144

The morning sunlight crept through the half-drawn curtains of the villa, painting soft golden lines across the bed where Yalda lay on her side, tangled in sheets and the slow, lazy ache of satisfaction.

Her body felt warm and tender, she shifted slightly, wincing at the soreness in her wrists and thighs, a soreness that carried a strange thrill with it.

The previous night lingered in her mind like perfume; Ioannis’s voice low and commanding, the feel of her wrists held together, the way her body had trembled at the sheer vulnerability of it all. It was new, frightening, exhilarating. She felt like she had stepped through a hidden doorway and there was no going back.

Ioannis was already up, she could hear the faint sounds of him moving around. Yalda stretched and sat up, her body humming with memory. She found her robe at the foot of the bed and slipped it on, tying it loosely around her waist as she padded out barefoot to find him.

He stood shirtless in the kitchen by the counter, making coffee, his back to her. Even from behind, the sight of him stirred something deep in her belly. Broad shoulders, sleep-mussed hair, and that controlled stillness that always made her feel like he was holding something back, something just for her.

"Good morning," she murmured.

He turned, his gaze falling over her with deliberate slowness. "Good morning, Yalda. Did you sleep well?"

Yalda nodded, moving toward him until she could wrap her arms around his middle. "I did."

"How do you feel?"

"I feel... all kinds of things."

He turned in her embrace, resting a hand on her hip. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She met his gaze. "I liked it. The way you held me. The way you spoke to me. I liked everything."

Something flickered in his eyes, it was dark and possessive. "You have no idea the things I want to do to you right now." He told her. "You have no idea how pretty you were last night."

Yalda exhaled, leaning her forehead against his chest. He kissed her hair. "I love you."

"I trust you."

"And I’ll never break that."

They had a slow breakfast together, sitting by the window with coffee and fruit. Ioannis was gentle with her, as always. He was attentive in a way that made her feel seen. He asked her about her body, if she felt okay, if she wanted anything. There was no pressure, only warmth.

Later, Yalda spent the afternoon in the garden, comfortable and lost in thought. Ioannis had headed out and she was left to her thoughts, knowing she'd get nothing done if she kept fantasizing about sex with Ioannis like a teenager, she decided to read a book, but even that didn't help.

She thought about the way he had gripped her hips, how her breath had caught, how her skin had prickled. How his voice, low and certain, had made her feel cherished and used at the same time.

She groaned as she stirred on the wooden bench, she was getting wet from thinking about the whole thing.

Ioannis returned not long after dusk, his shirt sleeves rolled up, the darkened look in his eyes promising everything Yalda had been aching for all day. He set down his keys and loosened the top two buttons of his shirt as he stepped into the kitchen.

He caught the scent of the onions simmering in the skillet and hummed in appreciation. “You cooked again.”

Yalda glanced at him from over her shoulder, lips twitching. “I try.”

He crossed the space to her and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. “I missed you,” he murmured, kissing the curve of her neck.

“I know,” she whispered, breath catching. “I missed you too.”

The meal passed in a comfortable hush. Ioannis occasionally reached for her hand or brushed his knee against hers under the table. The air between them thrummed, heavy with unspoken hunger. Yalda’s skin tingled from every shared glance, every fleeting touch.

When they cleared the plates, he didn’t let go of her hand.

“Come upstairs.”

She obeyed without a word. She'd been waiting for him to say that after all.

In the room, the lights were low, casting golden shadows across the bed. Ioannis turned to her slowly, eyes hooded. “Strip for me.”

She blinked. The request wasn’t cruel, his voice was thick velvet, not cold steel, but it still made her pulse skip. Slowly, she reached for the hem of her dress, drawing it over her head. She wasn’t wearing anything beneath it. She had planned for this, and it thrilled her now.

“Beautiful,” he said, his gaze sweeping over her body. “Now lie down. On your front.”

She hesitated just long enough for the air to crackle. But she did it. Face down, arms by her sides, heart fluttering. The mattress dipped beneath his weight. She felt him shift beside her, then something cool and silky touched her wrists.

She shuddered sweetly in anticipating. "Ioannis..."

“Yes love?,” he said softly, as he looped the silk around one wrist and then the other, securing them gently behind her back.

But she said nothing. She had nothing to say.

The sensation of vulnerability, her body bared and bound in the softest material, was exhilarating. He leaned down, kissed her shoulder blade.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“I do." She replied immediately.

“Good,” he said, and nipped her skin lightly. “Because I love seeing you like this.”

His hands skimmed down her back, fingertips grazing her spine, and she arched instinctively. He flipped her over slowly, and the twist in her bound arms made her moan, not in pain, but in helpless need.

“Look at you,” he murmured, eyes burning. “Tied up, blushing... wet.”

“Ioannis,” she whispered, cheeks flaming.

He smirked. “You like it when I talk like this, don't you?”

She nodded, she was breathless.

“Say it.”

“I like it,” she said in a shaky voice.

“Tell me what else you want,” he demanded, his mouth hovering over hers.

“I want... I want you to do whatever you want with me,” she whispered. “I want to feel owned.”

He let out a slow exhale, eyes darkening further. “Then listen carefully, Yalda. For tonight, you don’t get to choose when I kiss you or when I touch you." That’s mine. Do you understand?”

Her throat tightened, the heat between her legs intensifying. “Yes.”

He kissed her then, deep and consuming. She whimpered beneath him, her wrists still tied behind her, body arching for more.

His hands roamed with possessive confidence; over her breasts, her hips, her thighs. He took his time. His mouth followed the trail of his fingers, and when he finally slid between her legs, he teased her until she trembled, until her pleas turned into broken sobs.

She wanted to come so badly. Still, he didn’t let her come. Not yet.

When he finally unfastened the silk and her hands were free, she clung to him like a lifeline. He didn’t enter her right away. He held her first, whispered how beautiful she was, how good she was doing. Only when she begged for him did he take her.

It was slow and deep. The kind of intimacy that made her forget everything else. She looked into his eyes, just as he commanded, and when her body shook beneath him, her climax rolling through her with blinding heat, he came with her, groaning her name, anchoring her to him.

Afterwards, he held her.

Neither of them spoke for a long time. Their bodies were tangled, her cheek pressed against his chest. She could still feel the silk on her wrists, as though her skin had memorized the texture.

Finally, he murmured, “Want me to run you a bath?"

She didn't want a bath, she wanted to go to sleep. And so, she shook her head just as her eyelids became heavy.