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The penthouse was silent as dusk draped the sky in a velvet cloak. The city below twinkled like distant stars, but up here, in their sanctuary, time had slowed to a hush. The ceremony was over, the guests long gone. Only they remained; Alexander and Yalda, husband and wife.

Yalda stood by the tall windows, her silhouette wrapped in the soft glow of the city lights, her white dress exchanged for a silk robe that clung to her curves like water. She was barefoot, her hair falling loose down her back, and her breath hitched when she heard the soft rustle behind her.

Alexander.

He looked at her with reverence in his tired but gleaming eyes. His jacket was off, his shirt unbuttoned to the middle of his chest, sleeves rolled up casually, revealing veins and muscle. He still had that commanding presence, but something softer hummed underneath it now.

He crossed the room slowly, like approaching something sacred. He stopped just behind her, hands coming up to gently graze her arms, his lips brushing against her temple.

"You’re mine now," he whispered.

Yalda turned to face him, her breath shallow. “I always was.”

The kiss that followed was slow and tender; two mouths learning each other again, like it was the first time. But heat pulsed just beneath the surface, raw and demanding. His hands slid down her waist and gripped her hips. She gasped into his mouth, her body already melting for him.

The silk tie of her robe slipped loose beneath his fingers, the fabric falling away to reveal her bare skin, her nipples tightening from the cool air and the heat in his eyes. He exhaled softly, slowly, taking her in as if committing every curve to memory.

"God, you're beautiful,” he murmured.

She undid the rest of his buttons, pushing his shirt from his shoulders and letting it fall. His body was still strong beneath her hands, lean muscle under warm skin, familiar but no less thrilling. Her hands explored him hungrily, as if trying to make up for all the time they'd lost.

He lifted her effortlessly, despite the exhaustion he tried to hide. She wrapped her legs around him, his arousal thick and hard between them. He carried her to the bed and laid her down, crawling over her like a predator. His mouth kissed a trail from her neck down to her breasts, sucking one soft peak into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue until she moaned and arched beneath him.

“Alexander...” she whispered, needy and breathless.

He moved lower, kissing down her stomach. His hands parted her thighs, and his mouth found her soaked center. He licked her with slow, practiced strokes, savoring her. Her hands clutched the sheets, her body already trembling from the intensity. Her thighs quivered as he buried his tongue deep inside her, savoring her slickness.

She came quickly, clenching around nothing, gasping his name like a prayer.

But Alexander wasn’t done. He rose, eyes wild with desire, and reached down to stroke himself, hard and ready. Yalda’s eyes locked onto him, her lips parting at the sight. She reached out, wrapping her fingers around him, stroking slowly, feeling him twitch with need in her palm.

"Tell me you want this," he ordered, voice low and guttural.

“I want this,” she whispered breathily.“I want it so badly."

He didn’t hesitate.

He guided himself to her entrance, rubbing his thick length through her wet folds, teasing her, making her writhe beneath him. And then, with one slow, firm push, he slid inside her.

She gasped. The sensation of him filling her again after so long sent a wave of emotion crashing over her.

“God,” he groaned, eyes squeezed shut. “You’re so tight…so warm. I missed this. Missed you.”

He began to move, long and deep strokes, his body rocking into hers with restrained power. He kissed her between each thrust, his lips were everywhere; her lips, her cheek, her collarbone, her breasts. She clung to him, moaning softly, meeting each thrust with desperate need.

“I've missed you too,” she gasped. “Don’t stop, please.”

“I won’t. Not tonight.”

They lost themselves in each other. The sounds of skin on skin, breathless gasps, the creak of the bed, all of it became a symphony. He drove into her harder, deeper, his pace intensifying as their passion flared higher.

She came again with a cry, clutching him tight, her body quaking. He wasn’t far behind, slamming into her one final time with a shudder as he spilled himself deep inside her.

But he didn’t stop.

Even after their high faded, he kissed her again, igniting the fire anew. They lost themselves in each other, completely, utterly, without restraint.

The room pulsed with heat, heavy with the scent of sweat and sex. Every breath they took was laced with need. Every sound was amplified: the rhythmic slap of skin against skin, the rasp of their breathless moans, the deep groan he let out each time he sank fully inside her.

Alexander hovered over her, his broad shoulders tensing as he drove into her with powerful thrusts, slow at first, savouring her, teasing out every tremble. But as her nails dug into his back, as her head tilted and she moaned something broken and breathless into his ear, his control snapped.

His pace intensified. Harder. Deeper. More urgent. Like he needed to carve himself into her, to remind her, to remind them both that she was his.

Yalda wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper still. Her back arched with every stroke, her mouth falling open as each thrust dragged a gasp from her throat. She clung to him like she might unravel without his weight anchoring her, her body trembling on the edge of something sharp and beautiful.

And then she shattered again.

Her release hit hard, a wave of raw pleasure that crashed through her as she cried out his name. Her inner walls clamped around him, and her entire body quaked beneath his, thighs trembling, fingers gripping him like lifelines.

He wasn’t far behind. A few more desperate thrusts, a guttural groan, and he drove into her one final time deeply, and possessively. His whole body shuddered as he emptied himself inside her, his forehead pressed to hers, breath fanning over her cheek. He whispered her name like a prayer, like a promise.

But even as their bodies trembled in the aftermath, they didn't stop, they couldn't.

He kissed her again, not softly. Not sweetly. But with the same hunger that had driven him moments ago, deep, consuming, claiming. His tongue brushed hers, tasting her moans, stoking embers that hadn’t had the chance to cool. She felt him hardening again inside her, already stirring back to life.

He shifted them, rolling them effortlessly until she straddled him. She gasped at the new position, at the fullness. Her hands braced on his chest, slick with sweat, her fingers splaying over the hard planes of muscle as she adjusted to the stretch.

Then she began to move.

Slowly at first, and then her desire peaked. His hands gripped her hips, guiding her, grounding her. And his dark eyes traced her face, down her throat, over the soft swell of her breasts as they bounced with each thrust of her hips. He let out a low groan that made her clench around him, her pace stuttering.

“Just like that,” he whispered, voice rough with awe.

Yalda rode him with a reckless rhythm, surrendering to sensation. Every glide, every grind against his pelvis sent sparks shooting through her. Her head fell back, hair tumbling down her spine, lips parted as soft cries escaped her. His hands slid up, cupping her breasts, thumbs grazing her nipples until she gasped again, her movements quickening, desperate.

She clenched around him as his fingers wrapped around her throat, helpless as another climax coiled and burst, her body convulsed in waves of pleasure. He groaned, sitting up to catch her in his arms, burying his face in the crook of her neck as he followed her over the edge again.

By now, his body was trembling with exhaustion, his chest slick with sweat, hair damp and clinging to his forehead. But his smile was soft, dazed, the kind of smile that reached deep into her chest and curled around her heart. His touch never stopped. He traced her skin like she was something sacred, his fingers mapping her collarbone, her waist, the curve of her thigh.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice thick with wonder, brushing a kiss to her shoulder. “I could die here, and I’d die happy.”

She didn’t answer, she couldn’t. She was too full of him. Of everything.

At last, they collapsed together in a tangled heap of limbs and tangled sheets, their bodies flushed, sticky with sweat and need and release. His arms wrapped around her, holding her close, anchoring her to the moment. She pressed her cheek to his chest, listening to the slowing beat of his heart, the rise and fall of his breath.

And for once, she didn’t think about what came next. Not about Ioannis. Not about guilt. Not about choices she couldn’t unmake. In Alexander’s arms, she simply breathed.