Chapter 14 INTIMACY

Rayna's POV

The next few days fell into an unexpected rhythm.

I'd go to work at the foundation in the morningsnthe showcase was only days away now. Come back in the afternoons to help with Connor. Denzel would come home earlier than usual, and we'd

navigate parenting together.

It was strange. Domestic. Almost like we were a real family instead of two people trapped in a contract.

And somewhere in those shared moments making dinner while Connor colored at the table, giving him baths together, reading bedtime stories side by side something was building between us.

The air felt charged whenever we were in the same room. I'd catch Denzel watching me sometimes, his gaze intense and unreadable.

And God help me, I watched him too.

The way he was trying so hard with Connor, even when he clearly had no idea what he was doing.

The way his shirt stretched across his shoulders when he bent down to pick up toys.

The way his voice softened when Connor called him "Daddy" for the first time.

The tension between us was becoming unbearable.

It finally broke on Wednesday evening.

Connor had gone to bed early, exhausted from a day at the park. Bee was still away. The house was quiet and empty except for the two of us.

I was in the kitchen, cleaning up from dinner, when I felt Denzel's presence behind me.

"You don't have to do that," he said, his voice low. "The staff will handle it tomorrow."

"I don't mind. It helps me think."

"What are you thinking about?"

You, I thought. But I said, "Nothing important."

He moved closer. Close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body. "You're lying."

My hands stilled in the soapy water. "How do you know?"

"Because you do this thing with your mouth when you lie. Your bottom lip twitches slightly."

I turned to face him, my back against the sink. "You've been paying attention."

"I always pay attention to you, Amelia. Even when I shouldn't."

His eyes were dark, intense, fixed on my face like he was trying to memorize every detail.

"We shouldn't do this," I whispered.

"Do what?"

"Whatever this is. Whatever's happening between us right now."

"You're right. We shouldn't." He moved closer, caging me against the sink with his arms. "Tell me to stop."

"Denzel..."

"Tell me to walk away. Tell me you don't feel this too. Tell me anything except yes, and I'll leave right now."

I should have said no. Should have reminded him about the contract, about all the fights, about every reason this was a terrible idea.

But I was so tired of fighting what I felt.

"I can't tell you that," I whispered.

"Why not?"

"Because I'd be lying."

That was all he needed.

His mouth crashed against mine, and suddenly I was drowning in him. The kiss was hungry, desperate, filled with weeks of repressed wanting. His hands gripped my waist, lifting me onto the counter, and I wrapped my legs around him instinctively.

"Bedroom," he muttered against my lips. "Now."

"I nodded."

He lifted me easily, my legs still wrapped around his waist, and carried me through the house. I had no idea where we were going everything was a blur of heated kisses and roaming hands.

We ended up in his bedroom. A space I'd never been in before. He kicked the door shut behind us and lowered me onto his massive bed.

For a moment, he just stood there, looking down at me with an expression that made my breath catch. Want. Need. Something deeper that neither of us was ready to name.

"Last chance, Amelia," he said, his voice rough. "Once we do this, there's no going back."

My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might burst from my chest. "I don't want to go back."

He made a sound low in his throat, something between a groan and a growl and then he was on me.

His mouth found mine again, slower this time but no less intense. His hands slid under my shirt, fingers tracing patterns on my skin that left fire in their wake.

"You're trembling," he murmured against my lips.

"I'm nervous."

He pulled back slightly to look at me. "We can stop. Anytime you want."

"I don't want to stop. I'm just... I've never..."

Understanding dawned in his eyes. "You're a virgin."

I felt my face flame with embarrassment. "Yes. Is that... is that a problem?"

"No. God, no." His hand came up to cup my face, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone. "But it means we do this right. Slow. I need you to tell me if anything hurts or if you want to stop. Can you do that?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

"Words, Amelia. I need words."

"Yes," I whispered. "I can do that."

"Good girl."

The praise made something warm bloom in my chest. He kissed me again, softer this time, while his hands resumed their exploration under my shirt.

"Can I take this off?" he asked.

I nodded, then remembered. "Yes."

He sat back and slowly, so slowly, pulled my shirt up and over my head. The way he was looking at me made me want to cover myself, but his hands caught mine.

"Don't hide from me," he said. "You're so beautiful."

I was wearing a simple cotton bra, nothing fancy or sexy. But the way Denzel looked at me, you'd think I was wearing the most expensive lingerie in the world.

"Can I touch you?" he asked.

"Yes."

His hands came up to cup my breasts through the fabric, and I gasped at the sensation. His thumbs brushed over my nipples, and pleasure shot straight through me.

"You're so responsive," he murmured. "I wonder what other sounds I can make you make."

His hands slid around to my back, unhooking my bra with practiced ease. When he slid the straps down my arms, I instinctively moved to cover myself.

"Amelia." His voice was gentle but firm. "Don't."

Slowly, I lowered my arms.

The way he looked at me, like I was something precious and perfect, made my eyes sting with unexpected tears.

"So beautiful," he whispered, and then his mouth was on me.

The sensation of his lips and tongue on my breast made me arch off the bed. He took his time, lavishing attention on one while his hand worked the other, until I was gasping and writhing beneath him.

"Denzel, please…."

"Please what?"

"I don't know. More. Something. Please."

He smiled against my skin. "I've got you."

His hand slid down to the zipper of my Skirt. "Can I?"

"Yes."

He unzipped it slowly, his eyes never leaving mine, watching for any sign that I wanted to stop. When I didn't protest, he hooked his fingers in both my jeans and underwear.

"Lift your hips for me, sweetheart."

I did, and he slowly, torturously slowly, pulled them down my legs.

And then I was completely naked on his bed, and he was still fully clothed, and I'd never felt more vulnerable in my life.

I moved to cover myself, but his hands caught mine again.

"Don't," he said. "Let me look at you."

"This isn't fair," I managed. "You're still dressed."

"You want me to take my clothes off?"

"No, I didn't say that."

He stood and pulled his shirt over his head in one smooth motion. And oh God, he was beautiful like built in full. All lean muscle and golden skin and controlled power.

"Better?" he asked.

"I'm getting there. "

He raised an eyebrow, unbuckling his belt and pushing his pants down. He was left in just his boxer briefs, and I could see the clear outline of his arousal straining against the fabric.

My eyes must have widened because he chuckled. "Having second thoughts?"

"No. Just... wow!! Just a little bit scared."

"Wow?"

"You're really..." I gestured vaguely at all of him. "You."

He laughed, real, genuine laugh, and climbed back onto the bed. "You're adorable when you're flustered."

"I'm not flustered. I'm just …." His hand slid up my inner thigh and I forgot how to form sentences.

"You were saying?"

"I... nothing. I wasn't saying anything."

"That's what I thought."

His fingers traced patterns on my inner thigh, moving higher but never quite touching where I needed him. I squirmed, trying to get closer, and he made that sound again that pleased, possessive sound that went straight to my core.

"Patience," he murmured.

"I don't want to be patient."

"I know. But your first time should be good. And that means I need to make sure you're ready."

"I am ready…."

His fingers finally slid through my folds, and we both groaned. "You're so wet," he breathed. "Is this all for me?"

"Yes," I gasped.

He circled my clit with his thumb, and pleasure sparked through me. "Has anyone ever touched you here?"

"No. Just me. Sometimes."

"Fuck." His eyes darkened. "Tell me. Do you touch yourself thinking about me?"

I should have been embarrassed by the question. Instead, I found myself nodding. "Yes."

"Where do you touch yourself?"

"Denzel…."

"Tell me. I want to know."

"There," I admitted, my face flaming. "Where your thumb is."

"Like this?" He increased the pressure slightly, and I moaned. "What else? Do you put your fingers inside?"

"Sometimes."

"Show me."

"What?"

"Show me how you touch yourself."

"I can't….."

"Yes, you can." He moved his hand away, and I whimpered at the loss. "Show me, Amelia."

With shaking hands, I moved my hand down between my legs. His eyes were fixed on me, dark and hungry, and somehow that made it feel more embarrassing and more...erotic.

I circled my clit the way I did when I was alone, and his breath caught.

"Beautiful," he murmured. "Don't stop."

I continued, my eyes locked on his, pleasure building slowly.

"Do you put your fingers inside?" he asked again.

"Yes."

"Do it. Let me watch."

I slid one finger inside myself, and he groaned like I was touching him instead.

"Another one," he commanded.

I added a second finger, and it was more than I usually did, and I gasped at the stretch.

"That's it," he praised. "But I bet I can make it feel better. Can I try?"

"Please."

He replaced my hand with his, and oh God, his fingers were so much bigger than mine. He started with one, sliding it inside slowly while his thumb continued to work my clit.

"Okay?" he asked.

"More than okay."

He added a second finger, stretching me, and the sensation was intense. Almost too much but not quite.

"You're so tight," he breathed. "I need to make sure you're ready for me. This might feel a little strange at first, but I promise it will feel good. Okay?"

"Okay."

He started moving his fingers, in and out, while his thumb continued its maddening circles. The pleasure built and built until I was writhing on the bed, desperate for something I couldn't name.

And then he lowered his mouth to where his hand was working, and I nearly screamed.

"Denzel!"

His tongue replaced his thumb on my clit while his fingers continued to work inside me, and I'd never felt anything like it. It was too much and not enough all at once.

"Oh God, oh God, I can't…"

"Yes, you can," he murmured against me. "Let go for me, sweetheart. I've got you."

The orgasm hit me like a tidal wave, crashing through my body, making me cry out his name. He didn't stop, drawing out every last tremor until I was pushing at his head because it was too much.

He kissed his way back up my body, and when his mouth found mine, I could taste myself on his lips.

"How was that?" he asked, looking impossibly smug.

"I can't feel my legs."

He laughed. "Good. But we're not done yet."

"We're not?"

"That was just to get you ready." He kissed me again, deep and slow. "Now comes the main event."

My eyes widened as I felt him reaching for his boxer briefs. But before he could remove them, the bedroom door flew open.

"Denzel, I forgot my….OH MY GOD