My heart slams against my ribs as I stare into those green eyes that have chased me through years of dreams and regrets. Then I capture her mouth again, pouring every unspoken word, every lonely night, every ounce of regret and longing into the kiss.
She moans my name as my thumbs brush the sensitive curves beneath her breasts. Her back bows, pressing herself closer, seeking more contact. The sound of my name on her lips like that—breathy and desperate and full of need—snaps the last thread of my control.
"Stand up," I command, my voice barely recognizable.
She scrambles off my lap, and I'm on my feet in an instant. Before she can catch her breath, I grab her, lifting her against me. Her legs wrap around my waist like they were made to fit there.
"Where?" The word comes out strangled as her mouth finds my neck, trailing fire across my skin. Each brush of her lips, each little sound she makes, feels both achingly familiar and thrillingly new. I'm drowning in her—her scent, her taste, the soft sounds she can't hold back.
"Bedroom." She gestures vaguely towards the hall before returning to that spot below my ear that makes my knees weak. Her teeth graze my earlobe and coherent thoughts become impossible.
I carry her through the loft, navigating past her towering canvases like a man drunk on desire. Each painting we pass tells a story of the years we've missed—her pain, her triumph, her growth captured in bold strokes and vivid colors. Her weight in my arms feels perfect, inevitable, like every step I've taken in fifteen years was leading to this moment. Her fingers weave through my hair, tugging with just enough force to make pleasure spike down my spine.
"Red," I groan, stumbling when she deliberately rolls her hips against me. The friction sends sparks of electricity through my body. "You're killing me."
Her laugh vibrates against my neck, pure magic that makes my heart stutter. "Good." Her teeth find my earlobe, and a sharp nip is followed by the soothing sweep of her tongue. "Consider it payback for more then a decade of dreams."
The playfulness in her voice, the way she teases even now—it's so perfectly, uniquely her that my chest aches with recognition. I can't wait another step. So I pin her against the hallway wall, needing a moment to drink her in.
Her lips are swollen from my kisses, her eyes dark pools of desire, and light catches on her skin, making her glow like some pagan goddess of desire and redemption.
She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, and the realization that she's here, in my arms, steals my breath.
"What?" she asks, squirming under my intense gaze, a flush creeping up her neck.
"Just..." I brush my thumb across her bottom lip, watching it tremble under my touch. "Making sure this isn't another dream. God knows I've had enough of those."
Something soft and vulnerable passes through her eyes, and then she's kissing me again, deep and slow and thorough, like she's trying to prove this is real. Her legs tighten around my waist, pulling me closer until there's no space left between us, until I can feel every curve, every breath, every heartbeat.
We finally make it to her bedroom, where light spills through gauzy curtains, painting everything in soft gold. Isabella slides down my body deliberately slow, the friction making my vision blur at the edges. Her hands find the hem of my dress shirt, tugging with an impatience that makes me smile despite the fire racing through my veins.
"Off," she demands, artist's fingers already tugging at the buttons.
"Yes, ma'am."
I take over, unbuttoning slowly, watching Isabella's face more carefully than I've ever watched any business negotiation. My fingers tremble slightly—a vulnerability I'd never allow in the boardroom. This isn't just undressing. It's revealing a secret she isn't aware I've kept from her.
Her eyes follow each newly exposed inch of skin with hungry anticipation, but as the shirt falls open, revealing what lies beneath, that hunger transforms into something else entirely. Her sharp intake of breath is audible in the silence between us.
"Holy shit." Her hands hover inches from my skin, as if afraid to touch. "When did you... get this done?"
I guide her fingers to the compass design over my heart. "Started in boarding school. The day I turned eighteen. This was first."
Her touch is electric, sending goosebumps across my skin as she traces the sacred geometry and Celtic knots. "And your parents never—"
"Never saw. Never will." I shrug the shirt off completely, turning to reveal the empty birdcage on my shoulder blade. "My private rebellion. Something they couldn't control."
"The compass," she murmurs, her fingertips lingering over my heart. "Always searching for direction." Her eyes meet mine with an understanding that steals my breath. "For freedom?"
When I nod, she steps back and rolls up her right sleeve. My heart stutters as dark ink emerges against her pale skin—a compass rose, its needle pointing true north.
"You..." My voice breaks as I trace the familiar pattern, identical to the one I'd placed around her neck when we were teens. "When?"
"My eighteenth birthday." Her voice softens with memory. "After your mother took the necklace. I needed something they couldn't steal."
I press my lips to her tattoo, feeling her pulse race beneath the ink. She shivers, her free hand finding my shoulder for balance.
"The empty birdcage," she whispers, moving behind me, her breath warm against my skin. "The door's open, but the cage remains."
