The click of the lock shutting the rest of the world out was the only sound in the apartment. For a long moment, they just stood in the entryway, the tension of the evening—the lingering glances over dinner, the brush of his hand against hers in the taxi—stretching between them like a tangible thread.
He moved first. Not a rush, but a slow, deliberate closure of the space between them. His hand came to rest on the small of her back, the warmth of his palm seeping through the thin silk of her dress. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her own hands finding their way to the solid wall of his chest. Beneath the crisp cotton of his shirt, she could feel the steady, heavy beat of his heart. Or was that hers?
“Eliza,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her. It wasn’t a question, but an affirmation.
She tilted her head back, her eyes meeting his. The city lights filtering through the window painted him in silver and shadow, catching the earnest, hungry look in his eyes. This was the look she had been waiting for, the one that stripped away all pretense.
The first kiss wasn’t fiery; it was a discovery. It was slow and deep, a conversation without words that spoke of patience and profound longing. It tasted of the wine they’d shared and something more, something uniquely him.
His fingers tangled in her hair, tilting her head as he deepened the kiss. A current, low and electric, began to build at the base of her spine. His other hand slid from her back, his thumb tracing the curve of her hip in a way that made her gasp softly against his lips.
He broke the kiss only to press his forehead against hers, his breathing as unsteady as her own. “I’ve imagined this,” he confessed, his voice thick. “Every version of this.”
A slow smile touched her lips. “Show me your favorite,” she whispered.
That was all the invitation he needed. With a motion that was both tender and possessive, he led her toward the bedroom. The journey was a series of stolen touches and breathless kisses. The zipper of her dress felt impossibly loud in the quiet room, the sound a final surrender. The silk pooled at her feet, and she saw the sharp intake of his breath as his eyes drank her in. He didn’t look at her like an object, but like a masterpiece he was seeing for the first time.
Her fingers, now trembling slightly, went to the buttons of his shirt. He stood perfectly still, letting her undress him, his gaze a brand on her skin. When his shirt was gone, she splayed her palms against his chest, reveling in the heat and the hard muscle beneath. She mapped the lines of his shoulders, the dip of his collarbone, learning him by touch.
They tumbled onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and soft laughter that quickly quieted into something more profound. Propped on an elbow, he looked down at her, his expression a mixture of awe and raw desire. He lowered his head, not to her lips, but to the hollow of her throat, his mouth tracing a slow, searing path downward over her collarbone, across the swell of her breast. Every nerve ending came alight. She wasn’t just being touched; she was being worshipped.
Her hands roamed his back, her nails scraping lightly, eliciting a low groan from him that she felt in her very bones. The world dissolved, narrowing to the space of the bed, to the scent of his skin and the sound of their mingled breathing.
There was a moment of perfect, suspended stillness as he finally moved over her. A silent question in his eyes, an answer in hers. And then, he was home.
It wasn’t a collision, but a perfect, exquisite joining. A slow, deliberate rhythm that began with whispered promises and built into a frantic, glorious cadence. It was her name, a prayer on his lips, and his, a gasp on hers. The gentle friction and building heat were secondary to the feeling of being utterly seen, of two separate melodies finally finding their harmony. The crescendo was not a loss of control, but a shared release—a bright, blinding wave that washed over them, leaving them breathless and anchoring them to each other in the quiet aftermath.
Lying tangled in the sheets, his arm a heavy, comforting weight across her waist, she felt the frantic beat of his heart slowly steady against her back. He pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder blade, his voice a low rumble against her ear, thick with contentment.
“Stay.”
And in the soft, silent dark, she knew she would.
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