Page 5 of Etched In Stone
“No, Alex,” I said, turning to face him. “This isn’t just for me. After everything we’ve been through—the lies, the deception, the circumstances that threatened to tear us apart—now there are no more distractions. No more secrets to hold us back. Now is finally our time, and our time alone.” I reached up to cup his face, feeling the slight roughness of stubble beneath my palms. “We deserve this. We’ve earned it.”
“Krystina,” Alexander said softly, his voice carrying a tenderness that never failed to undo me.
I turned to face him fully, my heart so full of love it felt like it might overflow. He placed his hands on either side of my neck, his touch both an anchor and a promise. Those hands—such a perfect contrast of strength and tenderness—had guided me through my darkest moments and lifted me to heights I’d never imagined possible.
“Alex,” I responded, my voice barely above a whisper.
“I love you more than you can possibly know,” he said, his voice a tender command that danced along my nerves and sent shivers cascading down my spine. “You are mine, and I am yours. Completely. Irrevocably.”
His eyes, those pools of sapphire that I loved so much, held mine with a gaze so intense it seemed to peel back the layers of my soul, leaving me bare and wanting and completely his.
“Forever,” I managed to say, though my voice was barely above a sigh, betraying the tremor of anticipation that had seized every nerve in my body.
A knowing smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, predatory and possessive and entirely Alexander. With deliberate slowness, he reached around to find the zipper of my dress, his knuckles brushing against my spine as he located the delicate tab. The metallic whisper of parting fabric was the sweetest symphony to my ears, each tooth of the zipper releasing its hold with a sound that seemed to echo in the charged air between us.
His fingers brushed against my newly exposed skin with a slow deliberation that bordered on exquisite torture, trailing fire in their wake as the dress loosened around me. I closed my eyes, surrendering completely to the meticulous undressing that was as much an exploration as it was a tease. Every touch was a word in the private language our bodies had developed, every caress a promise of the ecstasy I knew he would soon deliver.
A shiver, deep and uncontrollable, rippled down my spine, coiling at the base like a serpent preparing to strike. My skin felt hypersensitive, every nerve ending alive.
My dress fell away, waterfalling at my feet in a pool of seafoam. I stood before my husband in only the delicate lace of my bra and panties—pieces I’d chosen specifically for this moment, knowing he would appreciate the way the ivory complemented my skin.
Alexander’s sapphire eyes, always so commanding and controlled, now smoldered with a hunger. They sent waves of liquid heat crashing through me. He looked at me not as a man simply appreciating his wife’s body, but as an artist beholding a masterpiece, every curve and contour something to be adored and worshipped and claimed.
“Angel,” he murmured, and the nickname sounded more like a sacred incantation falling from his lips. The air between us crackled with an electricity that drew us together with the inexorable pull of two opposing forces destined to become one.
Alexander moved closer, closing the small distance between us until his hard body was pressed against mine. The contrast was intoxicating—his fully clothed form against my near-nakedness. He cupped my face in his hands with a tenderness that contradicted his usual dominance, his thumb brushing across my cheek in a featherlight touch that somehow spoke louder than words.
It was a gesture of reverence, a silent vow that despite the intensity of our passion, despite the fire that burned between us, he would always handle me with care.
In that intimate embrace, with his hands framing my face and his body radiating heat against mine, the world outside our villa faded into complete insignificance. There was only him and me, only this moment, only the love that burned between us bright enough to eclipse everything else.
“Take me, Alex,” I whispered, the words torn from somewhere deep in my soul. “Please.”
The predatory gleam in his sapphire eyes intensified, becoming something primal and possessive that made my knees weak. It was a look that stripped away any pretense, leaving me bare and aching in its wake.
But instead of the immediate claim I expected, he surprised me.
“I will, angel. Tonight. I want you properly rested first.” His voice was rough with restraint, as he struggled to control the desire I could see burning in his eyes. “For now, I want to see you in that little red bikini I bought for you. We’ll go to the beach, relax for the afternoon. Or perhaps we can stay here and enjoy the infinity pool. Naked. Either way, I plan to take my time rubbing oil on every inch of your body.”
My stomach tightened at the thought, heat pooling low in my belly at the images his words conjured.
“Every inch?” I asked, my voice breathless.
Alexander’s hand moved with deliberate slowness, his fingers tracing a path from my collarbone down to cup my breast through the delicate lace of my bra. His thumb found my nipple, peaked from arousal, and circled it with maddening precision.
“Every,” he confirmed, his voice a low growl of promise. “Inch.”
Chapter Five
Alexander
The sun’s golden rays caressed Krystina’s bronzed skin as we lay on the pristine private beach off Montego Bay, the third day of what was proving to be the most perfect honeymoon I could have imagined. The stretch of sand and palm trees belonged exclusively to our villa—a crescent of powdered coral that curved between two rocky outcroppings like nature’s own private amphitheater.
The days had been lazy in the best possible way, a deliberate contrast to the relentless pace of our lives back in New York. Here, time moved differently, measured not by the ticking of clocks or the buzz of smartphones, but by the rhythm of waves against shore and the arc of the sun across an impossibly blue sky. Our nights had been pure fire, passion unleashed without inhibition, but these quiet moments were equally precious.
I found myself studying my wife with the same intensity I brought to analyzing market trends, but with infinitely more pleasure. Krystina lay beside me on the oversized beach lounger we’d dragged into the perfect spot where the shade met the sun, her body barely contained by that tiny red bikini I’d chosen specifically for this moment. The vibrant color was striking against her sun-kissed skin, and I felt a surge of masculine satisfaction knowing I’d been right about how perfectly it would complement her curves and natural beauty.
My fingers traced lazy patterns across her coconut oil-slicked skin, unable to resist the magnetic pull of touching her. Marriage hadn’t dimmed my need for physical contact with her—if anything, it had intensified it. The knowledge that she was mine, wholly and legally, had awakened something primitive in me that demanded constant confirmation of our connection.
