The villa echoed with silence, broken only by the rustle of silk sheets and the rhythmic hush of the tide beyond the windows. Lucien lay beside Zara, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting across her bare waist. Morning sun painted her skin gold, but his eyes burned with something darker.
"You're staring," she murmured without opening her eyes.
"I'm memorizing," he replied. "Because sometimes I still wake up thinking you're a dream."
She turned to face him, her lips curling with amusement. "A dream that's caused you global scandal and political trauma?"
He leaned in, kissing the corner of her mouth. "Worth it."
Zara dragged her nails down his chest, slow and teasing. "Lucien Vale, are you getting soft on me?"
His hand closed around her wrist in a possessive grip. "Only when I'm inside you. And even then, not always."
Their lips collided with the force of suppressed hunger. There was no gentle foreplay—no need. This wasn't about seduction. It was about claiming. Remembering. Dominating and surrendering in turns.
Lucien pinned her beneath him, his knee nudging her thighs apart. She writhed against him, biting his lower lip as he growled low in his throat. Her hands roamed his back, nails scoring his skin as he pushed inside her in one deep, brutal thrust.
Zara cried out, her legs locking around his waist. The stretch was sharp, delicious, grounding.
"You feel it too, don't you?" he rasped into her neck. "How it's never enough with you. I fuck you, and I'm still starving."
She dug her heels into his back, urging him deeper. "Then take more. I'm not afraid of how much you want me."
He slammed into her, again and again, each stroke an oath. Her head tilted back, her body arching to meet him. Sweat slicked their skin. Every moan, every cry, every whisper of their names was a ritual.
When her climax tore through her, she clung to him like she might fall apart without his weight holding her down. He followed a heartbeat later, spilling into her with a groan that trembled through both their bodies.
But it wasn't over.
Lucien rolled them, pulling her on top. She gasped as he guided her hips, watching her ride him with fire in her eyes. His hands gripped her thighs, his voice low and reverent.
"You're a goddess, Zara. My ruin. My religion."
She leaned down to kiss him, teeth grazing his bottom lip. "And you're mine to break."
They came together again, not with violence, but with aching, slow precision. As if each thrust was a declaration of devotion.
Later, tangled in the sheets, Zara rested her cheek against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
"If this is what marriage looks like," she said, "I might actually survive it."
Lucien chuckled, brushing hair from her face. "We'll set a new standard. One scandal, one orgasm at a time."
Outside, the world waited.
Inside, they were fire and flesh, bone and soul. And nothing would come between them again.