I set the incense in its holder, watching the embers flicker before I let Lila pull me up, her fingers twining with mine. She doesn’t say anything.
She just leans into me, presses her forehead against my shoulder and holds on.
For the first time in years, I don’t feel like I’m walking away from my past.
I feel like I’m bringing it with me.
***
I unlock the door and step inside, holding it open with a grin. “After you.”
Lila raises a brow, but she walks in ahead of me, her eyes sweeping over the space we’ve spent months creating together, our home. A blend of her vision and my hands. She might have a knack for picking paint swatches and knowing exactly which lights make a room feel like a warm hug, but it was my tools, my sweat, my late nights that turned those sketches into reality.
I could’ve paid someone to do it—hell, I’ve got teams who’ve built half my damn empire. But this? This needed to be me.Every beam, every floorboard, every inch of this place had to come from my hands. Because this isn’t just another project. It’sours.
She moves through the open-plan living room, her fingers brushing over the rich textures, her gaze flicking over the archway we argued about for weeks and that she was, of course, completely right about. Her smile is soft, proud. She pauses near the window seat she designed, the one I built with reclaimed timber, just the way she wanted.
“You did good,” she murmurs, turning to me.
I shrug, trying for nonchalance. “You’re the boss, sweetheart. I just follow orders.”
She gives me a look that says she knows damn well how many late nights I spent making her vision come to life. “And don’t think I didn’t notice you sneak in those brass fixtures I said were too expensive.”
I smirk. “Couldn’t resist. You’ve got good taste.”
She shakes her head, laughing softly. “It’s perfect.”
But I’m not done. I bend, wrapping an arm under her legs, lifting her clean off the floor.
A startled laugh bursts from her lips. “Ben!”
I grin, carrying her deeper into the house. “Tradition, sweetheart.”
She shakes her head, laughing, but doesn’t let go.
I don’t put her down until we reach the bedroom.
The moment I push open the door, she sucks in a breath.
Candles flicker everywhere, soft, golden light dancing over the room.
The bed is done up with crisp sheets, a deep navy throw, and a ridiculous amount of pillows that I will not be taking responsibility for.
Lila’s face lights up. “You brought my book?”
I smirk. “Thought I’d brush up on what the girls inBooks That Bangare into lately. Regency smut seems to be trending.”
She laughs softly, biting her lip in that way that always ruins me. “And? What did you learn, Mr. Ashcroft?”
I close the space between us, my fingers trailing down her arms, over her waist, slow, deliberate. “Apparently, libraries are one of the most popular places to fuck.” Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t miss a beat. “Is that so?” She tilts her head towards me. “Wanna see what the hype is about?”
I groan, pressing my forehead to hers, smirking despite the burn low in my gut. “Sweetheart, as much as I’d love to bend you over a bookshelf right now…” I brush my lips over hers, slow and hot. “I want the first time in our home to be you, flat on that brand-new bed, screaming my name.”
She shivers, her fingers curling into my shirt.
“Let me fuck you properly,” I rasp, voice thick. “Slow. Deep. The way you deserve. Let me christen our goddamn bed.”
I slide my hands to her hips, pulling her flush against me, my mouth brushing hers. “And then tomorrow, every room, every surface. Kitchen counter, window seat, library desk…” I bite her bottom lip gently, tugging it between my teeth before letting it go. “I’ll make you come against every wall in this house, until you can’t walk past a single spot without remembering what it felt like to fall apart underneath me.”
