20 - Adrian
Aweek since the gala. Seven days since she shook apart on that terrace, and I’ve kept her cocooned in our private world since. No work, no outside obligations. Just us moving between our three spaces like we’re the only people left in Miami.
The apartment door swings open to garlic and lime, Isa moving through my kitchen like she's always belonged here. My real place above La Sirena, not the surveillance nest next door, not her controlled sanctuary. This one, where I actually live when I'm not watching her sleep through walls.
She's wearing my shirt. Nothing else visible beneath the hem that hits mid-thigh, her legs bare as she reaches for something high in the cabinet. The sight makes my cock throb, but it's the domesticity that nearly brings me to my knees. Isa choosing to be here, choosing to wear me like armor.
"You're late," she says without turning, but I hear the smile in her voice. "The fish is almost done."
Three hours of working contacts, pulling threads about the Lins. Their daughter died fourteen years ago. An accident at a quarry, the official report says. They received a big payout in compensation for her death, but they never believed the official story, never stopped asking questions.
The Lins' suspicion runs deep. They've spent fourteen years circling a truth they can't quite grasp. Now they're asking about Isa specifically. Her sudden rise, her connection to our world, how a girl from nowhere ended up in silk at the Enfield Gala.
The intel sits heavy in my chest, but I push it down. Not tonight. Tonight she's here, cooking red snapper in a state of undress that has me counting all the reasons dinner can wait.
"Traffic," I quip, moving into the kitchen.
“You were at the club. You’re telling me there was traffic on the stairs?”
My hands find her waist, thumbs stroking the soft skin where my shirt rides up.
"Smells incredible, mi amor."
"Don't touch." She swats at my hands but leans back into me anyway, her ass pressing against my hardening cock. "I'm trying something Sera taught me."
The name makes me smile. Our friends bleeding into this private space, Isa learning recipes from Gabriel's woman. Building connections I never thought she'd allow. I press my lips to her neck, tasting salt and that clean soap she uses, feeling her pulse jump under my mouth.
"How was your day?" she asks, turning in my arms with two plates balanced perfectly.
The Lins' suspicion burns on my tongue. But I give her my warm smile instead, the one that's real even when I'm hiding things.
"Boring meetings. Territory negotiations." I take the plates from her, letting my fingers brush hers longer than necessary. "Logan sends his regards. Says you owe him a bottle of that Japanese whiskey you've been hoarding."
"I don't hoard whiskey."
"No?" I pour wine, watching her settle into the chair across from me, the way my shirt rides up when she sits making my mouth water. "Not even that bottle you think is so well-hidden?"
She freezes mid-bite. "How did you…" Then catches herself, rolls her eyes. "Right. My stalker. Sometimes I forget exactly how thoroughly you violated my privacy."
"Every beautiful violation," I murmur, reaching across to trace the key inked at her wrist. "And you love that I know all your secrets."
Her breath catches, pupils dilating slightly. After a week of barely leaving bed, she's still responsive to every touch, every suggestion.
"You're distracted tonight." She sets down her fork, studying me with those eyes that miss nothing. "What aren't you telling me?"
The deflection comes automatic, wrapped in warmth. "Just thinking about tomorrow's vendor contracts. Thrilling stuff." I give her my best smile, the one that opens doors and hearts, but she knows me too well now.
Her fingers drum once against the table. The tell for when she's processing something that doesn't fit.
"I had nightmares again last night," she says quietly. "About the gala. Those people keep coming back."
My chest tightens with the familiar need to protect her, to stand between her and anything that might hurt her. "What kind of nightmares, carina?"
"Those people. The ones who…" She trails off, jaw tightening. "I keep seeing their faces. The way they looked at me. Like they knew something. Like they were accusing me of something I can't even remember clearly."
The Lins. She doesn't say their names, but the devastation from that terrace breakdown still echoes in how carefully she holds herself now. The need to eliminate this threat pulses through me like blood.
"They can't hurt you," I say, standing to move around the table to her. "Not while I'm breathing."
"You don't know that." She stands too, but I catch her before she can pull away, pressing her back against the kitchen wall. "You don't know what they could do. What they might…"
"Isa." I cage her with my body, one hand braced by her head, the other cupping her face. "Whatever they are to you, whoever they were, I'll burn them to ash before they touch you again."
She searches my face, looking for something. "Sometimes I think you actually believe you're God."
"Not God." I press closer, feeling her nipples harden against my chest through the thin shirt. "Just someone who loves you enough to rewrite reality if it keeps you safe."
Her breath hitches, and I capture her mouth with mine, pouring all my need into the kiss. She tastes like wine and garlic and home, her tongue sliding against mine as her hands fist in my shirt. My cock presses against her belly through our clothes, and she moans into my mouth.
"Bedroom," she gasps when we break for air.
"Here," I say, lifting her onto the counter. "Right here where you cooked for me, where you're wearing my shirt, where you smell like my apartment and my life."
I push the shirt up, revealing she's wearing nothing underneath. Her pussy glistens, already wet, and the sight makes me groan. I drop to my knees, spreading her thighs wider, breathing in the scent of her arousal mixed with my laundry detergent on the shirt.
"Adrian," she moans as my tongue finds her clit. "Fuck, we just ate dinner…"
"Now I'm having dessert," I growl against her pussy, sucking her clit while my fingers slide inside her. She's soaking wet, clenching around me already. "This perfect pussy that belongs to me. That drips for me even when you're cooking fish."
She laughs, then the laugh becomes a moan as I curl my fingers to hit that spot inside her. I feast on her pussy like a man starved. The taste of her, the way she rocks against my face, the sounds she makes. All of it drowning out thoughts of threats and investigations.
When she comes, it's with my name on her lips and her thighs trembling around my head. I stand, fumbling with my belt, needing to be inside her now. She helps, shoving my pants down, wrapping her hand around my cock.
"Inside me," she demands. "Now, Adrian."
I thrust into her in one smooth stroke, both of us groaning at the connection.
Even after a week of this, the feel of her pussy gripping my cock makes my vision blur.
I fuck her on my kitchen counter, her nails digging into my shoulders, our bodies finding that rhythm that makes everything else disappear.
She gasps, then she's coming again, clenching so tight around my cock that I follow immediately, filling her with my cum while she pulses around me.
We stay joined, breathing hard, her legs still wrapped around my waist. Her fingers trace lazy patterns on my back under my shirt.
"Feel better?" she asks, pressing a kiss to my jaw.
"Always better inside you," I admit, then softer, "Always better when you're here."
I pull my long coat around my woman’s shoulders to cover her half-nakedness, then we go downstairs to the parking garage.
We take my car to the surveillance apartment for the night.
This is our pattern now. Three spaces in rotation, never settling fully in one.
She doesn't question it anymore, this nomadic intimacy we've built.
My hand rests on her thigh as I drive, fingers tracing patterns on her bare skin.
Inside apartment 4B, I pull out the sketches I've been working on. Spread them across the coffee table while she curls into the couch, my shirt riding up her thighs, the scent of sex still clinging to her skin.
"What's this?" She leans forward, and I catch a glimpse of her pussy, still swollen from my mouth.
"A possibility." I sit beside her, pull her against my side, point to the designs with one hand while the other traces her hip. "Both apartments. This one, yours next door, plus maybe one or two more from this floor. Connected."
Her finger follows the planned doorways, the walls that would come down. "You want to turn four apartments into one? How will you buy them? Rosie and Leonie in 4D definitely won’t sell."
I look at her blankly, surprised she hasn’t already figured it out. “I already own them. I own the whole building.”
She stares at me a beat. “You absolute fucker.”
I smirk at her, getting hard.
“You absolute fucker of a psychotic stalker.”
In one movement, I pin her down on the couch, my bodyweight over hers, wrists above her head. The tip of my dick rests right at her entrance, and if I wasn’t wearing pants I’d already be inside her.
“Enough dirty talk, carina.”
“This isn’t dirty talk, you psycho. This is anger.”
But her legs part slightly and my hard cock pushes inside her slightly. I can feel her arousal making my trousers wet.
I lean forward and nip her lip, not quite hard enough to draw blood.
“We’ll knock down some walls. Add internal doors. We’ll keep the apartment above La Sirena too, but this will be our main place. So I never have to wonder where you are, because you'll always be somewhere that's ours."
"That's…" She stops, something flickering across her face. "Adrian, that's insane."
"Is it?"