Page 35 of Siren (The Enigma Affairs #1)

THIRTY-TWO

T he light through the curtains was golden, touched with dusk.

He stood by the window, his braids crisp, his muscular torso shirtless, hands in his pockets, looking out over Florence like he hadn’t just caught me mid-collapse and carried me back to myself.

Like he hadn’t just flown across an ocean because my voice cracked through the phone line.

I watched him from the bed, chin resting on my arm, completely bare beneath the sheets. Tender in places he took ownership of.

“You always this dramatic?” I teased, voice still thick with sleep.

He turned, that slow grin stretching. “Only when it’s worth it.”

I sat up, letting the blanket slip to my waist. “You think I’m worth an international flight?”

He crossed the room in a few strides, leaned down, kissed my shoulder.

“I think you’re worth my life.”

My throat caught. My whole body stilled.

He meant it.

And I believed him.

I reached for his hand. Pulled him down beside me.

We lay on our sides, knees touching, foreheads brushing, the quiet folding in like silk. I kissed the corner of his mouth. Then his jaw. His neck. His shoulder. His collarbone. Like prayer.

“You still tired?” I asked.

“No.”

“Good.”

I rolled him onto his back and straddled him—slow, smooth, no rush.

His hands found my waist like they’d missed me. Like they were afraid I might fade.

I bent and kissed him. Soft. Deep. Full of everything I hadn’t said since we parted.

It wasn’t desperate. It was deliberate. A claiming. A confirmation.

We kissed until my thighs were trembling, until he was hard beneath me and whispering my name into my mouth like it was sacred .

I reached between us. Guided his thickness, that sweet dick of his, inside me. And when he moaned, I did too.

I rode him like the only truth that mattered was here. This. Us. Now.

Like I needed to know the shape of his love from the inside out.

He filled me slow, deep, eyes locked on mine like I was home and heaven and everything in between.

“Tell me,” I whispered, grinding harder. “Tell me who I belong to.”

“You’re mine,” he said, voice guttural, face flushed.

“Say it again.”

“You’re mine. All of you.”

I came like those words split me open. Shaking. Shouting. Falling.

And before the tremor faded, he flipped me and drove himself in deeper, harder, hands in my hair, mouth on my neck.

We made love like we were learning each other all over again. Like we didn’t know how long we had, but we were going to make it count.

When it ended, we stayed tangled. Breathing. Glowing. Full.

And for the first time in weeks, I wasn’t worried about tomorrow.

I knew we’d figure it out. Because I loved him. And he showed up. And that was the start of everything.

Hours Later – Florence, Italy

The stadium was alive.

Thousands of bodies moving as one. Lights flickering like stars in the rafters. My name chanted like a promise.

I stood backstage, mic in hand, earpiece buzzing, heart drumming against my ribs .

Tonight was different.

Not because the crowd was louder, or the city more beautiful, but because I was no longer singing from a hollow place.

I was full. Of him. Of us. I stepped into the light. The roar nearly knocked me off my feet.

I waited until it softened, until the band stilled.

Then I spoke.

“Y’all still with me tonight?” I smiled, voice teasing.

More screams.

I nodded, eyes scanning the crowd.

“I wrote a song a few weeks ago,” I said. “At a moment when I couldn’t quite say what I was feeling... so I sang it instead.”

The crowd quieted.

“I didn’t have a name for it back then. But I do now.”

A hush fell like a curtain.

“I call it All of You. ”

Gasps. Then silence again.

“And this one,” I said, voice trembling just a little, “this one’s for the man who flew across the world when I needed him. Who reminded me what it feels like to be held, seen, loved. Taraj... this is yours.”

The first chords played—slow, sultry, soaked in longing.

I closed my eyes.

And sang:

I tried to love you with half of me,

But you pulled the rest from where I’d buried it deep.

You kissed the scars I didn’t name,

Made me feel fire and never shame.

Now I crave you like the sun craves the sea,

Like silence longs for a melody .

I don’t want the pieces—I want the truth.

I want the breath. The pulse.

I want all of you.

The crowd was still. Spellbound. I opened my eyes.

And there he was. Standing just off stage. Hand over his heart. Jaw clenched. Eyes wet.

I kept singing.

Let the world spin wild outside our bed,

We’ll be wrapped in words we never said.

Give me mornings with your mouth on mine,

And nights that taste like red wine and time.

I don’t want the moment—I want the proof.

I want the breath. The ache.

I want all of you.

The last note curled into the air like smoke—thick, golden, lingering. It held the ache of everything I couldn’t say out loud. Everything I’d carried. Everything he came to carry with me.

And when it faded… the silence broke.

The crowd erupted. Thousands on their feet, screaming, clapping, crying .

But I didn’t bow.

I stood still, chest rising with breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. My gaze locked on him—right there in the wings, arms folded, heart wide open, eyes burning like I was the only thing in the room that mattered.

I mouthed, Come here.

He stepped forward. Not rushed. Not showy. Just slow, grounded steps like the whole earth was moving with him. Like fate had taken his hand and brought him into the light where he belonged.

The crowd lost it—but I only saw him.

And when he reached me, everything else melted away. The noise. The lights. The spectacle.

All that remained was us.

He wrapped his arms around me and kissed me—soft and sure and deep. Not for the cameras. Not for the headlines. But for every moment we’d been apart. Every fear we’d laid down. Every promise we hadn’t spoken but had already started to keep.

My knees nearly buckled, but his hands held me firm.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine. The mic caught the whisper he gave only to me…

“All of me is yours.”

My heart split open. Not from hurt—but from the fullness. And this time, I didn’t cry. I just held his face, thumbs brushing the corners of his mouth, and gave him the only truth I had left.

“I know.”