Page 12 of The Art of Loving You

At one moment, my voice faltered as I murmured, “Ella, I… I need to slow down, or I’m going to lose it.” Her immediate, pleading, and urgent response and her soft self-touch only fueled the fervor building between us. With one final, decisive push, our hips met in a burst of passion that seemed to suspend time, drawing us both into an ecstatic climax that left us breathless and intimately connected.

As the sensations ebbed and we collapsed into each other’s arms, soft whispers filled the quiet room. “Remember this,” I mouthed, enclosing her in a tender embrace that said more than words ever could. She murmured back, “You're amazing, Lucas. The absolute best,” and nestled close, her steady, soft breathing a silent promise of closeness. Yet, even in that tender aftermath, my mind raced with uncertainty. Had I opened the door to something dangerously uncontrollable? Inviting Ella into the sanctuary of my heart might have also drawn her into shadows best left unexplored.

For now, however, I held her tighter, drawing strength from the steady rhythm of her breathing. Tonight, in the aftermath of our shared passion, we found solace in one another—a brief reprieve from the storm that loomed on the horizon, waiting to test the boundaries of what our hearts had dared to embrace.

CHAPTER SIX

Ella

I woke to sunlight filtering through sheer curtains, the scent of salt in the air, and a rare, blissful quiet. No alarms. No little voice calling for Aunt Ella. Just stillness—a fleeting pause in the usual chaos.

Then, the rich aroma of coffee drifted in, coaxing me from the haze. I stretched, reaching for my phone, but my gaze landed on the bedside clock.

Nine o’clock.

Oh no. The tranquility shattered as I bolted upright.

Bess’s birthday party. The drive. I need to go.

“Good morning,” Lucas’s voice came from the doorway, smooth and unbothered, as if we had all the time in the world. I turned to see him leaning against the frame, wearing a plain white T-shirt and pajama pants, hair slightly tousled. He held a steaming mugin one hand, his expression far too relaxed for my current state of panic, as if he hadn’t a care beyond the morning’s serenity.

“I overslept,” I muttered, already scrambling for my clothes.

“You needed the rest,” he said, completely unfazed.

“I need to get home, shower, get Bess ready?—”

Lucas set the coffee on the bedside table. “You’ve got plenty of time.”

“No, I don’t,” I argued, throwing on my dress.

“If you’re late, I’ll drive you. Fast.”

I shot him a look. “What, like a getaway driver?”

He grinned. “If that’s what it takes to get you to eat breakfast first.”

My stomach betrayed me with a low growl. The coffee smelled amazing, and Lucas’s easy confidence was hard to fight.

“Five minutes,” I relented.

He smirked. “That’s all I need.”

The kitchen was warm, filled with the inviting scent of coffee and something sizzling on the stove. Lucas moved effortlessly, flipping an omelet with practiced ease. Barefoot, casual, and utterly at home in the space, he looked nothing like the polished, collected businessman I was used to.

“You’re staring,” he said without turning.

I leaned against the counter, sipping my coffee. “I didn’t peg you for the domestic type.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he said, plating the omelet.

“Now that’s ominous,” I teased.

He slid a plate in front of me. “Try it before you judge.”

One bite in, I groaned. “Okay. You win. This is amazing.”

Lucas smirked. “Told you I know what I’m doing.”

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