71 | I crave her
The study is a tomb of dark wood and leather, my father's legacy pressing down on me from every corner.
I'm seated in his old chair, papers spread before me, contracts and numbers that demand my attention, but my mind's a traitor, slipping away from the ink and figures to a place it's been trapped for days: the kitchen, the moonlight, Aurelia's breath inches from mine.
That almost-kiss, the one that should've happened, haunts me like a fever, burning through every thought, every moment, until I'm drowning in her without a single touch.
I lean back, my pen tapping the desk, useless against the flood of her in my head.
Her golden eyes play on a loop, the way they widened when I brushed her lip, the way she leaned into me, unafraid for once.
I can still feel her, the heat of her cheek under my fingers, the pulse in her neck racing for me, and it's driving me mad, this need that's more than want, more than love.
It's obsession, raw and consuming, a hunger to claim every piece of her, to make her mine in ways I haven't dared yet.
I crave her.
I crave her laugh, her defiance, the way she says my name like it's a challenge and a prayer, and it's a fire I can't put out, don't want to.
My eyes drift to the papers, but they blur because I'm seeing her instead, her red dress from the beach, short and swaying, hugging her curves in a way that made my hands itch to tear it off.
I imagine it now, filthy thoughts crowding my mind: pinning her against the wall, the fabric ripping under my fingers, her gasps filling the air as I take her, hard and desperate, her nails digging into my back.
Or slower, kissing her until we're both breathless, her lips swollen, her body arching into mine, giving herself to me as completely as I'd give myself to her.
I want her like that and the thought alone has my blood pounding, my grip tightening on the pen until it snaps.
I drop the broken pieces on the desk, dragging a hand through my hair, and lean forward, elbows on the desk, trying to anchor myself.
But it's useless.
She's in my veins, my bones, rewriting me with every memory, her smile at the picnic, her hand in mine on the stairs, the way she stayed after I confessed, didn't run, didn't break.
That night in the kitchen, I was so close, so fucking close, to tasting her, to sealing us in a way words can't.
Her lips were right there, soft, parted, and I felt it, the pull, the moment we could've crossed into something new, something irreversible.
Then that damn servant walked in, and it was gone, leaving me with this ache, this need that's eating me alive.
I want all of her, and I want to give her all of me, every scarred, broken piece, every secret I've kept.
I'd lay my empire at her feet, burn it down if she asked, just to see her look at me the way she did that night, like she might want me too.
That almost-kiss was a promise, a glimpse of what we could be, and now it's all I can think about, all I crave.
The study's too quiet, the papers mocking me with their demands, and I shove them aside, standing to pace the room.
My shirt feels too tight, my skin too hot, because I'm picturing her again, here, now, in this room.
I'd lift her onto the desk, scatter these useless documents, and kiss her until she's gasping, until she's as lost in me as I am in her.
I'd trace every curve, learn every sound she makes, worship her like she deserves, like she's my fucking salvation.
My hands flex, needing to touch her, to feel her skin under my fingers, her pulse racing for me, only me.
I stop by the window, staring out at the estate's dark grounds, but it's her I see, her freckles, her golden eyes, the way she'd blush if she knew the thoughts running through my head.
She's changed me, and I'm not the man I was before her, old, detached, living for power. Now I live for her, for the chance to make her smile, to earn her trust, her love.
That night in the kitchen, I saw it, a crack in her walls, a moment where she might've let me in, and I'll wait, I'll fight, for as long as it takes to get there again.
I want to kiss her until we're both out of air, want to fuck her until the world fades, but more than that, I want her heart, her forever, because without her, I'm nothing.
The door creaks, and I turn, half-expecting her, my pulse spiking at the thought.
But it's just a guard, murmuring about a shipment, and I wave him off, my voice colder than it should be.
I'm alone again, the study closing in, and I sink back into the chair, my mind still on her.
That almost-kiss is a wound, a tease of what I need, and I'll chase it, I chase heruntil she's mine, body and soul.