Page 36

Roxanne

A fter we leave Raphael’s place, the tension between Leonard and me is so thick and tangible I could reach out and touch it.

The silence on the car ride back is heavy and filled with everything unsaid between us.

I can feel his presence beside me, a steady warmth that I find strangely comforting, even as the heaviness of what we’ve just discussed weighs on both of us.

By the time we get to my place, it’s late.

Leonard parks in front of my building, his hands gripping the wheel with a bit too much force, staring forward as if the house itself might have the answers to all our problems. I reach over, putting my hand gently on his arm.

“You don’t have to stay,” I say softly, though part of me hopes he will.

He looks at me; his face is closed off, but his gaze is intense, searching mine. “I don’t know if I could leave right now, even if I wanted to,” he replies, his voice coming out in a low rumble. There’s a vulnerability there, a crack in his armor that reaches something deep inside me.

“Come in,” I say, hearing the hint of longing in my own voice. I slip out of the car and head up to my door, hearing his footsteps close behind me.

Inside, the house is dark, the only light streaming in from outside.

It’s quiet, as if the apartment itself is giving us a rest from what we’ve been dealing with.

I turn on a lamp, and the soft glow spills across the room, making it feel almost cozy and safe.

Leonard stands in the doorway, his eyes sweeping over the room as if he’s committing every detail to memory.

I regret not telling him sooner about moving here.

Now I realize my mistake. I should have trusted him with this information.

He looks exhausted, but more than that, there’s something else—a deep devastation that’s like a raw wound.

His shoulders sag, his usually confident posture crumbling under the weight of betrayal.

I feel a wave of sadness for him, for everything he’s going through, for how much he’s been forced to carry on his shoulders.

I step closer, letting my hand rest on his chest.

“Leonard…” I don’t know what to say. Finding the right words to offer comfort feels impossible when there’s no easy solution, no quick fix.

He turns to me, and his eyes catch mine.

For a moment, it’s as if the walls he keeps so carefully constructed around himself just crumble.

He’s not the mogul, the CEO, the one who built an empire.

He’s just Leonard, someone hurt and betrayed, someone who’s trying to stay strong even when the world seems determined to pull him down.

“Roxanne…” he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper, as if speaking my name is an effort he can barely pull off.

There’s a pause, a beat where everything stills, and then he reaches for me, his hand cupping my cheek with an unexpected gentleness, his thumb brushing against my skin, tracing a line that sends a shiver through me.

I close my eyes, leaning into his touch and savoring the warmth that radiates from him.

When I open them again, he looks at me with an intensity that leaves me breathless.

It feels as though the distance between us is nothing, as though the weight of everything we’re dealing with falls away, leaving only this fragile, electric connection.

I tilt my head up, closing the remaining space between us, my lips finding his in a tentative, lingering kiss.

He hesitates for a moment, his hand still cradling my face as if he’s afraid to let himself feel anything.

But then he deepens the kiss, his fingers tangling in my hair, his other hand finding its way to my waist, pulling me closer.

It’s like everything we’ve been holding back, all the tension, all the unspoken words, comes pouring out in that kiss.

My hands find their way to his shoulders, clutching the fabric of his shirt as if it were the only thing keeping me grounded.

I can feel his heartbeat beneath my fingertips, strong and steady, and it’s that rhythm that I cling to as his lips move against mine, slow and searching like he’s savoring every second.

He breaks away just long enough to rest his forehead against mine, his breathing heavy, his voice barely a murmur. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His confession is raw and exposes all his vulnerability.

We’ve had sex many times before tonight, but this feels different and special.

Like something shifted between us, something deeper and more grounding than the intimacy between our bodies.

This time, our hearts entwine, bridging the space between our souls.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you either,” I whisper back.

“Are you sure?” he asks, as though he’s uncertain that something like this could happen, like he expects some sort of betrayal from me too. My heart breaks for him. He is so wounded by all that’s happening he has to ask the question out loud to ensure he trusts the right person.

I nod, unable to form the words. I’m more sure of this—of him—than I’ve been about anything in a long time.

He lifts me effortlessly, carrying me toward the couch, lowering me onto it with a tenderness that almost undoes me.

He hovers above me for a moment, his gaze tracing every inch of my face like he’s trying to commit it to memory.

I reach up, my fingers skimming along his jaw, feeling the roughness of his stubble beneath my touch.

He leans down, pressing his lips to mine once more, his kiss deepening, his hands exploring the curve of my waist, the arch of my back. His touch is both gentle and possessive, a reminder that, in this moment, we’re both exactly where we want to be.

I unbutton his shirt slowly, savoring his gaze that skims every inch of my body.

I run my fingers across his chest, resting my palm on his hammering heart.

The same heart that broke into a thousand pieces but still hammers for me, for us, in this bubble we are living in right now.

He deserves this moment. We deserve to be happy, even if for a few hours.

Tomorrow, the problem will chase us with a vengeance, but for now, we are here, safe and happy, sharing this intimacy.

Leonard grabs the hem of my shirt and pulls it over my head.

He then takes my shorts and slips them down my legs, leaving them on the floor.

He bends over me and kisses his way down from my jaw to the swell of my chest, slowly, oh so slowly, savoring my skin, every breath that catches in my throat, every goosebump that arises under his touch.

He takes his time, allowing us all the time we need to be happy. There is no rush, no consuming lust, but a strong, steady beat that accompanies our hearts.

I can feel the weight of him above me, the warmth of his skin against mine, and everything else—the betrayal, the tension, the fear of what comes next—fades away. There’s only this, only us, tangled together, finding peace in each other in a way that feels both inevitable and absolutely right.

His hand slides beneath my panties, his fingers tracing a path along my opening, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

I arch into him, my own hands exploring the expanse of his back, the strength in his shoulders.

There’s a desperation in our movements, a need to hold onto something real, something solid, amidst the chaos.

When he slips his hard erection deep into my core and we move together, there’s a sense of release, of letting go of everything that’s been building between us.

His touch is like a balm, soothing the raw fear and grounding me in a way that nothing else has.

I can feel his heartbeat, strong and steady, a rhythm that matches my own.

I wrap my legs around his and move to meet his thrust, knowing that here, with him, is the only place I want to be. And when the climax hits me with wave after wave of immense pleasure, I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him into my chest. His arms wrap around my waist in response.

“Don’t let me go,” I breathe in his ear. And I don’t mean just now. I don’t want to slip between his fingers when this storm ceases and the sun shines again.

“Never, I will never let you go,” he says, staring straight into my soul, and I know he means it.

We lie tangled together on the couch, breathing slowly, our hearts returning to a normal pace.

His arm is wrapped around me, holding me close, and I rest my head against his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

There’s a quiet peace in the room, a sense of calm that feels almost fragile, like it might shatter at any moment. But for now, it’s enough.

He brushes a strand of hair away from my face, his fingers lingering against my skin. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice soft but filled with a depth of emotion that surprises me.

I lift my head to look at him, studying the lines of his face, the vulnerability that lingers in his eyes. “For what?”

“For being here,” he says simply, his hand tightening around mine. “For not walking away.”

I smile, feeling a warmth bloom in my chest. “I couldn’t even if I tried,” I reply, my voice barely a whisper. And it’s true. No matter how complicated things get, no matter how tangled our lives become, I know I’m here for the long haul.