"Are you going to offer me a drink," she murmured, "or is this where you tell me I should take my swimsuit off?"
His lips curled into something slow, something devastating. "Ah, bella…" His fingers tightened around hers, just enough to make her pulse stutter. "Who says I cannot do both?"
The salt spray kissed Emily’s sun-warmed skin as she paddled out, her arms slicing through the crystal-blue water in smooth, practiced strokes. The surfboard bobbed beneath her, rolling with the rhythm of the ocean, the steady rise and fall making her stomach flutter with anticipation. The wind tugged at her damp hair, salty and wild, whipping strands across her cheeks. She turned her gaze toward the horizon, where the deep blue met the endless sky, the sun blazing overhead, turning the water into molten gold. Her breath quickened when she saw it. A perfect wave swelling in the distance, curling just enough to promise the kind of ride that sent electricity through her veins.
Digging her hands into the water, she paddled hard, feeling the burn in her shoulders, the rush of blood through her limbs. The moment the wave lifted her, she pushed up, knees bent, body aligning instinctively with the shifting force beneath her. The wind roared past her ears as she rode the wave, the world narrowing to nothing but motion and sensation. Her toes curled against the smooth waxed surface of the board, adjusting to the rush of water beneath her. For a brief, breathless moment, she was flying, cutting through the wave-like she belonged to it, feeling the cool spray against her sun-heated skin. The scent of salt and brine filled her lungs, crisp and clean, tinged with the faintest trace of seaweed.
Then, as all waves do, it begins to collapse. She turned with it, angling herself just right before letting gravity take hold, diving into the warm embrace of the sea. The water engulfed her in a cool rush, bubbles fizzing around her ears, the world muffled and weightless. She felt her bikini top shift off of one breast but paid it no mind. When she surfaced, gasping, her laughter blended with the hiss of the retreating wave. She ran a hand over her face, slicking her hair back, and lay on her board for a moment, letting herself drift. She smiled as she recovered her breast. This tiny red suit was sexy but seemed to want her exposed. The sun was merciless, beating down on her exposed shoulders, the heat a sharp contrast to the cool ocean-hugging her limbs.
Finally, she kicked her legs, guiding the board toward shore, each stroke lazy, unhurried. As she reached the shallows, she slid off, the water lapping at her thighs as she grabbed her board and strode onto the beach. She knew she had gone far from the beach she started on but decided to relax for a bit before going back. The sand was scorching beneath her bare feet, a burning kiss that made her move quicker, the grains clinging to her wet skin. She found a spot where the tide had smoothed the beach into a soft, damp bed and dropped her board beside her. With a sigh, she sank onto her back, the heat of the sun licking over her as she stretched out, her limbs loose and heavy with satisfaction. She let the warmth seep into her, her breath slowing, the rhythmic crash of waves a lullaby against her ears.
The salt clung to her lips, her skin tight with the lingering kiss of the ocean. She inhaled deeply, tasting the briny air, sun-drenched, with just a hint of something richer, something unexpected. A prickle of awareness ran down Emily’s spine, subtle, but unmistakable. She wasn’t alone anymore. She kept her eyes closed at first, listening. She knew this area was safe, even for attractive women on their own. The waves rolled in steady pulses behind her, the rhythmic crash and retreat familiar and soothing. But beneath that, another sound, softer, more deliberate. Footsteps. Slow. Measured. Sand shifting underweight. She opened her eyes lazily, squinting against the sun as she propped herself up on her elbows. She enjoyed the way her breasts strained against the thin straps containing them.
There he was. Standing at the edge of the beach, just where the golden sand met the jagged rocks, watching her. The first thing she noticed was his height, tall, broad shoulders casting a long shadow in the late afternoon light. His linen shirt was unbuttoned, the fabric loose and teasing against his tanned chest, moving slightly in the breeze. He wore dark swim trunks, the cut sharp and expensive, clinging to powerful thighs. His stance was casual, one hand tucked in his pocket, the other holding a glass of something amber-colored that caught the sunlight. She did her best to appear like a sexy ocean goddess. Maybe it was working if the bulge in his trunks was caused by her.
But it was his face that held her attention. Strong jaw, dark stubble, a mouth that looked both firm and lazy, like he smiled only when he meant it. But his eyes were deep-set, dark, assessing. The way they were locked on her made heat curl low in her stomach. She realized she was staring, and that he hadn’t said a word. Neither had she. For a moment, the world held its breath. The breeze carried the scent of him toward her a woodsy cologne, rich and masculine, layered with something deeper, something like smoke and salt. It mixed with the ocean air, with the heated sand, with the tang of saltwater drying on her skin. A slow smirk curled the corner of his mouth.
"You always steal into private beaches like a little thief… or am I simply lucky today?" His voice was deep, honeyed with the unmistakable cadence of an Italian accent, smooth as the drink in his hand.
Emily tilted her head, suppressing a grin. "Didn’t see a sign."
"Ah, maybe you were not looking."
"Maybe I didn’t care. Do you?" She moved up onto her knees and folded her arms over her stomach. Framing her breasts, trying to tease him. His smirk deepened. He took a slow sip from his glass, his gaze never leaving hers. She let herself stretch, arching her back just enough to emphasize her curves. He watched the movement, his eyes darkening slightly, and the heat between them sharpened.
He exhaled, long and slow. "You look comfortable."
"I am."
"Ah, but I can give you something… much better, Bella." He said after a small pause. His voice was low, full of something unspoken. An invitation. A dare.
Emily let her gaze trail over him, slow and deliberate. "Is that so?"
He extended a hand toward her. "Come. Find out."
The breeze picked up, teasing the ends of her damp hair, carrying the scent of salt and something distinctly him. She didn’t hesitate. She pushed up onto her feet, shaking the sand from her hands. She made a show of brushing the sand from her body. Her suit even helped by once again slipping off of her breast. She pretended to be concerned and fixed it. She could see the bulge in his pants was bigger. The sun kissed her damp skin as she reached for his outstretched fingers, her own slipping easily into his warm, steady grip. And just like that, she followed him toward the house. Toward whatever came next. She really hoped it was a day of passionate sex.
The path to the house was a smooth stretch of white stone, warmed by the sun and edged with lush green foliage. The scent of salt and something floral hung in the air, mingling with the lingering notes of his cologne, rich, warm, and undeniably masculine. Emily let him lead, her fingers still curled around his. His grip was firm but unhurried as if he already knew she would follow. The house came into view. White-washed walls, open terraces draped with ivy, windows yawning toward the sea. It looked expensive but lived-in, touched by warmth rather than cold perfection. The kind of place a man like him could disappear to, far from the world.
She smirked, letting her gaze drift back to him. A place like this… he’s definitely used to company.
"So," she mused, her voice light, teasing. "How many women have you brought up this path?"
He didn’t falter, didn’t even glance at her. Just let out a quiet chuckle, deep in his chest. "Ah… only the attractive ones, cara." Her stomach flipped. He said it so casually like it was a simple fact rather than a compliment. Heat unfurled in her, not just from his words, but from the way he carried them, with a confidence that didn’t ask for permission. He was defiantly hoping to fuck her and she had no intention of making that hard. Well, he could be hard. She wanted him hard.
"Mmm. That’s a good line," she said, arching a brow. "Do they all fall for it?"
This time, he looked at her, eyes dark with amusement. "No." A beat. "But you will."
A spark of anticipation ran through her. She should have rolled her eyes and played it off. But she didn’t want to. No stupid games. He wanted her. She wanted him. Also, he was right. She already fell for his line. She already liked the way he spoke to her. So bold, unrushed, like he wasn’t testing the waters but claiming what he knew was his. Like she was meant to be here, walking into his house, letting him peel away whatever was left between them. God, she could feel it, that slow pull, the way her body was already tuned to his. She shifted her grip on his hand, sliding her fingers between his instead of around them, just to see if he would react. He did. His thumb brushed over hers in a lazy, deliberate. A small thing, but her breath hitched anyway.
"Confident, aren’t you?" she murmured.
"Should I not be?"
"You don't even know my name."
"What does a lady of the surf call herself." He said with a small smirk.
"Emily."
"Alexander."
They reached the terrace, and he finally stopped, turning to face her. His gaze dipped, just for a second, down the length of her, lingering where her swimsuit clung to damp skin. She let him look. Let him see what he would be touching soon. The air between them thickened, the space narrowing even though neither of them moved. Her heart beat a little harder as a tingle and heat built up within her. *I should say something smart. Keep teasing him. Make him chase me just a little longer.* She thought. But she didn’t. Because she wanted to know what would happen if she just… let him have her.
"Are you going to offer me a drink," she murmured, "or is this where you tell me I should take my swimsuit off?"
His lips curled into something slow, something devastating. "Ah, bella…" His fingers tightened around hers, just enough to make her pulse stutter. "Who says I cannot do both?"
Her breath caught. Oh. She was in trouble. And she didn’t care. The terrace opened up to an outdoor lounge. It had white stone floors, wide cushioned chairs, and a low wooden table set with a carafe of something golden and rich. The breeze carried in the scent of citrus and sun-warmed salt, mingling with the deeper notes of his cologne. He released her hand and moved toward the table, pouring two glasses without asking what she wanted. Of course, he didn’t ask. A man like him already knew what she would like. He clearly knew that right now, what she liked was his chiseled muscles and slow, easy grace.
"Here." He handed her a glass, his fingers brushing hers just slightly as she took it. A spark of awareness flickered up her arm, settling somewhere low in her stomach. She sank into one of the chairs, the cool linen cushions a welcome contrast to her still sun-warmed skin. He took the seat across from her, reclining easily, his long legs stretching out, one arm draped over the chair’s back. And he watched her. Not obviously. Not hungrily. Just… unapologetically. His gaze traced her body the way a man might admire a piece of art, slow, deliberate, taking in the sheen of saltwater still clinging to her skin, the way her swimsuit hugged her curves. He wasn’t touching her. But God, it felt like he was. Emily took a sip of her drink, letting the burn of the alcohol ground her. Two can play at this game.
"You look like someone who enjoys watching," she mused, tilting her head.
His lips twitched at the corner. "And you look like someone who enjoys being watched."
Her pulse kicked up. She wasn’t sure why that got to her, but it did. She was suddenly aware of a dampness that had nothing to do with the ocean. Maybe it was the way he said it like he already knew her. Like he saw the way her body was reacting to his attention, the way the heat was pooling in her stomach, the way her thighs pressed just a little tighter together. He swirled his glass lazily, watching her over the rim before taking a sip. Still not touching her. Still making her wait. A slow coil of frustration curled inside her. She could drag this out. Let the tension stretch a little longer, let him keep playing this game. Or… She could make the first move. Her glass clicked softly against the table as she set it down. Then she stood. His brows lifted slightly, but he said nothing as she crossed the small space between them, stepping between his outstretched legs. He was clearly hard. Its outline is visible through his shorts.
"You’re awfully relaxed for a man who just invited a half-naked woman to his home," she murmured, tilting her head.
His dark eyes gleamed. "Should I be nervous, cara?"
"No." She slid her hands onto his shoulders, the fabric of his linen shirt soft beneath her fingertips. She felt the heat of him underneath, the solid muscle, the steady rhythm of his breath. "But you should be paying more attention to me."
He exhaled a quiet chuckle, his hands finally coming to rest on her thighs. *"Ah… but I am, bella."*
She didn’t let him say anything else. Instead, she moved. She swung one leg over his lap and settled onto him, straddling him fully, her knees pressing into the cushion on either side of his hips. His length was pressed against her pussy, cruelly blocked by thin fabric. His breath left him in a slow exhale, his hands tightening on her thighs, fingers flexing against bare skin.
"Better?" she teased.
His gaze darkened, a slow smirk curling his lips. "Much."
Then, finally, he touched her the way she wanted. His fingers slid higher, tracing the curve of her hips, slipping beneath the damp edges of her swimsuit. He ran his hands over the tight flat of her stomach and over her waist as he inched closer to her breasts. And just like that, the game was over. The moment his hands slid beneath her swimsuit, Emily exhaled, her body melting into his touch. He slid one hand under her top and found her nipple hard and wanting. He gently toyed with it. He didn’t rush. His fingers traced slow, deliberate lines over her breast, pushing the damp fabric upward, teasing without fully removing it. His other hand skimmed the bare skin of her back, fingertips ghosting along her spine, making her shiver despite the lingering warmth of the sun. And then, his mouth. Hot and claiming, his lips found hers, slow at first, testing, tasting. His scent was a mix of salt and woodsmoke, clean linen, and something distinctly him filled her head as his tongue brushed against hers, coaxing her open.
The kiss stole the breath from her lungs and turned the heat in her stomach into something molten. Her hands moved on their own, pushing at his shirt, needing it gone. The linen slid easily from his shoulders, baring sun-kissed skin, lean muscle, the definition in his chest and arms making her mouth water. His hands followed suit, slipping under the straps of her swimsuit, and untying them. The cool air kissed her bare skin as he peeled the damp material away, leaving her exposed beneath his gaze.
She should have felt vulnerable. But the way he looked at her. Like he *wanted* her, like he *knew* he would have her. It only made her pulse pound harder. Her swimsuit fell to the floor, forgotten. His shorts followed. And then he was guiding her back, lowering her onto the lounge chair beneath them. The cushions cradled her bare skin as he settled between her legs, his body warm, and solid, pressing her down just enough to make her heart stutter.
She could feel him, hard, thick, heavy against her inner thigh. A fresh wave of arousal pulsed through her. He kissed her again, deeper this time, his hands sliding down her body, palms mapping her curves, exploring her as if memorizing every inch. His finger found her clit and gently rubbed her, as though he needed the foreplay to get her wet.
*"You are stunning, bella,"* he murmured, his voice thick, reverent.
She barely had time to process it before he shifted, his hand sliding between them, positioning himself right at her entrance. Her breath caught. This was it. The moment before. The moment when she *knew* she was about to let him inside her, that there was no stopping it now. She would have cried if he wanted to. The thick head of his cock nudged against her, stretching her open just slightly enough to make her gasp.
*God, he’s big.*
Her body tensed, just for a second. Then he pushed in, slow, steady. The stretch was exquisite, a slow burn as he filled her, inch by inch, forcing her to take him completely. Her fingers dug into his shoulders. Her breath hitched.
*Oh fuck. He’s deep.*
A soft moan slipped from her lips as he bottomed out, his hips flush against hers. He stayed there for a moment, letting her adjust, letting her *feel* every inch of him inside her. Her thoughts scattered, overwhelmed by the sensation. By the way, he stretched her. The way her walls clenched around him. The way the fullness sent sparks of pleasure rippling through her. And then—
He moved. A slow retreat. A deeper thrust. Her body arched beneath him, instinctively seeking more, needing more. She moaned into his neck as he picked up speed. Their heavy breathing was in sync as he moaned softly with every thrust. He kissed her lips as he pulled out slowly. Her tongue entered his mouth as he pushed back in. They both moaned with the pleasure of it. He filled her completely. As though his cock was made for her pussy. She curled her fingers as he pushed in slightly faster. Dragging her nails down his back in a way that seemed to make him want her more.
"More," she whispered, breathless. "Don’t stop."
His breath shuddered against her skin, his hips rolling, the friction delicious, building, consuming. And just like that, she was lost. His thrusts grew deeper, each roll of his hips striking something devastating inside her. The pleasure mounted, climbing higher and higher, the tension in her core tightening like a coil drawn to its breaking point. She couldn’t think. She could barely breathe. Every nerve in her body was alive, burning, reaching. His hands were everywhere. Gripping her hips, sliding over her thighs, pressing her down as if he never wanted to let her go. His body moved over hers with practiced control, each thrust measured, deliberate, coaxing her closer, pushing her toward the edge.
Her skin tingled with heat. Her pulse roared in her ears. She was going to come. It was right there, curling tight in her belly, building, trembling. And then he slowed. A stuttering breath. A half-withdrawal. His body tensed, his rhythm faltering as if realizing just how close he was. *No.* No, no, no. She felt the hesitation in him, the restraint, the effort it took for him to pull back just enough to keep himself from spilling inside her. She couldn’t let him. Not now. Not when she was so close. Not when she wanted this moment to last, to consume, to leave its mark on her body in a way neither of them could undo. Her fingers tightened against his back, nails digging in.
"Don’t stop," she gasped, her voice desperate, breathless. "Please—don’t pull out."
He let out a low, shuddering groan, his body trembling under the weight of her words. His forehead pressed against hers.
"Emily…" he panted as if he were barely holding on.
"I don’t care," she whispered, pleading now, her legs tightening around his waist, locking him in place. "I want it. Please—please, don’t stop."
A curse slipped from his lips, his control snapping like a taut thread. And then he *moved*.
Harder.
Faster.
Deeper.
His hands gripped her hips, holding her in place as he thrust into her with a pang of raw, unrestrained hunger. The heat between them burned white-hot, pleasure coiling, tightening, crashing into her all at once. Her orgasm ripped through her like a tidal wave, her body shattering around him, muscles clenching, back arching, mouth parting in a silent cry as the pleasure tore her apart. She felt everything, every inch of him, every pulse of his release as he gave in, as his hips jerked against hers, as he spilled himself inside her with a deep, guttural groan. Her mind spun with the reckless pleasure of it. Her body trembled. And as her body floated back down, still wrapped in his heat, his scent, the lingering pleasure thrumming through her veins. She didn’t regret a single thing.
Their bodies were slick with sweat, limbs tangled, chests heaving as they caught their breath. The night air curled in through the open doors, cooling their overheated skin, the distant crash of waves the only sound beyond the slowing rhythm of their heartbeats. Alexander shifted first, rolling to his side and bringing her with him, tucking her back against his chest. His arms wrapped around her, warm and strong, his lips pressing lazily against her shoulder as his breath evened out. It was like he was claiming the rest of her the way he had just claimed her pussy. She sighed, utterly spent, sinking into the solid comfort of him. His scent, deep, masculine, tinged with salt and the faintest trace of his cologne. He was wrapped around her, grounding her in the moment.
She should have been exhausted. But instead, a slow, simmering satisfaction pulsed through her, like the waves beyond the balcony, steady, rolling, endless. And then she had a thought. A small, wicked idea. A teasing smile touched her lips as she shifted just slightly, pressing her hips back against him.
He groaned softly, half a chuckle, half a sound of overstimulated pleasure. "Mmm, bella… what are you doing?"
She hummed, feigning innocence as she reached down, guiding him between her legs once more. He was still thick, still warm, not quite soft but no longer desperate for release. She enjoyed the sticky feeling of their mingled fluids. She tilted her hips just enough to feel the thick head of him nudge against her entrance, then sighed as she slowly pressed herself back onto him. A deep, shuddering groan rumbled in his chest as he slid inside, filling her once more. This time, there was no urgency. No rush. Just the warm, heavy presence of him. Exactly where she wanted him.
"Che tentatrice," he murmured against her ear, his voice lazy, indulgent. She smiled, eyes fluttering shut as she basked in the feeling. The fullness, the closeness, the quiet, intimate way he held her. He kissed her shoulder, slow and deliberate. Then lower. The curve of her back. The bare skin along her spine. One of his hands traced lazy circles over her stomach, his touch absentminded, reverent. And as she lay there, surrounded by him, filled by him, her mind drifted. To what might come of this. To the life that could take root inside her. To the tiny, impossible possibility growing from what they had just done. And she realized she wasn’t afraid. Not of what came next. Not of carrying a child, raising them alone, taking on a responsibility that should have terrified her. But it didn’t.
"You feel good like this," she murmured, shifting just enough to make him groan against her skin.
His arms tightened around her, his lips pressing against the nape of her neck, then her shoulder. His breath was warm, steady, soothing.
"You are dangerous, Emily."
She smirked. "You like it."
"Mmm." He hummed, one of his hands sliding up to cup her breast, teasing, kneading. "Too much."
The heat in his voice made her breath hitch. Slowly, lazily, he rocked his hips against hers. Just once. Just enough. A slow pull. A deep, deliberate thrust. She gasped, her body responding instantly, even as the edge of exhaustion clung to her. Then he did it again. And again. And suddenly, she was turning in his arms, capturing his mouth with hers, sinking into the slow burn as he started to move in earnest. No urgency. No rush. No need for an orgasm right now. Just the inevitable pull of him, the languid way their bodies fell into rhythm once more. And this time, she lost herself completely to the passion.
=======
The soft hum of the stove was the only sound in the kitchen as Emily sat naked at the table, watching Alexander move around with ease. The sun streamed in through the windows, casting a golden glow over everything, and she breathed in the smell of fresh coffee and sizzling eggs, the warmth of the moment sinking into her bones. She still couldn’t believe how much her life had changed in the past two months. Two months spent naked. With all the sex and how private his beach was, clothing seemed like a waste of time. Two months of nothing but him and his beach, his bed, his touch. She smiled softly, remembering how she had spent every day on his beach, riding the waves, then coming back to his house to fall into bed with him, his hands on her, his body inside hers. Every night, without fail. Ride the waves, ride him. A good vacation that ended tomorrow.
Her body still thrummed with the memories of it, the feel of him, the way he moved inside her, how perfect it had all felt. She had never known anything like it, never imagined she would feel this way about a man she’d only met on a private beach. Her fingers tapped gently against the table, her thoughts drifting. It was a perfect routine, the days blurring together, simple but satisfying. The quiet mornings, the days spent surfing, the long, leisurely afternoons together, and then the nights… She smiled again, her eyes lingering on Alexander as he moved to the stove, stirring something in the pan with a flourish.
"You’ve gotten fat, bella," he said with a teasing grin, not looking up from his work. "Clearly I spoil you with my cooking."
She laughed softly, taking a sip of her coffee. "Are you being rude?" She said pretending to pout.
"I like it." His arms slid around her and he kissed her neck.
A small flutter in her chest. Something that felt like a secret. Shifted inside her. She knew why she was getting bigger. She wanted to tell him. To let him know why her stomach had started to round just slightly, why her breasts had grown fuller. But she didn’t. Two missed periods. She’d known the moment she felt the change, the way her body felt different. And that quiet, warm happiness had bloomed inside her every time she thought about it. She wasn’t going to tell him. She had fallen in love with him. But she knew he wouldn't be going to New York with her. She didn't want him to feel trapped by the baby she wanted to keep. He went back to the stove. He turned with plates of food in hand, and set them down in front of her. His eyes softened as he met hers, a gentle smile pulling at the corners of his lips.
"I made your favorite," he said, his voice warm, his accent thick. She smiled, leaning back in her chair as she picked up her fork. Her stomach fluttered again, but this time, it was a mix of something else. A quiet, growing sense of ownership over the life that was taking root inside her.
“Thank you,” she said softly, taking a bite of the eggs. The rich flavor danced across her tongue, and for a moment, she closed her eyes, savoring both the taste and the feeling of this life. He didn’t need to know. It was her secret. And in the warmth of the sun streaming through the window, the sound of the ocean just beyond the house, and the soft hum of their peaceful routine, Emily felt the quiet joy of it. The knowledge that, in her own way, she was already carrying a part of him with her.
=========
The hum of the airplane’s engines was a comforting, steady rhythm as Emily sat back in her seat, her fingers lightly resting on her stomach. The warmth of the cabin felt like a distant echo of the heat she’d shared with him, the sun-drenched beach, the soft sheets, the feeling of him inside her. After all the time she spent naked, her sundress made her feel like she had too much on. Her eyes gazed out the window as the plane ascended, the sprawling city of New York beginning to shrink beneath them, its familiar skyline fading into the distance. Her vacation was over. Two months had passed in a blur of sand, surf, and passionate nights. She had come to the private beach seeking an escape, never imagining she would find him. He had been a stranger, a man with dark eyes, a quiet charm, and an insatiable hunger for her that matched her own. For a little while, they had shared something that neither of them needed to define. Something that had started out simple and grown into a connection that only the two of them understood.
And now, as the plane rose higher, Emily couldn’t help but smile softly. She had no regrets. No regrets about the time spent in his bed. No regrets about the nights when he had held her close, when their bodies had intertwined again and again, each touch, each kiss, each whisper leaving an imprint that would linger far longer than the two months they’d shared. She hadn’t expected anything else. He was a rich man with a life that would never fit into hers. She was a lawyer in New York, accustomed to high-powered cases, her career demanding her attention. She would return to her apartment, to her routines, and to her busy life. He would fade into the distance, just another person from her past. He would have other pretty girls to spend his time with.
But she still had this. The quiet knowledge that a small part of him would stay with her forever, that no matter where her life went, there would always be a part of him with her. Her hand moved gently over her stomach again, the soft curve there a quiet reminder of what had come from their time together. She smiled again, this time without hesitation. She had no fear. She had a plan. She would be fine. She had always known she could take care of herself. Now she would take care of their baby, too. She wasn’t alone. Not really. Though her heart had begun to ache for him. Her career was thriving. The money was hers. The resources, the support. She could do it all independently, just as she had before. She would raise this child without him, without anyone, and she would give them everything they needed.
She leaned back in her seat, eyes closing momentarily as the weight of the last few days settled around her, peaceful, calm, content. She would never see him again, and that was ok. She had what she needed. She could find love back home. As long as she still had this little part of him. The one man she believed she would never stop loving. And with that thought, the smile never left her lips. The plane carried her home, and she was ready for whatever came next.
=========
Three months had passed since Emily had returned to New York, her life back in full swing. The city was as busy as ever, but there was a peacefulness about her now. An acceptance of the future that she was preparing for. A calm that not even the knowing smirks from her coworkers could break. They all knew about her souvenir. She had even made her secretary blush heavily as she described him to her. Emily's office was filled with the quiet hum of productivity, papers stacked neatly, and emails being sent, but today, there was something else hanging in the air.
Her secretary knocked lightly on the door and stepped inside, a warm smirk on her face. As though she knew something Emily didn't. "Ms. Carter, you have a visitor."
Emily looked up from her desk, adjusting herself slightly in her chair. At nearly six months pregnant now, her belly was unmistakable, round, and prominent, a soft reminder of the life that was growing inside her. Her hand instinctively rested on the curve of her stomach as she nodded, her heart inexplicably picking up speed.
"Send them in," she said, trying to keep her voice steady, though a little spark of curiosity flickered in her chest.
As the door opened, the familiar figure of Alexander appeared in the doorway. He looked almost the same and impeccably dressed, his dark hair perfectly styled, and his deep brown eyes locked onto her the moment he stepped into the room. But there was something different about him now. The confident, charismatic man she had spent those two months with had softened somehow, his expression filled with something more than just desire. Something like hope. She dared to entertain the thought that he had fallen for her as well. His eyes fell to her belly immediately, his jaw going slightly slack as he stared, shock and joy in his gaze.
"Emily... Dio mio." His voice was hushed, almost reverent, as his gaze traveled from her face to her stomach.
She stood slowly, feeling the weight of her belly shift as she pushed herself up from her chair. Her heart raced a little faster, the air between them crackling with something unspoken.
"I came looking for you," he said, taking a few steps forward. His voice was thick, his accent still as alluring as ever. "I decided my business is moving to New York... I couldn't just leave it like that. I had to find you. To see you."
Her breath caught in her throat. The emotions from their last night together flooded back. The passion, connection, and now, the undeniable reality of their child growing inside her. He reached out, his hand coming to rest gently on the curve of her belly, his touch almost reverent. "I want to love you... and our baby, Emily." His words were simple, yet carried a weight that made her heart flutter.
Emily stood there for a long moment, her eyes locked with his, feeling the intensity of everything unsaid between them. She had never expected this moment, this reunion, but here it was. Proof of everything they had shared, and everything that had come from it.
A smile tugged at her lips, soft and knowing. She moved a little closer, her hand resting gently on his. "Well," she said softly, the words carrying a quiet confidence, "You’re going to need to plan the wedding after the baby comes."
His eyes widened slightly, a soft laugh escaping his lips. "A wedding? Hmm, I think I can manage that."
And as he pulled her closer, pressing his lips softly to hers, Emily felt that familiar spark. This time, a promise, a commitment that was both new and yet entirely theirs. They pulled back slightly, laughing softly at the absurdity of it all, but underneath that laughter was something deeper. A quiet joy. The feeling that this was the beginning of something—something real, something lasting. And with that, they kissed again, and for the first time, Emily knew that her life was about to change in ways she couldn’t have imagined when she first came to that private beach all those months ago.
She pushed her door closed and pulled him to her desk. She sat on the edge and pulled him close for a kiss. He groaned softly as she pulled his pants to the floor. Knowing what she wanted he moved in close and pushed her skirt up her hips. He pulled her panties to the side and slid into her. They kissed sweetly as he pumped in and out of her with a slow, passionate, pace. She loves him. He loved her. They were showing it in the way they sought pleasure in each other. She felt him cum and kissed him hard as her orgasm joined his. He slowed to a stop. His forehead pressed against hers, both breathing hard from the strain of keeping quiet.