Page 162 of Modern Romance March 2025 (5-8)

“Yana thinks of everything,” Stella remarked, taking off the cap to inhale the aroma of rose, jasmine and sandalwood. It did nothing to ease her nerves.

“I requested this.” Atlas popped the champagne.

As he poured, her phone gave a few pings where it sat on the dresser. She had deliberately left it here while they went to the courthouse so she wouldn’t be distracted by it. Now she set aside the bottle of oil and picked up her phone.

“I’m used to keeping it on for work, but I’ll mute it—” She cut herself off as she saw she’d received several emails from Atlas’s staff: a copy of their signed agreement, a confirmation of a bank account opened in her name, a listing from a property agent she’d spoken to yesterday, and access to a joint calendar, among other things.

She liked to think she could roll with whatever life threw at her, but this wasso much.

Atlas offered her a tall flute crackling with bubbles. “You look nervous. Would you like to fill the tub and see where it takes us?” The quiet rumble of his voice made her skin feel tight.

She turned off her phone and left it on the dresser.

“I’m afraid that I won’t live up to your expectations and you’ll regret all of this,” she admitted, then sipped to wet her dry throat.

“What about your expectations?”

“I don’t have any.”

“The hell you don’t.” He sounded amused. “You’ve waited to have sex because you wanted it to feel a certain way. Do you think I’m not wondering if I can live up tothat?”

He looked the furthest thing from worried or insecure, though. He looked hungry.

She swallowed.

“That means you’ll have to be very clear about what you want,” he said in a voice that settled even lower, becoming almost velvety in its timbre. “You’ll have to sayyesandmoreandharder. I won’t make you sayplease.”

She choked on her champagne.

He took the glass with an admonishing look. “This is my best suit.”

He set both glasses near her phone.

“I don’t know what I want,” she confessed in a strained voice, then had to ask, “What do you want?”

He made a rumbling noise of consideration as he shrugged out of his jacket and loosened his tie, gaze traveling from her hair to her cheek to her shoulders and onto her throat.

“I want to watch you take your hair down and undress. I want to see you in only that necklace while you ride me and I feel your hair all over my chest.”

She gasped. Her hand went to the necklace, but only because her pulse pounded so hard, she thought she might dislodge it.

“Am I coming on too strong?” He sounded amused, but his voice held a rasp that suggested he was keeping himself in firm check. “This is what sex is, Stella. If you want it to be good—and I know you do—then we have to say what we want and trust the other one will set the limits if it’s too much. I have very few.”

“Limits?” She suspected she didn’t have any, not where he was concerned. She was standing here fully dressed, but already felt naked. Vulnerable and raw. But excited.

His eyes narrowed. “If you’re not ready for that, keep your hair up. We can go for an early dinner.”

“No, I—” She reached for her hair and began searching for pins. Which felt like the most blatant action in the world. It felt like saying,Yes. More. Pleaseandharder. It felt like begging.

She half expected him to laugh at her, but when she dared a glance toward him, he was watching her intently as she let the sprigs of baby’s breath fall and unwound the tail of her plait, then began to unravel it. His hands flexed as though he was resisting the urge to touch her. To hurry her. That gave her an unexpected thrill. A sense of power as she realized how much control he was exerting over himself.

When she had combed her fingers through her hair, fanning the long, rippling tresses around her shoulders, she asked, “Do you want me to keep undressing?”

“Yes.” The gritty word dropped like a hard stone in the quiet of the room. His urging was like a tangible force. Command rolled off him in aggressive waves.

Which should have had her hurrying to comply, but the strangest urge to defy him struck her. Not defy.Provoke. She didn’t know what possessed her, but she bent to pick up the hem of her dress and hooked her fingers into her underpants, sliding them down and off while letting the skirt fall back into place.

She kicked away the white cheekies and straightened to see an incandescent mix of astonishment and lust consume his expression.

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