Page 77 of His To Unravel
When she scrawls her name beneath mine, something shifts.It’s stupid, probably, how much weight I give that signature. But seeing her name there beside mine—it lands deep, like something vital locking into place.
I take her hand and bring it to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.
“Baby,” I murmur, just for her, “you make me so happy.”
I don’t wait for her to respond.
I reach for her waist, and with one firm pull, I bring her flush against me. Her breath catches as our bodies align, chest to chest, heat sparking where we touch.
I cup her jaw, tilting her face up as my fingers slide along the edge of her neck, down to the bare skin just beneath the collar of her dress.
And then, I kiss her. Deep. Possessive. There’s nothing tentative about it. I take her mouth like I’ve earned it—because I have.
Her lips part under mine with a gasp, and I take full advantage—tongue sweeping into her mouth, tasting her. She kisses me back like sheneedsit, like she’s been waiting for it all night. Her hands clutch my lapels, pulling me impossibly closer, and I groan into her mouth—low, guttural, helpless.
I walk her back, guiding her until her back meets the cool stone of the gallery wall. She gasps against me, the contrast between the marble and my heat making her shiver. My mouth trails down her jaw, her throat, drinking in the way she arches for more.
My hand slips beneath the hem of her dress—inch by inch—until my palm finds the bare skin of her thigh. She’s warm and soft, her skin silk beneath my touch. I slide upward, fingers splaying possessively as I hook one thigh over mine, anchoring her to me. She exhales sharply, her breath catching in the back of her throat.
I press in closer, letting her feel the full length of me—hard, straining, undeniable. Her hips jerk slightly, and I feel it—that moment her body realizes exactly what she’s done to mine. My chest is tight with restraint, heart thundering, and I know she canfeel it too. The air between us is charged, every breath steeped in tension so thick it trembles.
“You feel that?” I rasp, voice rough against her skin. “That’s what you do to me.”
Her head falls back against the wall, lashes fluttering, mouth parted like she might speak—but no words come. Just a quiet, needy sound that escapes her lips when my thumb brushes higher, skimming the crease of her inner thigh.
“You have no idea,” I whisper. “How much I want you.”
Then I kiss her again—deeper now, hungrier—swallowing the soft moan she doesn’t mean to let slip. She arches further into me, hands fisting in my jacket like she needs something to hold onto. And God, I want to give her everything.
I don’t stop until the urgency begins to wane, until her pulse steadies beneath my palm and her breath slows against my mouth. I pull back just enough to see her—flushed, dazed, beautiful—and press my forehead to hers.
The moment stretches, taut and electric, but we both know we can’t stay suspended in it forever. Not here. Not yet.
I smooth her dress back into place, gentler than I’d been moments before, a quiet apology pressed into the softness of the fabric.
“Let me show you the rest,” I say, the words thick with promise.
With her hand in mine, I guide her further into the museum, our steps falling in unison as we enter the Raphael Room. It exudes a timeless majesty—the soft lighting caressing the room’s ornate tapestries and paintings, while the polished wooden floors reflect hints of gold and crimson from the surrounding art. It is elegance personified, and Olivia fits into it seamlessly.
She stands beside me now, her gaze flitting over the intricate details of a painting.
I watch her, mesmerized by the way her features relax, the waythe dim light illuminates her in hues that rival the works around us. She leans into me, her shoulder brushing against mine, and the simple contact sends a rush through me.
She brings me peace—a rare and precious calm I haven’t experienced in years.
Olivia has changed my life in ways I never could have anticipated. She’s given it warmth, purpose—a reason to care about things I once dismissed as trivial.
The past semester at Halford has been unlike any before it. The once sterile campus and mechanical routines have taken on a new vibrancy, and it’s all because of her. Olivia has transformed the mundane into something meaningful. Every lecture we sit through, every late-night study session—it’s all become a series of moments I want to etch into memory, simply because she’s by my side.
Her head rests against my shoulder now. I can’t see her face, but I can feel her heartbeat through the press of her body against mine.
The moment is perfect. Almost unbearably so.
And still—beneath the warmth, there’s the echo of old instincts. The plans I’ve kept quietly intact. The steps I’m ready to take if she falters. If she forgets who she belongs to.
I am prepared to do whatever it takes to secure her—manipulate, isolate, even orchestrate her needs to match mine. It’s my duty to protect our connection against anything that might threaten it.
But none of that is needed now. She said yes—to New York, to the project, to us.
