Page 64 of Iron Roses

Her thigh brushes mine under the water. I feel her watching me.

Her gaze drags over the lines of my chest, down the curve of my collarbone, the scab healing near my rib. Her hand lifts—hesitates—then trails through the water, settling just above my knee.

My cock stirs beneath the surface.

She sees it.

My hands remain at the tub’s edge, digging into my palms. I don’t reach for her. But I burn. She’s so close.

So quiet.

The steam blurs the walls around us.

And still, I wait.

Chapter Twelve – Elaria

The water ripples around me, hot and silken, clinging to my skin like breath.

I sit in his lap. My thighs rest on either side of his knees, brushing slick marble. His body is still beneath me, coiled but patient, as if carved from something older than flesh. Only his eyes move. Watching me.

I can feel him.

Hard beneath the surface. Heavy. Waiting.

My breath hitches.

There’s an ache between my legs that won’t still. A low, pulsing hunger that blooms every time he exhales. My nipples brush and tighten, hypersensitive. Every inch of me is ready, but my mind—my mind is still trying to catch up.

My fingers shake as I reach for his shoulders. They’re broad, blood-warmed but still marked from battle. My hands splay over him, searching, anchoring.

Is this mine?

Is this her?

Flashes flicker.

Giovanna’s laughter—soft, teasing, echoed off marble just like this. Her hands sliding through his hair. Her moans—mymoans? I can’t tell anymore. I feel them in my hips, in my breath, in the wild thrum of my pulse.

But it’s me here now.

My chest lifts with a shuddered inhale. I shift forward, water lapping at my waist. I slide closer until the softness of my stomach brushes the lean plane of his abdomen.

He doesn’t move.

But I feel him.

The tension in his thighs beneath mine, the slight flex of his fingers on the marble edge like he’s holding back something feral.

I want him.

And yes—Giovanna’s memories live in me.

But so do mine.

And mine want him, too.

Not as a stolen echo.

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