The morning light spilled softly through the curtains, pale and diffused, carrying with it that quiet, wintry stillness where the world outside felt hushed, as though wrapped in frost and distant breath. The air held a faint chill, the kind that lingered even after the night had passed, brushing lightly against the skin before the warmth of the room could chase it away.
Alexander was awake.
He hadn’t moved.
His gaze rested on the woman lying beside him, as though the mont itself had stilled him into silence.
Roxana.
Her blonde hair was scattered across his pillow, strands of gold catching the faint light, a stark contrast against the dark sheets that still carried his scent. It was a sight that felt strangely intimate, almost unreal, like sothing he wasn’t ant to witness, yet couldn’t bring himself to look away from.
She had fallen asleep the mont they returned.
He rembered how exhausted she had been, how her steps had slowed, how she had barely said a word before disappearing to change. Of course, he watched her got into his clothes, and then, when she returned from the bathroom, she hadn’t even made it past the edge of the bed before sleep claid her completely.
He had let her.
Now, she lay there, untouched by the world, wrapped loosely in one of his shirts. The fabric draped over her fra in a way it was never ant to, slipping just enough to reveal the line of her shoulder, the softness of her collarbone. Her legs were left bare beneath the hem, carelessly uncovered, as though modesty had simply not mattered in her exhaustion.
Alexander’s eyes lingered.
Not in hunger.
Not yet.
But in sothing quieter. Sothing deeper.
A kind of admiration that ca without thought.
His gaze drifted slowly, almost involuntarily, until it settled on her lips—soft, relaxed in sleep, parted just enough to draw his attention and hold it there longer than it should have.
He exhaled slowly, the breath leaving him heavier than before.
Last night had ended too quickly. Or perhaps... it had ended too soon.
Because now... Now she was here.
On his bed, wearing his clothes, close enough that he could reach out and touch her without effort.
And sothing shifted in him—subtle, but undeniable.
Alexander’s gaze lingered for a mont longer before his hand finally moved.
Slowly... almost thoughtfully... his fingers brushed against her foot.
The contact was light, barely there, yet deliberate enough to send a faint reaction through her body. He watched it happen... the subtle shift, the way her toes curled slightly before relaxing again, and sothing in his expression softened with quiet satisfaction.
He didn’t stop.
His finger traced upward, unhurried, gliding along the line of her ankle and over the smooth length of her leg, as though he were reacquainting himself with sothing he already knew too well. The movent was patient, indulgent, each inch taken with quiet precision.
Roxana stirred.
Not awake, just... aware.
Her leg twitched under his touch, a small, involuntary response that didn’t escape him. His lips curved faintly at the corner, the expression slow and knowing, as his hand continued upward until it reached her waist, where it paused.
For a heartbeat, he simply rested his hand there, feeling and rembering that familiar feeling.
And then... Roxana’s eyes opened.
There was no confusion in them. No haze of sleep.
Only him.
"Alexander..." she murmured, not resisting.
Alexander didn’t pull back. If anything, his smile deepened slightly, sothing warr settling into his gaze as he resud his slow, deliberate movent. His fingers shifted, brushing lightly over the fabric of his shirt draped over her, and then, without breaking eye contact, he began to undo the buttons.
One.
Then another.
Unhurried. Intentional.
Roxana didn’t move.
She simply watched him.
Her gaze didn’t waver, didn’t soften; it deepened, darkened, drinking him in with a quiet hunger that matched the restraint in his movents. The fabric loosened gradually beneath his hands, parting just enough to reveal glimpses of skin, the rise and fall of her breathing, the subtle tension building between them.
By the ti the shirt opened further, exposing the line of her waist and the softness beneath, her breath had already changed.
And when his hand moved higher... to her chest... When his knuckles brushed, just barely, on her soft skin, where the fabric parted...
Her back arched.
A soft, involuntary reaction that neither of them ignored.
Alexander’s eyes darkened, but his voice, when he spoke, was warm and almost indulgent.
"You used to love when I do this..."
He leaned closer as he said it, his hand settling firmly at the small of her waist, grounding her even as his lips found her neck. The kiss was slow, deliberate, lingering just long enough to draw a soft sound from her before he moved again.
Roxana rolled onto her back, her fingers sliding into his hair, holding, just enough to keep him close. A quiet moan slipped from her lips, unguarded, as his mouth traced a path along her neck, his touch shifting, exploring, familiar in a way that made her body respond without hesitation.
Her legs lifted, wrapping around his waist as though it were instinct, as though it had always been.
"You rember..." she murmured, her voice softer now, threaded with sothing deeper than teasing.
Alexander didn’t answer.
He only smirked.
And then he moved again, slower this ti, more deliberate as he leaned in until there was barely any space left between them. His nose brushed against hers, his breath warm against her lips, close enough that she could feel it, anticipate it.
Roxana’s lips parted slightly, her eyes fluttering shut as she waited... But the kiss never ca.
Seconds passed.
When she opened her eyes again, he was still there. Still watching her.
His hand had shifted, cupping the side of her face now, his thumb brushing lightly along her cheek in a slow, almost absent motion. There was sothing in his gaze—sothing deeper than desire, sothing steadier, as if he were savoring not just the mont... but her.
And still, he didn’t close the distance.
Instead, his gaze held hers, steady and unreadable, his breath still warm against her lips.
"I’ve applied for the marriage license," he said quietly, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. "We can get married today, if you want."
Roxana blinked, the words cutting through the haze far more effectively than any touch.
User Comments
0 comments from readers