Serena’s POV
Ryan’s eyes sparkled with amusent across the dinner table. "Feeling better now?" he asked, watching finish the last bite of my chocolate dessert.
"Much better," I admitted, licking the spoon clean. The tension from earlier had lted away during our impromptu dinner at this cozy restaurant Ryan had chosen. It was small, private, and sohow exactly what I needed after the stressful confrontation at LUXE Jewelry.
"You know," Ryan said, his voice dropping lower, "you still haven’t properly compensated ."
I raised an eyebrow. "The dinner wasn’t enough?"
"Not even close." His gaze darkened slightly, sending a familiar warmth spreading through .
The waiter appeared to clear our plates. "Will there be anything else, Mr. Blackwood?"
"Just the check, thank you." Ryan never took his eyes off .
The ride ho was charged with electricity. Ryan’s hand rested on my thigh, his thumb tracing small circles that sent shivers up my spine. I glanced at his profile, illuminated by the passing streetlights. His jaw was set, eyes focused on the road, but I could feel the tension rolling off him.
"You’re quiet," I observed.
"Just thinking."
"About?"
He looked at briefly, his eyes intense. "About getting you ho."
When we finally arrived, Ryan helped out of the car, his hand lingering at the small of my back as we walked to the door. The mont we stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted.
"Ryan, I—" My words were cut short as he turned around, pressing gently against the closed door.
"Do you have any idea what you do to ?" he whispered, his breath warm against my ear.
His hands cupped my face so tenderly it made my heart ache. The contrast between his restraint and the naked desire in his eyes was intoxicating. He leaned forward, brushing his lips against mine—just barely, a question more than a kiss.
I answered by pulling him closer, my fingers tangling in his hair. The kiss deepened, slow and deliberate at first, then growing more urgent. His hands moved down to my waist, careful, always careful around my growing belly.
"Are you sure?" he murmured against my lips. "With everything today..."
"I’ve never been more sure," I breathed, taking his hand and leading him toward the bedroom.
The room was bathed in soft moonlight streaming through the windows. Ryan stood behind , his hands gently sliding my jacket off my shoulders. Each touch was purposeful, reverent. He brushed my hair aside to place his lips against my neck, sending delicious tingles down my spine.
"Tell if anything feels uncomfortable," he whispered, his hands now working on the buttons of my blouse.
I nodded, unable to form words as his fingertips traced the newly exposed skin. The blouse fell away, followed by my skirt, pooling around my ankles in a whisper of fabric.
Ryan turned around slowly, his eyes darkening as they traveled over my body. My pregnancy had changed , curves fuller, skin glowing. The way he looked at —like I was sothing precious, sothing to be worshipped—made feel beautiful in ways I’d never experienced before.
"You’re breathtaking," he said, voice husky with desire.
I reached for him, undoing his tie with trembling fingers. "Your turn."
He stood perfectly still as I unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the toned chest beneath. My fingers traced the contours of his muscles, feeling them tense under my touch. When I reached for his belt, his breath hitched audibly.
Soon, we stood before each other, barriers gone. Ryan’s gaze was hungry, yet restrained. I recognized his caution—his fear of hurting or the baby—and it both touched and frustrated .
"Ryan," I whispered, guiding him toward the bed. "I’m not made of glass."
He smiled, a mixture of tenderness and desire. "I know, but you’re carrying sothing precious."
He sat on the edge of the bed, drawing between his legs. His hands caressed my sides, lips pressing gentle kisses along my collarbone, moving lower to the swell of my breasts. Every touch was carefully asured, deliciously controlled.
Too controlled.
The fire building inside demanded more. I pushed him back gently until he was lying on the bed, surprise flashing in his eyes as I carefully climbed over him.
"Serena—"
"Shh," I placed a finger against his lips. "Let ."
Straddling his hips, I felt powerful, beautiful. The way Ryan looked up at —with awe, with hunger—fueled sothing primal within . His hands ca to rest on my thighs, grip tightening as I moved against him.
"God, Serena," he groaned, his composure cracking.
I leaned down to kiss him, my hair creating a curtain around us. His hands traveled up my back, holding close as our bodies began moving together in an ancient rhythm. The sensation was overwhelming—each touch, each breath, each whispered word building toward sothing magnificent.
Ryan was everywhere—his scent, his taste, his touch consuming entirely. The careful restraint he’d shown earlier had transford into sothing more desperate, more real. His hands guided my hips, setting a pace that had gasping his na.
"Look at ," he commanded softly.
I opened my eyes, eting his gaze. The connection was electric, intimate in a way that transcended the physical. In that mont, I felt truly seen—not as the woman who’d lost her mory, not as the designer fighting for recognition, but simply as Serena.
As we moved together, the world outside ceased to exist. There was only this—only us—bound together in a dance as old as ti itself.
When release finally ca, it washed over in waves, Ryan’s na a prayer on my lips. He followed shortly after, his body tensing beneath mine as he whispered my na like a sacred vow.
Afterward, we lay tangled together, his hand gently stroking my belly. The baby kicked, as if acknowledging his presence.
"Did you feel that?" I whispered, placing my hand over his.
He nodded, eyes wide with wonder. "It’s incredible."
In the quiet that followed, I felt sothing shift between us—sothing profound and unnaable. Whatever complications awaited us beyond this room, this mont was ours, perfect in its simplicity.
Ryan pulled closer, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Sleep," he murmured. "I’ve got you."
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