Page 15 of His To Unravel (His & Hers Duet #1)

The lighting is subdued, casting golden halos across tables set apart for privacy, each tucked within alcoves lining the walls.

The place is layered with old-world charm and subtle sophistication—it’s warm and inviting yet steeped in shadows.

The kind of setting where conversations unfold slowly, intimately, like confessions coaxed out by candlelight.

I guide Olivia inside with a hand at the small of her back. She moves closer, her posture tentative but comfortable. She takes in the surroundings—the deep burgundy leather chairs, the flickering candles, the vintage jazz playing low in the background.

I chose this place based on things I’ve observed—her style, her demeanor, the way her eyes linger on old books, and her preference for quiet corners.

As we settle into a corner booth, her features are softened by the glow of the flickering candles—green eyes bright against the low light, auburn hair falling around her shoulders with a casual elegance that makes my pulse quicken.

She’s wearing a black slip dress that clings in all the right places. Modest from afar, but up close, it’s lethal. The way it hugs her waist, the line of her bare shoulders, the flash of skin when she moves… I don’t think she realizes what she’s doing to me.

Or maybe she does.

The waiter arrives, and I order for us both, slipping in dishes I know she favors, recalling the way her face lights up at the first taste of something she truly enjoys.

My gaze doesn’t waver as she speaks, her voice soft, slightly self-conscious. She has no idea how captivating she is when she has her guard down like this.

I reach across the table, refilling her glass before our drinks are even halfway empty, letting my fingers brush hers with just enough intention to keep the atmosphere charged, a steady current building between us with each passing glance.

As the meal winds down, I reach into my jacket, pulling out a small velvet box. I set it on the table, watching her gaze drift to it, curiosity stirring in her expression.

“What’s this?” she murmurs, eyes lifting to meet mine, a flicker of nervous excitement dancing in their depths.

“A token,” I say quietly, pushing the box closer. “To mark where we are…. And where I hope we’re heading.”

She lifts the lid, her breath catching as she takes in what’s inside.

A solitaire diamond pendant, custom-designed for her—1.5 carats, carefully bezel-set in yellow gold. Understated, classic, yet distinctive. I know she’s not one for ostentatious displays, but this— this suits her perfectly.

On the back, concealed from view, I’ve had my initials, NC, engraved in a discreet monogram. It’s a detail that only she’ll see, like a whispered promise pressed against her skin.

Her fingers trace the pendant carefully, the facets of the diamond twinkling in the candlelight. I wonder if she’ll sense the intention beneath it all—that I want her marked, tethered to me in ways she doesn’t yet fully comprehend.

She looks up, and there’s a hint of something hesitant in her expression. “Nate, it’s beautiful, but…I don’t know if I can accept it. It’s…a lot.”

I lean in, holding her gaze. “It is a lot. Because you matter to me– a lot . I wanted you to have something that reflects that,” I murmur, voice low, intimate. “This is a reminder that wherever you go, that’s where I want to be.”

She shifts, clearly affected, her fingers brushing the edge of the box as if still uncertain. I take her hand, feeling its warmth beneath my palm, squeezing gently.

The corner of her mouth lifts and she gives a small nod. Her fingers hover over the pendant, her touch drifting over the smooth back where my initials are etched, hidden but ever-present.

She doesn’t yet understand the full meaning behind it. That it’s more than a symbol of affection.

It’s a tether.

Standing, I gently lift the pendant from her hand. “Allow me,” I say, moving behind her. I fasten the chain around her neck, taking a moment to let my fingers trail along her skin.

She touches the pendant, then lifts her gaze to mine. “Thank you,” she says softly.

When I return to my seat, I relish the sight of my necklace resting perfectly against her collarbone.

I admire the diamond for what it is: a beacon that will relay her location at all times, a way to keep her safe. I feel an indescribable satisfaction settle within me, a reassurance that she will never be lost to me.

“It’s perfect,” I murmur, unable to hide the delight in my voice. “Promise me you won’t take it off.”

She nods, her fingers flitting over the diamond. “I promise,” she says, and I feel the satisfaction seep into my bones.

After dinner, I lead her along a discreet path behind the restaurant to the private garden I reserved. The narrow stone pathway is lined with blooming lavender, the air thick with its calming scent. Garden lanterns flicker softly along the edges, casting warm light that dances across her features.

The end of the path opens into a secluded alcove—an intentional pocket of intimacy, enclosed by manicured hedges and a canopy of leaves that filter the starlight overhead. The hum of the city fades to a distant murmur, replaced by a serenity that wraps around us like a cocoon .

With a hand at the small of her back, I guide her deeper into the alcove until we reach a cast iron bench nestled beneath the trees. Its back is a tangle of sculpted flowers—iron blooms woven into elegant, curling vines.

I gesture for her to sit and slide in closely beside her, my thigh brushing hers. The dim lantern light casts a soft glow on her flushed cheeks, and I can see the anticipation in her eyes—a want that mirrors my own.

Without a word, I lean in and graze my lips lightly against hers, reveling in how warm and pliant they are beneath mine.

It’s a slow, consuming kiss—each touch, each gentle press, weighted with everything I’ve felt since I first saw her.

Her breath hitches. She leans into me, her fingers catching the collar of my jacket—tentative yet trusting. I take everything she gives, savoring the way her tongue meets mine in a timid caress. She tastes like the red wine we enjoyed with dinner—and just as intoxicating.

The moment stretches, her pulse thrumming under my touch, our breaths mingling in the cool night air.

I pull back just enough to study her face—the slight tremor of her lips, the way her gaze searches mine, as if piecing together the depth of my intent.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted this?” I ask, voice low and rough.

She looks at me, a flicker of surprise mingling with desire, and I feel a rush of satisfaction, knowing I’m the one who brings this out in her.

The tension builds—a silent, shared understanding passing between us.

Slowly, I sink to my knees before her, eyes locked with hers as I do. I place a hand gently on her thigh, and her breathing quickens.

“May I?” I ask, my voice hushed, reverent.

She slowly gathers the hem of her dress with trembling hands and gives a small nod. I feel a surge of possessive satisfaction as she gives me this silent permission.

The dress bunches at her waist, revealing baby-pink panties trimmed with lace.

Fuck. This woman is going to be the death of me .

I lean in and tongue the edge of her panties, teasing. Her fingers bury themselves in my hair, tentative and shaking. I grab her hands and press them firmly to my head, giving her permission to take whatever she wants.

I nuzzle the soaked fabric between her legs, breathing in her scent, branding it into my memory. Slowly, I slide her panties down her legs. Her pink pussy is slick and puffy with need for me.

God, she’s perfect.

Her hips lift instinctively, seeking me out, and I dive forward, letting her find me. I slide my tongue between her soft folds, tasting her for the first time. She gasps and arches into me.

“Fuck, Olivia…” I groan against her, “you taste so good. So sweet.”

A broken “Oh God” escapes her lips, her grip tightening in my hair.

My palms press against her inner thighs, opening her wider to give me more space to work as I bury my entire face in her sex until I’m coated in her.

A moan slips free from my sweet, beautiful girl as I close my mouth over her clit and suck hard. Her back arches as she rocks into my mouth, writhing on my tongue with a desperation she doesn’t try to hide.

When I feel her grip tighten in my hair, I know she’s starting to let go, allowing herself to give in to the moment.

Emboldened, I move lower and begin working up and down her slit, pushing deeper and deeper until I’m licking inside her, slow and deep .

She starts to writhe, slick and needy under my mouth. “That’s my girl.” I murmur against her. “Let go. Give in to me.”

Her cries get sharper as I apply pressure to her clit with my thumb—she’s starting to sound as wild and high as I feel.

I replace my tongue with a finger, and when I see how easily it slips inside her pussy, I add another. Thrusting into her, I close my lips around her swollen clit, sucking and licking in tandem. She squeals and bucks, pushing my face even deeper.

“Nate, I’m so close…” Her words come in soft pants. She is tense, hot and coiled around my fingers, and I know it won’t take long.

I find the spot where every nerve seems to ignite, drawing a gasp from her lips. I glance up at her, and the sight of Olivia’s wide green eyes glittering with desire as she watches me fuck her with my fingers is extraordinary.

I feel her clench around me, her thighs trembling, breath stuttering– so close . My voice comes low, rough with need. “Let me have it, Olivia. You don’t ever have to hold back with me.”

Time means nothing. She is so sweet and silky on my tongue, I could happily remain buried in her tight cunt forever. I won’t stop until she falls apart for me.

And then, she does.

She cries my name, voice breaking as she comes, a little gush of wetness spilling out around my fingers. I lap it up, devouring her. My fingers continue to thrust inside her, letting her ride it out until her breathing slows and her body goes slack.

I slowly remove my fingers and lift them to my lips, licking them clean to ensure not a drop of her is wasted. With a final kiss to her clit, I slide her panties back into place.

She’s breathless, her hands clutching my shoulders as I rise. Her cheeks are flushed, her gaze hazy with the residual pleasure, and I feel a thrill knowing I’m the one who’s left her this way .

I brush her hair back from her face, letting my thumb trail along her cheek.

“You did so fucking good, Olivia,” I praise, kissing her softly.

She gives me a shy smile, eyes dipping as if the praise flusters her more than everything I just did to her.

I lace my fingers with hers and pull her from the bench. “It’s getting late, I’ll walk you back to campus,” I murmur, smoothing out her hair, relishing the warmth in her gaze, the newfound trust in the way she looks at me.

As we start walking, I notice the blush that still stains her cheeks, the way she leans ever so slightly toward me, as if drawn by an invisible string.

And I revel in it, knowing I’ve worked myself deeper into her mind, her heart, her body.

At the dorm steps, I pull her close for one last kiss, sliding my tongue between her parted lips and claiming her all over again. Reminding her.

When I pull back, she blinks up at me, lips parted, fingers brushing her mouth. Surprised.

Because she can taste herself on me.

Good . I want her to lie in bed tonight thinking about my mouth between her thighs.

And tomorrow?

I’ll find new ways to remind her who she belongs to.