He knelt beside the bed, his gaze lingering on the delicate beauty revealed before him. He reached out, his touch feather-light as he unhooked the clasp of her bra. Her breasts, soft and full, spilled into his waiting hands. A low groan escaped his lips as he caressed them, his thumbs teasing the sensitive peaks until they tightened beneath his touch. He lowered his head, his mouth closing over one swollen nipple, and Elira cried out, a soft, breathless
"Oh, Lucien..." as her body arched against his.
His hands roamed freely, exploring the silken expanse of her skin, tracing the curve of her waist, the flare of her hips, the delicate line of her inner thigh. Every touch was an exploration, an awakening of senses long dormant.
His fingers dipped lower, finding the heat and moisture that pulsed with her desire. Elira's breath hitched, a soft gasp escaping her lips as her hips lifted instinctively against his touch. He whispered against her skin, his voice husky with passion,
"Call my name, Elira. Tell me you want me."
"I want you, Lucien," she gasped, her voice trembling, a raw plea.
And then his mouth followed his fingers, his tongue a flickering flame igniting a firestorm within her. Waves of pleasure washed over Elira, so intense they stole her breath. She arched her back, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.
"Ah, Lucien... oh, yes..." Her moans echoed in the stillness of the night, a symphony of burgeoning desire that mingled with their ragged breathing. The air grew thick with unspoken promises, with the scent of aroused skin and rising heat.
Finally, Lucien shifted, his body hovering over hers. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with a mixture of apprehension and unbridled longing as she saw the rigid length of his desire. A flicker of doubt crossed her face, quickly replaced by a fierce yearning.
"Hurry, Lucien," she whispered, her voice thick with anticipation. "Make me feel you."
He entered her slowly, with infinite care, his gaze searching hers for any sign of pain. There was a sharp intake of breath from Elira, a moment of tender discomfort, quickly followed by a soft sigh as their bodies adjusted, finding a primal rhythm. The initial tightness gave way to a stretching fullness, and then, a burgeoning wave of pleasure began to build, eclipsing the fleeting discomfort.
Lucien began to move, a slow, deliberate rhythm at first, then building, gathering momentum. Each thrust was deep, searching, meeting her eager responses.
"God, Elira," he groaned, his voice hoarse, "You feel so good."
Elira's fingers dug into his back, pulling him closer, her hips arching to meet his every powerful stroke.
"More... oh, more, Lucien!" she panted, her voice breathless.
"Faster!" Their breaths mingled, ragged gasps and soft moans filling the room, each sound a testament to the raw, escalating pleasure.
"Yes... just like that... ah!" The bed creaked softly in time with their movements, a rhythmic beat against the quiet night. He watched her face, eyes heavy-lidded with ecstasy, her lips parted in a silent cry.
The intensity grew with every forceful penetration, a primal dance of desire that consumed them both. The night, once silent, now throbbed with the rhythm of their entwined bodies, a testament to a desire finally, passionately, unleashed.
______________________
ELIRA's POV
I woke up late, the room was already warmed by the sun's high overhead. Lucien was still there, lying beside me with his arm draped loosely around my waist, as if holding on to some fragile thread that tethered him to me. For a moment, I just lay still, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath my fingertips, the quiet rhythm a contrast to the storm that had been swirling inside me for so long.
He opened his eyes slowly, as if waking from a deep sleep or a dream he wasn't quite ready to leave. When our gazes met, there was something in his look — softer, more uncertain — that caught me off guard.
"You slept in," he said quietly, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"I needed to," I murmured, my voice still rough from sleep and the emotions I hadn't yet sorted through. "More than I realized."
He shifted, pushing himself up on one elbow, the weight of him suddenly feeling less like a burden and more like an anchor. "I'm making coffee," he said. "Want some?"
I nodded, sitting up slowly, aware of how close he still was. The air between us was thick with unspoken things — the memory of last night, the questions that now hung heavier than before. Somehow, in this quiet morning moment, the space felt smaller, but less suffocating.
He left the room, and I took a breath, running my hands through my hair, trying to settle the rush of thoughts. Last night played in my mind in fragments — the heat of his lips, the sharp intake of breath, the way his hands memorized every curve, the softness beneath the fierce hunger. But it wasn't just physical. It was something else. Something fragile and terrifying.
When Lucien returned, he carried two steaming mugs, the scent of coffee filling the air. He handed me one and settled beside me on the bed again, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body.
For a few moments, we just sat there, sipping quietly, the silence no longer heavy but comfortable — a fragile truce between two people still trying to understand what had shifted.
Finally, he broke the silence. "Last night… I wasn't sure if you wanted me to stay or go. If this was something real or just…" His voice faltered.
I met his eyes, searching for the truth behind his hesitation. "It was real," I said softly. "More real than I expected."
He swallowed hard, running a hand through his hair. "I don't usually do this — open up, I mean. But with you, it feels different. Scary, but real."
A pang of something fierce and unexpected bloomed inside me. "Me too. I'm scared, Lucien. Scared of what this means. But also… hopeful. Like maybe there's a chance for something better."
He looked at me then, fully and without pretense. "I want that chance," he said. "If you'll have me."
I smiled, a real smile that felt like sunlight breaking through clouds. "I will."
We talked then, slowly peeling back layers — about fears, regrets, what we wanted and what we didn't. About how last night wasn't just an escape, but a beginning. For the first time, I felt like I wasn't alone in this — like maybe, just maybe, Lucien and I could find something stronger than the ghosts that haunted us.
Hours passed unnoticed until finally, the world outside started calling us back — the day waiting with its challenges, its dangers. But in that moment, wrapped in each other's quiet warmth, the future seemed a little less daunting.
The sun hung high above the horizon by the time they left the villa, the midday heat softened by a gentle breeze that rustled the trees. Elira wore a soft linen dress Isabelle picked out for her, light and flowy, while Lucien, in a relaxed white shirt and beige trousers, looked less like the cold executive and more like someone capable of softness.
They walked through a vast park not far from their villa, a hidden gem surrounded by flowering trees and shaded trails. It was peaceful. Children's laughter echoed from the distance, a couple jogged past them, and old folks sat by benches, feeding birds or talking softly.
Lucien didn't say much at first. His hand brushed against Elira's. For a moment, neither reached. Then Elira gently looped her fingers through his. He looked down, slightly surprised, then held on tighter.
"I forgot what fresh air felt like," Elira murmured.
"You've been surviving for so long, not really living," he said.
They found a quiet spot under a tree. Lucien laid down the thin blanket he brought and set down a small basket. "You brought food?" Elira blinked.
"I'm not completely useless outside the boardroom," he said, giving her a small smile.
Inside were sandwiches, fruit, and pastries. They sat under the shade, sharing bites and stories. Lucien told her about a time in Italy when he nearly got arrested for jumping a private vineyard fence as a teenager. Elira laughed—genuinely laughed—and Lucien watched her like he was trying to memorize the sound.
After lunch, they strolled around the park, sometimes in silence, sometimes in low whispers. Lucien took photos of her when she wasn't looking. Elira caught him once and stuck her tongue out, then posed exaggeratedly. They both burst into laughter.
They bought ice cream from a small cart. Elira got vanilla; Lucien picked coffee. He teased her about her choice, and she retaliated by smudging a bit of ice cream on his nose. For once, Lucien didn't scowl—he only leaned forward and whispered, "You'll pay for that later."
They passed a small pond with ducks swimming in lazy circles. Elira watched them with a soft gaze. Lucien stayed close, his hand still holding hers.
"I could stay here forever," she said.
He didn't respond right away. Instead, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "Then let's make every moment count."
They stayed until the sun began to lower. On their way back to the villa, the air had grown cooler. Lucien wrapped his arm around her, and Elira leaned into him, her head resting on his shoulder.
No guards, no enemies, no past traumas—just them.
And maybe, just maybe, a beginning.