Page 29 of Bound in Silk

His expression darkens momentarily, a flash of the fear and fury that drove his search yesterday. "Don't do it again," he says, not quite a request but not the command it would have been before. "Talk to me instead. Tell me you need space, time, distance. Let me try to understand instead of forcing me to hunt you down."

"I promise," I agree, sensing the compromise being offered—his acknowledgment that I sometimes need separation, my agreement to communicate honestly rather than flee. "If you promise to listen when I say I need room to breathe. To believe that creating temporary space doesn't mean I'm leaving permanently."

"I promise to try," he qualifies, honest about the challenge this represents for him. "It goes against every instinct I have, Seraphina. But for you—for us—I'll fight those instincts when necessary."

The negotiations, the compromises, the mutual acknowledgment of challenges ahead—all of it should diminish the romance of the moment, should introduce pragmatic reality into what began as emotional vulnerability. Instead, it deepens my certainty, my recognition that what exists between Knox and me transcends conventional definitions or expectations.

This is love at its most real—not fairy tale perfection, not mindless surrender, not one-sided adaptation. But two strong people choosing each other despite difficulties, despitedifferences, despite the work required to build something that honors both without diminishing either.

"I love you," I say again, testing the words that have been so difficult to acknowledge even to myself. They come easier now, feel right in a way that terrifies and exhilarates in equal measure. "And I'm not running again. Not from you, not from us, not from the future we're building together."

His smile—rare in its genuine warmth, its lack of strategic calculation—transforms his face, revealing the man beneath the billionaire facade, the vulnerability beneath the control, the depth of feeling behind the possessive exterior.

"I love you," he responds, the words I've heard from him before but never with this particular quality—not declaration or persuasion or strategy, but simple reciprocation. Equal vulnerability. Balanced exposure. "More than I have words to express. More than I knew was possible before you."

When his lips meet mine, the kiss is different from any we've shared since our reunion—not claiming or persuading or dominating, but communion. Connection between equals. Acknowledgment of a truth that transcends the power dynamics and control issues and boundary negotiations that have characterized our relationship.

We love each other. Despite everything—the kidnapping, the resistance, the running, the claiming. Despite our differences—his need to control, my need for independence; his certainty, my questioning; his strategy, my spontaneity.

What exists between us isn't perfect. Isn't easy. Isn't without challenges that will require ongoing negotiation, adaptation, compromise on both sides.

But it's real. It's deep. It's worth fighting for, worth staying for, worth building a future around.

And that certainty, more than anything Knox has done or said since bringing me back into his life, makes running finally, completely unthinkable.

Chapter Seventeen

Knox

My hands trembleslightly as I cradle Seraphina's face, but inside my chest burns a warmth that has nothing to do with guilt and everything to do with overwhelming emotion.I love you.Three words I've wanted to hear from her lips since our first relationship, words I've known were true from her actions but needed to hear confirmed. Words that change everything between us, that transform what has been a campaign of reclamation into something deeper, more mutual, more complete.I love you.Simple syllables that carry the weight of surrender, of vulnerability, of a future I've been planning since the moment I interrupted her wedding. The tears still wet on her cheeks, the lingering fear in her eyes, the tremulous smile on her lips—all of it combines to create a Seraphina I've rarely seen. Not the defiant woman fighting my control, not the passionate lover surrendering to my dominance, but something more precious, more authentic, more completely herself than perhaps I've ever been allowed to witness. And I intend to honor that gift, to showher exactly what her declaration means to me, to reward her honesty with a night she'll never forget.

"Knox?" she whispers, uncertainty in her voice at my momentary silence, at the intensity of my gaze as I absorb the significance of what's just happened between us.

"I'm here," I reassure her, brushing away the last traces of tears from her cheeks. "Just…taking in what you said. What it means."

"What does it mean?" she asks, vulnerability making her brave in a different way than her usual defiance. "For us, for what comes next?"

I smile, pressing my forehead against hers in a gesture of intimacy that transcends the physical. "It means everything," I tell her honestly. "Everything I've been working toward since bringing you back into my life. Everything I've known was possible between us if you would just stop running from the intensity of what we have together."

Instead of trying to explain further with words that seem inadequate to the moment, I capture her mouth with mine—not in the demanding, possessive kiss of yesterday's claiming, but something gentler, deeper, more reverent. A kiss of communion rather than conquest, of celebration rather than subjugation.

She responds immediately, her body melting against mine with the instinctive recognition that has always existed between us, that bypasses conscious thought or deliberate decision. Her hands come up to frame my face, mirroring my earlier gesture, creating perfect symmetry of touch, of connection, of mutual vulnerability.

This is different than anything we've shared since her return—different even than our original relationship, when my need to possess often overshadowed my desire to cherish, when her resistance created a dynamic of conquest and surrender rather than mutual exchange. This is balanced, reciprocal, a giving andtaking in equal measure that transforms the experience into something transcendent.

I lower her gently to the pillows, my body covering hers with deliberate care not to overwhelm or dominate. My weight supported on my forearms, I gaze down at her face—flushed with desire now rather than tears, her eyes dark with need that matches my own.

"Let me show you," I murmur, lips brushing the sensitive spot just below her ear that always makes her shiver. "Let me show you what those words mean to me. What you mean to me."

Her hands slide up my chest to my shoulders, no longer pushing away but pulling closer, no longer resisting but inviting. "Show me," she whispers, the simple request containing layers of meaning, of surrender, of trust that humbles me more than I would have thought possible.

I take my time, worshiping her body with a thoroughness that leaves no doubt about the depth of my feelings, the reverence with which I hold her in my heart. My mouth traces the elegant line of her throat, the delicate curve of her collarbone, the subtle swell of her breasts—fuller now with pregnancy, more sensitive if her sharp intake of breath is any indication.

"So beautiful," I murmur against her skin, meaning it more completely than she can possibly understand. "Even more beautiful now, carrying our child. A miracle I never expected but can't imagine living without."

My hand moves to rest against her still-flat abdomen, where our baby grows unseen but ever-present in my consciousness, in my planning, in my vision of our future. Her hand covers mine, our fingers interlacing in silent acknowledgment of the life we've created together, the ultimate manifestation of what exists between us.

"I was so afraid," she confesses, her voice barely above a whisper. "Of loving you. Of admitting it, even to myself. Of what it would mean for my independence, my identity, my carefully constructed life."

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