POV - Elena
The knock on the door came just as I was lighting a candle — a small, nervous gesture, something to make the apartment feel less empty.
I took a deep breath before opening it.
And there he was.
James stood in the hallway, casual for once — dark jeans, a soft shirt rolled at the sleeves, a paper bag in one hand and that smile that seemed to undo me molecule by molecule.
"Dinner," he said simply, lifting the bag slightly. "The best pizza in the city. And before you say anything — yes, I checked."
I laughed, stepping aside to let him in. "You really didn't have to—"
"I did," he interrupted gently. "No dishes. No distractions. Just us."
The way he said just us made my breath catch.
He set the box on the table, the smell of warm dough and basil filling the room, and for a moment, it was almost too normal — two people having pizza after work.
Except nothing about us felt normal.
We sat side by side on the sofa, plates balanced on our knees, laughing about something trivial — I don't even remember what. But every time he looked at me, my chest tightened.
The candlelight caught the flecks of silver in his eyes, and the air between us thickened until it felt like gravity itself was tilting.
At one point, I leaned forward to grab another slice, and our fingers brushed.
It was nothing — a simple touch.
But it wasn't.
It was electric.
Warmth bloomed through me like the rush after a deep breath held too long.
I froze. So did he.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then he exhaled softly, his voice rougher than before. "Elena…"
I looked up — and whatever I saw in his eyes made my heart stutter.
He looked at me like he was standing at the edge of something beautiful and dangerous all at once.
Like he was fighting every instinct to stay still.
He reached up, slowly, his hand brushing a strand of hair from my face.
His touch lingered — fingers tracing the curve of my jaw, the corner of my mouth.
"I keep telling myself to take it slow," he said quietly. "To be careful. But when I'm near you…" He stopped, shaking his head, as if the words themselves failed him.
I could barely breathe. "James…"
His thumb rested lightly against my cheek, and before I could think, I leaned into it.
That was all it took.
He moved closer — so close that his breath brushed my lips.
For a moment, we both hesitated — the world holding perfectly still — and then, as if pulled by something neither of us could fight, he kissed me.
It wasn't rushed.
It wasn't cautious either.
It was inevitable.
The kind of kiss that steals thought, that erases time, that feels like it's been waiting for centuries to happen.
His hand slid to the back of my neck, gentle but firm, guiding me closer; mine found his shoulder, then the fabric of his shirt, warm under my fingers.
Every heartbeat seemed to echo between us, syncing until I couldn't tell which was his and which was mine.
He pulled back just a fraction — enough for our foreheads to touch, our breaths mingling in the charged stillness.
"This," he whispered, voice unsteady, "this shouldn't feel like this."
"It does," I breathed. "It does, and I don't want it to stop."
He closed his eyes, exhaling a shaky laugh. "You'll be the end of my self-control."
"Maybe that's not such a bad thing."
That earned me a smile — slow, helpless, honest.
He leaned in again, another kiss, deeper this time, slower. The kind that says I see you. I need you. I'll wait for you.
The sensations he stirred in me awakened something raw and ancient — a desire I couldn't name, a sudden, aching need to claim him as mine.
I reached for his face as if his touch were the air I needed to breathe. My fingers traced his jaw, memorizing him, grounding myself in the reality of his warmth.
When our eyes met, everything else disappeared.
Control shattered. Thought vanished.
And before I could stop myself, I kissed him — deep, desperate, consuming — as if my life, my soul, depended on that single breath between us.
I sit on his lap, I can't help it. Something inside me tells me this man in front of me is mine. As I kiss him, I go straight for his belt. I don't even know when I became so uninhibited, but I can't help it.
His hands go from my face to my waist, his breathing is labored just like mine, but I know.. I feel.. he wants this as much as I do.
I unbutton his pants and, leaving them that way, pull on his shirt, taking it off effortlessly. I kiss his neck. Oh god, his scent is mesmerizing. The man is perfect, how did I get so lucky? My hips grind against him, and I hear a growl that sends shivers down my spine.
His hands, with a sense of urgency, go straight to my top and tear it off effortlessly. I'm left breathless. His hands go straight to my ass, squeezing it with a desire that makes me throb and moan.
God, God, God.
What is happening to me? This passion is killing me.
He stands us up so he can take off my pants. And with them comes my thong. I'm completely naked, and all I can think is that I want this man naked too. I start to try to take off his pants, but he does it for me, making the job easier.
My breathing is completely out of control, my senses heightened in a way I can't even explain. He sits on the sofa, and I sit on his lap. One leg on either side of his waist, insanely wet, feeling the cool breeze blow inside my boiling entrance. I begin to rub myself against him as he kisses my neck and his teeth graze my skin. If our first time had been more delicate... I already felt that this time we would release all the tension inside us. My heart was even skipping beats. I grabbed his manhood and put him inside me. He growled, moaned... I don't even know what came over me. But I wanted him inside me. I moaned wildly as I made rhythmic movements on top of him, calculated movements, even if primitive, but this man is mine. I'm going to give you pleasure like no one has ever given you. He kissed my breasts and gave them light bites between moans.
I whisper softly, "I'm all yours, James. Enjoy all you want."
His eyes widened, almost in shock. He gasped for air. One second he was beneath me, and the next I was on my knees on the sofa, bis one hand gripping my throat and the other on my hipbone. He kissed me wildly, almost animalistically, from behind my neck, and thrust inside me. I moaned.
He fucks me from behind at a pace I knew would be sore tomorrow.
I couldn't stop moaning, and he groaned and growled as he grabbed both my arms behind my back. He didn't stop, his scent made me so wet, I just wanted this man inside me forever.
With one hand, he holds both my arms behind my back, and with the other, he searches for my entrance... the sensitive spot that would drive me wild. And when he finds it, he doesn't stop. He only stops when he sees me scream and moan with pleasure, my heart pounding and my breathing ragged. As I reach my climax, I hear him groan in a way that makes my legs lose the strength. He's reached his release too, and I feel the heat inside me, then trickling down the inside of my thighs. We stay like that for a minute or two. until we regain our breath and strength. He turns me to face him and kisses me passionately.
…
The room was still.
Only the sound of our breathing lingered, slow and uneven, the rhythm of two people learning how to exist again after the world had stopped.
The candles had burned low, pools of wax glimmering on the table, the faint scent of smoke mingling with him — that scent of cedar and storm that would never leave me again.
We were on the sofa, tangled together in the half-light. My head rested against his shoulder, his arm wrapped around me, fingers tracing idle circles against my skin. Neither of us spoke. We didn't need to. The silence was full of meaning — the kind of silence that hums with everything words could never hold.
I felt his chest rise and fall beneath my cheek, the steady beat of his heart, strong and certain. Mine tried to match it, still a little unsteady, still learning the new rhythm we had created together.
He shifted slightly, turning toward me. His hand came up to cup the back of my neck, his thumb brushing the edge of my jaw. Then he leaned forward until our foreheads touched.
The world narrowed to that single point of contact.
His breath mingled with mine. Warm. Real.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low, rough — not the voice of the CEO, or the man who commanded every room he entered. This was someone stripped bare.
"Elena…" he whispered.
I looked up, and our eyes met — silver and dark, two storms colliding quietly in the half-light.
"I love you."
The words fell between us like a spark in the dark — small, but enough to change everything.
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
I saw it in his eyes — the vulnerability, the truth, the weight of someone who had spent too long holding the world together and had finally found something worth letting it go for.
I reached up, touching his face, my thumb tracing the line of his cheek. My voice barely found itself, trembling but sure.
"I know," I whispered back. "I love you too."
He closed his eyes then, pressing his forehead harder against mine, his breath trembling out in a sigh that felt like relief and reverence all at once.
No grand speeches. No promises.
Just the sound of our hearts in the quiet room, the faint flicker of candlelight, and the unspoken truth that whatever came next — it would never be the same.
He pulled me closer, one arm around my waist, the other tangled in my hair, and I felt him exhale against my temple.
"Stay like this," he murmured.
"I'm not going anywhere," I breathed.
And we didn't move.
Not for a long time.
Outside, the night deepened, shadows and moonlight spilling through the windows, wrapping around us like a secret the world wasn't meant to hear.