Chapter 46
FORTY-SIX
LUCAS
Tyty: How does it feel to be
a model? Omg, I can't believe
you're now one of the faces
of her brand. I'm so freaking
happy for you my baby boo.
Lucas: Stop being dramatic.
I'm not even sure they’ll use
any of my pics… I was stiff
asf the whole photoshoot.
Tyty: I’m sure you still slayed.
By the way, how’s your driving
lesson going so far, sweetheart?
Lucas: Not too bad, but not too
good either. I totally suck at it.
I add a bunch of crying emojis then hit send as I step into the elevator, sighing as the doors close.
Just thinking about the lessons makes my shoulders tense.
I’ve been at it for two weeks now, and it still scares me every time I grip the wheel.
But then I think about the car Alex got me—it was in the trust fund he made for me. My dream car.
I know it’s probably not anyone else’s cup of tea, but it’s mine. I still think it’s too much for someone like me, a student still waiting to hear back from universities, but that’s Alex. Too thoughtful. Too generous. Too much sometimes.
I’ll start getting responses in a week or two. I try not to think about it, but the nerves sneak up when I’m not paying attention, especially with Blackwood. God, what if I don’t get in?
The elevator dings, pulling me out of my spiral, and the moment the doors slide open into the penthouse, everything else falls away.
I step inside, taking off my sneakers and sliding my feet into the indoor slide, the hush of the space immediately calming me. I had texted Alex earlier on my way back, and he said he’d be swimming. I left before he got home from his “work trip,”
Halfway through the living room, I stop in my tracks.
There, on the center table, sits a bouquet. Not just any bouquet but a stunning mix of white tulips and soft pink roses, fresh and perfectly arranged. Right next to it is a familiar box of chocolates.
My favorite.
I stare for a beat, chest tightening, then move closer with hesitant steps. The scent hits me before I even pick them up—soft, clean, gentle.
I reach for the bouquet and hold it carefully in my hands.
My throat constricts.
There’s a piece of paper tucked neatly inside it. I reach for it with careful fingers and unfold.
I’m sorry for making you sleep alone last night. I know this doesn’t make up for it… so how about I take you on a vacation instead?
A small laugh escapes me as I read it, quiet and breathy, despite the way my heart somersaults. My eyes drift back to the flowers, the soft white tulips and delicate blush-pink roses, their scent calming, almost grounding. Then to the box of chocolate on the table.
I run a hand over my face, feeling overwhelmed in that quiet, aching way.
Men get flowers, too?
Apparently, they do, if they’re lucky enough to be loved by someone like him.
I take a picture of the bouquet, my heart still racing, then head toward the balcony. The warm evening air greets me as I step outside, soft and heavy with the scent of the city. I round the corner and come to a halt.
He’s there.
In the pool.
The soft glow of the underwater lights dances along his skin, highlighting the cut of his shoulders, the line of his throat, the way his muscles shift beneath the surface. His arms rest along the edge of the pool, one hand holding a glass of wine, maybe, or something stronger.
His eyes are fixed on the skyline. It’s that golden hour right before night falls, when the world glows in shades of honey and fire, and somehow, the light makes him look untouchable.
Like he was carved into this moment just for me.
And then, like he feels me there, he turns slowly, and his gaze finds me.
That look.
Fuck.
The one that pins me in place. The one that strips me bare without ever touching me. The one that says I belong to him before I ever said yes.
The one that made me fall.
Hook, line, and sinker.
His eyes don’t just look at me; they consume. Worship. And somewhere deep inside, a terrifying question flickers through me—
What would I do if he ever stopped looking at me like this? If one day those eyes no longer saw me as something beautiful… how would I survive that?
“Hey, baby.”
His voice is low, rich, slightly husky with the lazy heat of evening. A slow smile, more of a smirk, curves at his mouth, and just like that, my knees weaken.
It’s not even a full smile. But from him, it’s everything.
“Hi,” I manage, voice barely above a whisper, my throat tight.
I swallow. Hard.
crap…
What is it about him that always makes me forget myself? Why, even after all this time, can’t I get used to the way he looks at me or the way I feel under his gaze?
We see each other every day. Live together. Sleep in the same bed.
And yet… one look, and I’m unraveling all over again.
Like, I’m still trying to survive loving someone like him.
Alex must notice I’m struggling either with words or just the simple act of breathing, because he moves.
Without a word, he pushes himself out of the pool in one smooth motion, water cascading down the carved lines of his body, glinting under the balcony lights like liquid silver.
I blink.
And my breath catches
He’s… naked.
Yes, I’ve seen him naked more times than I can count. We shower together. Sleep together. We’ve touched, kissed, tasted every inch of each other, explored each other’s bodies in ways I never thought I’d share with anyone.
But nothing, and I mean nothing, prepares me for the sight of his nakedness when I’m not expecting it.
The sheer size of him.
The confidence in his stride.
The way that slim silver chain hangs around his neck, resting against the wet gleam of his collarbones, catching the light like it has its own heartbeat.
And that look in his eyes.
That heavy, unreadable look that says he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
My face burns as he walks toward me with calm purpose, like he has all the time in the world. Water trails down the thick lines of his chest, along his abs, lower—Fuck… My grip on the bouquet tightens slightly.
He stops right in front of me. Close enough that the scent of chlorine and that addictive cologne he always wears fills my nose. I suck in a shaky breath and look up at him.
He glances at the bouquet in my hand, then back at my face.
“Thank you for the flowers…” I manage, my voice barely more than a whisper. “I wasn’t expecting them.”
His expression doesn’t shift, but something flickers in his eyes.
“Do you like them?” he asks, voice low, watching me too closely.
“I do,” I reply quickly, almost too quickly, trying to cover how hard my heart is pounding. I give him a small, shy smile. “Thanks for the chocolate, too. You didn’t have to.”
“I needed to.”
His voice is low, and it slips over my skin like silk. Then, his hand lifts and he touches my chin, cold and damp from the pool, but firm. Steady. His touch makes my knees soften, like I could melt right here in front of him.
“I’ve missed you,” he says, fingers still holding my chin, his thumb ghosting over the edge of my jaw.
The words are simple. But the way he says them, like they carry weight, like I’m not just wanted, but needed, makes something bloom warm and dizzy in my chest. If my eyes could sparkle, I know they would. My chest flutters as I smile at him, soft and small.
“I missed you, too.”
My eyes betray me again and roam down his body, and instantly, I flush. I force them back up to his face.
“Why are you naked?” I ask, even though I already know.
He tilts his head, amused. “I was taking a swim.”
I open my mouth to tell him that trunks exist for a reason, but I already know how that conversation will go. He’ll find some smooth, logical way to justify why swimming butt-naked is more efficient or liberating, or natural for the skin. Classic Alex.
So I don’t bother, I just clear my throat and shift awkwardly on my feet.
“Have you had anything to eat since you got home?”
His gaze sharpens at that, like he’s reading something behind my words. His lips curve in a slow, dangerous smile.
“No,” he says. “But I do now.”
“Huh?” I blink stupidly, not catching on.
But he doesn’t let me finish the thought. He leans down and claims my mouth like I’m the answer to every hunger he’s ever known.
Warm, wet, insistent.
And just like that, my world tips.
A sound so low and needy escapes me before I can stop it.
His teeth catch my bottom lip, biting just enough to make me gasp, then sucking it into his mouth like he owns me.
My toes curl, my pulse a wild drum in my ears.
His hand slides to the back of my neck, wet and cold from the pool, but grounding, holding me right where he wants me.
He deepens the kiss until I’m dizzy, until all I taste is him—hot, consuming, his tongue sliding against mine with a desperate hunger that makes my knees feel weak.
I don’t realize he’s lifting me until my feet leave the floor. My legs lock around his waist on instinct, my fist tightening in his wet hair, the other hand clinging to the bouquet so it won’t fall.
He doesn’t break the kiss. Not for a single breath.
He carries me like I weigh nothing, his arms solid steel around me, his mouth never letting mine go as he strides from the balcony into the living room.
His footsteps are certain, powerful, like he knows exactly where this is going, and I have no say in stopping it.
By the time we reach the bedroom, my heart is thundering, and every inch of me is aching for him.
He lays me down on the bed with controlled strength, my back sinking into the mattress. The bouquet slips from my hand, landing somewhere beside the bed, but Alex doesn’t even glance at it. His mouth is already moving down my neck, tongue tracing, teeth nipping, sucking in a way that makes me gasp.
Cool air brushes my skin as his fingers work my shirt open with swift precision, pushing the fabric from my shoulders as he kisses over the bare skin he uncovers. Every kiss feels like a brand—claiming, searing, impossible to ignore.