37. CHAPTER 34
Orion
There is a specific kind of gravity that exists only after you’ve finally touched the sun. It anchors you directly to the earth while your soul is still burning.
That was us lying here... still burning from the intensity of a surrender neither of us saw coming.
Our breaths ragged, my cock still buried inside her, softening but reluctant to leave the heat of her body. I didn’t pull out right away—couldn’t. Every slow throb of her around me felt like a seal, a claim I’d just inked into her life and mine in a way neither of us could reverse.
Sweat cooled on our skin. The faint metallic tang of blood threaded with sex lingered in the air as undeniable proof of what I’d taken, and what she’d given.
Her chest rose and fell against mine, soft breasts pressed to my torso, her nipples still tight against my skin.
Her warm fingers remained at the nape of my neck like she’d forgotten to let go.
I propped myself on my forearms, careful not to crush her, and looked.
Skin glowing. Lips swollen from my kisses.
Eyes heavy-lidded, still hazy with aftershocks.
Her hair had come entirely loose from the ponytail, spilling around her like a dark halo on my pillow.
Léonie Fernández-Kade, the chaos in my carefully controlled existence, now lying beneath me with my mark inside her.
Somehow, in six months, this woman who argued for sport, and glared like it was a language she personally invented, had slipped into every space I’d sworn was off-limits.
She wasn’t just beautiful. She was every corrosive thing I’d spent years avoiding: tenderness, hope, and an insatiable hunger for the very things that could ruin me.
My hand lifted almost on its own accord. I brushed my thumb across her cheek, wiping away the faint trace of a dried tear I hadn’t noticed before.
“Léa—” My voice came out rougher than I’ve ever heard it before. “You’re rewriting everything I thought I knew.”
Her gaze sharpened a little at that, searching my face like she was trying to decide if she’d misheard me. I held it anyway.
I’d never believed in love the way people packaged it anyway. It was a currency, a tool, a story old men told themselves to soften the sting of sacrifice. Legacy made sense. Power did. Love did not.
Yet, here I was, compromised.
The weight of her body on mine terrified me more than the collapse of the legacy I was born to protect. I was supposed to be the architect of our future, but I was realizing I’d give it up in a heartbeat if it meant keeping her safe.
I questioned my own sanity as I watched her breathe. I had spent years being the coldest man in the room, and now I was ready to burn the world down to keep her warm. It was a madness I didn’t recognize. Total fucking madness. But I rather it, than not have her at all.
I held her tighter and she melted into my touch.
“You’ve got me chasing after things I didn’t think I’d ever want.” I admitted in a low breath. “I don’t know if I can let you go now… and God help the man who ever tries to make me.”
It wasn’t a declaration, or a promise of true love. It was the closest thing to an admission a man like me knew how to make, acknowledging that something in me had given way, and I didn’t know how to force it back into place.
Warmth and surprise danced in her eyes. She held my upper arm and squeezed, pulling me a fraction closer confirming she’d heard every word I’d said, even the ones I hadn’t said out loud.
The confession hung heavy and real between us, my pulse loud in my ears.
I pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, breathing her in, then finally eased out of her with a gentle slide.
A mix of blood and slick trailed down her thigh, vivid on her skin.
Guilt gnarled at me briefly, but it was tangled with something darker, and more primal.
The knowledge that this was ours. That she’d let me be the one to claim her without holding back.
“Stay here.”I said to her, then made my way to the bathroom.
The tiles were cool beneath my feet, a stark contrast to the heat of the bed, and the one still burning in my veins.
I turned on the tap in the tub, letting warm water flow into the deep basin.
I reached for the vanilla-and-white-floral bath gel sitting unused on the shelf near the tub. I’d instructed Mrs. Lewis to add it to the bathroom inventory weeks ago while I waited, knowing eventually a night would come when my wife finally ends up here.
I poured a small measure under the stream, watching as the surface frothed with soft bubbles and a sweet scent.
The simple, domestic rhythm of it—water, steam, scent—shouldn’t have felt so important. Yet it felt like the most significant thing I’d done in years.
I was a man who moved mountains and brokered businesses, and here I was, meticulously checking the temperature of water for a girl who had dismantled me without even trying.
When the bath was ready, I went back in for her. She was sitting up now, clutching the sheet to her chest, her eyes moving from the faint stains on my linen to the door as I re-entered.
I fought back a smile. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this nervous. It was adorable.
I stopped at the edge of the bed, and for a long moment, our gazes held.
Her eyes were searching mine, looking for the stoic mask, but finding only the man she’d unearthed.
There was a pull between us so physical I could almost see it, I could taste it even.
An unspoken acknowledgement that everything between us had changed.
Before she could voice the question in her eyes, I leaned down, scooped her up, and gathered her easily into my chest.
Her arms looping around my neck, her head resting on my shoulder, trusting me not to drop her. It was a devastating kind of trust. She didn’t know that while I was holding her up, she was the one still pulling me under.
And I knew deep down that there was no version of my life from this moment on that didn’t have her at the center of it. Contract or no contract. Heir or no heir. I wasn’t letting go.
Ever.
LéONIE
I’d never felt more vulnerable in my life.
Not just naked, but seen. Truly, terrifyingly seen by this man who held my life in his hands as easily as he held my body.
The cold air kissing my skin was nothing compared to the way his gaze stripped back every layer I had left until there was nowhere left to hide.
He carried me into the en-suite like I was made of nothing but air, the sheet sliding away despite my tight-knuckled grip.
I caught a glimpse of the bed as we passed, the white linen ruined by a vivid, rusty-red stain.
My stomach did a slow, dizzying roll. I’d always imagined what this moment would look like, but I hadn't expected the sheer, brutal evidence of it. It resembled a freaking crime scene.
It was the most violent and beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I was terrified of what came next, but as his arms tightened around me, I knew I’d rather be his casualty than anyone else's queen.
I tightened my hold on the sheet on instinct, trying to shield what I could of my bare body, and the worst of the stain. It was ridiculous, we’d just had sex, obviously he knew what happened, but modesty didn’t care for any of that.
He set me gently into the tub. Warm water lapped at my skin while the scent of vanilla drifted through the steam. My muscles sighed in relief from the heat before my brain caught up to it.
“Is the water warm enough?” he asked, kneeling beside the tub with an ease that'd make anyone think we did this every day.
“Yes,” I whispered, meaning far more than the water.
His lips spread in that smile I liked very much. The same one I loved hoarding whenever it appeared. It had a way of calming his eyes and smoothing the tension always etched into his features.
My heart did something stupid and uncoordinated in my chest.
It always altered something in his face. The guarded, dangerous man I knew gave way to glimpses of the boy he must have been before expectation hardened him. A selfish part of me liked that it seemed reserved for me alone.
“I messed up your sheets,” I blurted, needing the distraction from the way my body still ached and pulsed from what we had just done.
His fingers traced my cheek, featherlight, “We messed up my sheets.”
The tenderness in his voice coiled around my ribs and squeezed hard.
He said it like it was something to be proud of.
“I’ll have one of the housekeepers change them.”
Horror shot through me. “No—”
He caught the panic in my eyes immediately. As always, he never misses a thing.
That smile flared again in all its warmth. “Relax,” he said. “I’ll take them to the machine myself.”
“You know how to use the washing machine?” I couldn’t help it; the tease slipped out, automatic.
His brows rose, amused. “Contrary to popular belief, I wasn’t born in a boardroom,” he drawled. “I survived university. I know what a spin cycle is.”
I snorted, then winced when the laugh pulled at tender muscles. His hand slid to the side of my neck, his thumb tracing my pulse.
“Stay.” He leaned in to press a soft kiss to my lips. “I’ll be back. Don’t overthink anything.”
Too late, I thought as he stood—still gloriously bare, all long lines and hard muscle, the dim light reflecting on the ridges of his abdomen.
He was… obscene.
Dark hair, darker eyes, broad shoulders that carried power with careless ease, and a body carved into lethal symmetry.
I’d seen shirtless men before. Runway models, campaign shoots, the occasional holiday pool pictures, but nothing prepared me for seeing him like this, stripped of his defenses and utterly confident in the skin beneath it.
No surprise he was. Look at him.
Leaning forward, I caught a glimpse of him pulling the stained sheets free with efficient movements, folding them in on themselves until the evidence of our first time disappeared into the white cotton.
Then, true to his word, he disappeared out the door with an armful of linen like a man on a mission.