Page 24 of The Placeholder
For long moments, we lie tangled together, unable to move or speak. My fingers trace lazy patterns on the sweat-slicked skin of her back, and I press soft kisses to her temple, her cheek, anywhere I can reach.
Eventually, she lifts her head, her eyes meeting mine. The vulnerability I see there catches me off guard, making my chest tighten with an emotion I’m not ready to name.
“That was...” she begins, then stops, apparently at a loss for words.
“I know,” I murmur, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “For me too.”
She smiles, soft and secret, and lowers her head to my chest again. I wrap my arms around her, holding her close, marveling at how perfectly she fits against me. Outside,the sun has begun to set, casting the room in golden light that turns her skin to honey.
I’ve had my share of women, but nothing—nothing—has ever felt like this. The realization should terrify me, but instead, it settles in my chest like a weight, grounding me. Anchoring me to her.
“Stay right here,” I whisper against her hair, though I’m not sure if I’m talking about this moment or something much bigger. “Just stay with me.”
Her answer is to press a kiss directly over my heart, and I know with sudden, startling clarity that I’m already falling for her—hard and fast and without a parachute. The thought should send me running. Instead, I pull her closer and close my eyes, surrendering to whatever this is becoming.
CHAPTER 12
DELLA
Iwake to sunlight streaming across my face and the gentle sound of water lapping at the shore outside. For a moment, I’m disoriented, then the memories of last night flood back—Axel’s hands, his mouth, the way he’d claimed me so thoroughly I’d forgotten my own name. Heat rushes to my cheeks, and other places, as I stretch languidly against the soft sheets.
“Good morning, beautiful.” Axel’s deep voice draws my attention to the doorway where he stands, barefoot in low-slung jeans, holding a steaming mug. His hair is still damp from a shower, and the sight of water droplets clinging to his neck makes my mouth go dry.
“Morning,” I manage, suddenly shy despite the intimacy we’d shared hours before.
“I have something planned for us,” he says, crossing the room to hand me the coffee. “If you’re up for it.”
The coffee is perfect—cream, no sugar—and I wonder when he noticed how I take it. “What kind of something?”
His smile is secretive, almost boyish. "You’ll see. Dress casual.”
An hour later, I find myself following Axel down a narrow path that winds through sun-dappled woods toward the lake. He carries a wicker basket in one hand, a rolled blanket tucked under his arm, and his other hand firmly clasping mine. The simple connection of our fingers feels as intimate as anything we did last night.
“Here we are,” he announces as we emerge from the trees onto a small, private beach. The lake stretches before us, sunlight dancing across its surface like scattered diamonds.
I watch, mesmerized, as he spreads the blanket on the grass and begins unpacking the basket—crusty bread, an assortment of cheeses, fresh strawberries, dark chocolate, and a bottle of champagne beaded with condensation.
“A picnic?” I ask, something warm unfurling in my chest.
“I figured you deserved to be pampered a little.” He pats the blanket beside him. “Come here.”
I sink down next to him, our shoulders brushing. The domesticity of the moment strikes me—how natural it feels to be here with him, as if we’ve been doing this for years instead of days.
“You’re thinking too hard,” Axel says, popping the champagne cork with practiced ease. The sound echoes across the water as he pours the bubbling liquid into two flutes. “What’s going on in that beautiful head?”
I accept the glass he offers, watching the bubbles rise. “Just... this. Us. It feels..."
“Right?” he supplies, his eyes holding mine.
I nod, unable to articulate the storm of emotionsswirling inside me. Instead, I take a sip of champagne, letting the crisp, bright taste wash over my tongue.
Axel feeds me strawberries and chocolate, his fingers lingering on my lips. We talk about everything and nothing—his childhood adventures with Alek, my first disastrous attempt at marketing, the book he’s currently reading, and the playlist I made for my morning runs. Each revelation feels like a gift exchanged, small pieces of ourselves laid bare.
When he kisses me, he tastes of champagne and possibilities. His hand cups my cheek, thumb stroking my skin with reverence. The kiss deepens, his tongue sliding against mine as he eases me back onto the blanket. The weight of him above me is delicious, familiar now but no less thrilling.
His hand slides under my sundress, fingers tracing patterns on my inner thigh. I arch into his touch, wanting more, forgetting everything but the feel of him against me.
“Della,” he groans against my neck, his voice strained. “If we don’t stop now...”
