versus caution, desire versus fear. Her fingers tighten on the edge of the tub, then slowly relax. But she does it. Slowly, carefully, she turns and settles back against me.
She settles between my legs, her hips nestling right against me.
When her back meets my chest—warm skin slides against warm skin.
Sweet smelling bubbles surge around us, suds clinging to her shoulders, her breasts, the curve of her waist. She’s so soft.
So breathtaking. The heat of her body sinks into mine instantly, and I let out a low sigh I can’t hold back—half victorious, half pure need.
I feel every inch of her—the delicate curve of her spine pressed to my sternum, her damp hair tickling my collarbone, the faint tremble in her limbs.
I’m rock hard now—thick, aching, pressed firmly against the small of her back.
The heat of her skin against my cock is pure torture.
It’s literally maddening. I wrap one arm around her waist, my palm flat against her stomach, and hold her gently to me.
My other hand rests on the edge of the tub, knuckles white from the effort of controlling myself.
Her muscles are tense, and her breath is shallow and quick, like she’s waiting for something bad to happen.
I lower my mouth close to her ear, lips brushing the damp shell, voice barely a whisper against her skin.
“Relax, bella,” I murmur, letting the words vibrate against her, “You never know. You might enjoy it.”
The words hang between us, shimmering in the steamy air.
A long shaky breath escapes her, then slowly, so slowly, the tension begins to thaw from her body.
Her shoulders drop. Her spine melts against my chest. Her head tilts back and rests lightly against my shoulder, damp hair clinging to my skin.
She lets herself sink into me and trusts me not to hurt her.
My palm stays flat against her stomach, thumb brushing the soft skin just below her navel in slow, absent circles.
I’m aching—desperately hard against her, every shift of her hips sending fresh heat through me—but I don’t move.
I just hold her, breathing her in, letting the moment stretch and burn between us.