I Want You
The skyline was quiet tonight.
From the thirty-seventh floor of my penthouse, I could see the city lights bleeding into the sky like fireflies trapped under glass. Chicago didn’t sleep, but it did quiet down—just enough for a man nursing a drink to hear his own heartbeat echo through a room filled with silence.
I sat in the dark, fingers curled around a crystal glass of bourbon, the amber liquid catching the flicker of streetlamps far below. I hadn’t turned on the lights. I didn’t need to. I wanted the quiet. Needed it.
Levi was digging through ghosts. Vera was pulling threads on a web that spanned years. And I—I was here, turning the name “Seraphim” over and over in my head like a riddle carved into my bones.
A soft ding broke the stillness.
I turned my head toward the source—the soft glow of the security panel above the door. A visitor? At this hour?
I stood, setting the glass down on the black marble coffee table, and crossed the floor. Barefoot. Shirt sleeves rolled up. The penthouse stretched around me, sleek and glassy, but for once, all the wealth meant nothing.
I tapped the door screen.
And froze.
There she was.
Ariana.
Her face lit up the tiny monitor like a sunrise sneaking through storm clouds. Her blonde hair was a little messy, her lips pink from the wind, eyes bright despite the late hour. She was still in her work clothes—a white blouse, navy pencil skirt—but the way she smiled at the camera made my chest ache in the best way.
I opened the door without a second thought.
She didn’t wait for words.
She launched herself into my arms like I was the one home and she was finally safe. Her arms wrapped around my neck, her head tucked beneath my chin. I smelled her shampoo—lavender and something citrusy—and suddenly everything felt easier.
I held her close, squeezing once, twice, then eased back just enough to look her in the eye.
“It’s almost midnight,” I murmured, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “What are you doing out so late, baby?”
She gave me that mock-innocent look. “I was working. You know, saving the world one boring contract at a time.”
“You work too much,” I muttered, tapping her nose lightly.
“And you worry too much,” she shot back, giggling as she swatted my chest.
I smiled, unable to stop myself. “I still can’t believe my grumpy, type-A boss is now my girlfriend.”
She raised a brow. “I still can’t believe I’m dating the man I once threatened to fire for parking in my space.”
“I didn’t park in your space.”
“You parked near it. That’s basically the same thing.”
I laughed as I shut the door behind her, flipping the lock. “God help me. You’re impossible.”
“And yet, here you are,” she teased.
I led her to the couch—plush, long enough for us both to sprawl—and eased her down. She sighed as she sank into the cushions, but winced a little.
“Heels?” I guessed.
“Four-inch torture devices,” she confirmed.
“Let me.”
She blinked at me, but then gave a soft smile and nodded.
I knelt in front of her, gently sliding off her heels. Her legs were smooth under my hands, warm from the day, her skin glowing faintly in the dim lighting. I began to massage her calves, fingers working in slow, deliberate circles, and her eyes fluttered closed.
“You’re going to make me fall asleep,” she whispered.
“Good. You need the rest.”
She hummed. “Or you could keep doing this for the next five hours.”
I chuckled under my breath. “You’re greedy.”
“I’m in pain. There’s a difference.”
I moved to her other leg. She stretched, her blouse riding up just a bit, revealing the soft curve of her waist. I glanced up, watching her. Even exhausted, she was beautiful. The kind of beautiful that didn’t need effort. It was in her presence. Her laugh. The way she leaned into my touch like she belonged to me.
I couldn’t resist asking, “How did you know I was here?”
She cracked one eye open. “Silly man. Did you forget I stalk you?”
I barked out a laugh. “You’re not joking, are you?”
“Nope. I always know where you are. My tracker app says ‘boyfriend within five meters’ and I come running.”
“You’re insane.”
“Only about you.”
The air shifted.
Suddenly, the laughter faded into something deeper. Warmer.
Her eyes found mine, and the silence stretched again—soft, electric. My hands were still on her legs, her heels forgotten somewhere on the rug. She sat up slowly, her face inches from mine.
I didn’t move.
Neither did she.
The space between us wasn’t really space at all—it was a tether pulling tighter, breath by breath. I watched her chest rise, her lips part slightly, her gaze flicker to my mouth. The heat that pooled in my stomach was slow and consuming, curling through me like smoke.
I reached up and cupped her jaw, my thumb brushing her cheek.
“I want you,” I whispered.
Her breath caught.
“I want you so bad.”
Then I kissed her.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate.
It was deep. Slow. Certain.
The kind of kiss that made you forget you ever had doubts. Made the world disappear around the edges until there was nothing left but the shape of her mouth against mine, the warmth of her fingers sliding into my hair.
She tasted like cinnamon gum and something uniquely her. I felt her sigh into me, her body melting forward until she was practically in my lap, arms wrapped tight around my neck.
My hands slid around her waist, pulling her closer. She straddled my thighs without hesitation, the kiss deepening, her hips shifting just enough to make my grip tighten.
I broke the kiss for just a second, forehead resting against hers.
“I missed you,” I breathed.
“I missed you more,” she whispered.
Her lips brushed mine again, soft and teasing.
And just like that, the sweetness lit a fuse under the heat.
Her fingers fumbled at the buttons of my shirt, the smooth fabric parting under her touch. My hands slid up her thighs, under her skirt, and she let out a breathy sound that sent a tremor through my spine.
She was all softness and fire in my hands, and I didn’t know how I ever went days without touching her like this. Being with her like this.
She pulled back, eyes hooded, lips swollen, breathing fast.
“I love how you look at me,” she whispered.
“Like you’re mine?” I asked.
She nodded.
“You are mine,” I said, voice low, rough. “And I’m yours.”
We didn’t move for a long moment.
Just stared at each other like maybe, just maybe, everything outside the walls of this penthouse didn’t matter. Not the secrets. Not the shadows. Not the past clawing at the edges of my world.
She leaned forward again, brushing her lips over my jaw, my throat, every kiss a silent declaration.
But even as her touch burned across my skin, part of me was still holding on to something else.
That car.
Those eyes.
Seraphim.
I exhaled through my nose, trying to push it away.
Ariana noticed.
She leaned back, searching my face.
“What is it?”
I hesitated.
But I couldn’t ruin this moment. Not yet. Not tonight.
So I kissed her again instead—harder this time, as if trying to drown the doubts, the fear, the whispers that something was coming.
She responded in kind, her fingers curling into my hair, her body arching against mine with a quiet urgency.
And just when I thought I couldn’t take it any longer—
She whispered, “Take me to bed.”
I froze.
And grinned.
But I didn’t move.
Not yet.
I brushed her hair back slowly, kissed her again—softer this time—and murmured against her lips:
“Not yet. Not until I memorize every inch of you.”
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