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A gasp escapes her as it makes a little roar, lighting the room with its glow and warmth.
"Everything here is so exquisite," she breathes, her eyes sparkling with awe. "You've curated a space that reflects your passions, your taste...and yet, there's a certain vulnerability in all of this, isn't there?”
She's right, of course. This room is more than just a display of a man who can have every comfort in the world; it's a reflection of who I am beneath the surface. And allowing her to see it – to share in it – is an intimacy I've never granted to anyone else. For her to recognize that is fate.
"Si, cara mia," I admit, watching her closely as she continues to explore. "In a way, this place is a part of me, and by inviting you in, I'm trusting you with a piece of myself that I've kept hidden from the world."
Tatiana turns to face me, her expression a mixture of gratitude and determination. "I won't take that trust lightly, Philippe. I promise."
As we stand there, our eyes locked, I can feel the connection between us deepening, growing stronger with each passing moment. And I can't help but wonder if this is how it feels to finally find the one person who sees you, not just for who you are on the outside, but for the person you are within.
Her eyes leave mine and wander around the room again. They fall and stay transfixed behind me, and I don’t need to turn, for I already know what’s keeping her enthralled.
“You said you don’t share this space with others?” she questions.
“Si.”
“And it’s all yours?”
“Si.”
“And your bed. Do you share that with others?”
I shake my head slowly, praying this is going where I’ve been dreaming of it going from the moment I laid eyes on her.
“Would you be willing to?” she whispers, her words breaking out in little rasps like she’s afraid of either the answer or of asking the question.
“With someone special, yes,” I whisper back, our eyes locked.
Tatiana nods, and her eyes, filled with a sense of wonder and vulnerability, never leave mine as she reaches behind her back. The sound of the zipper fills the room as her dress slides down, pooling around her feet like a fallen halo.
Her unexpected boldness sends a jolt through my veins, igniting the desire that has been simmering between us all night.
"Philippe," she whispers, her voice trembling ever so slightly. “Tell me, am I someone special?”
Chapter 6
Tatiana
The soft glow of the fireplace flickers across Philippe's luxurious den, casting shadows that dance along the ornate walls. I stand in front of him stark naked, feeling the richness of the room envelop me, a warmth that extends beyond the heat emanating from the fire. My heart races in my chest, an unfamiliar sensation overtaking me as our eyes meet.
He doesn't respond to my question, making me feel nervous and worried. Did I misread his desire? "Never thought I'd be so bold," I confess with a coy smile, remembering how my fingers found the zipper at the back of my dress. The sound of the metal teeth separating was crisp, like the tearing of a page in a well-loved book.
My dress sits pooled around my feet, and for a moment, I'm left standing vulnerable before him. Just as I'm about to bend over to pick it up, Philippe stops me with his voice.
"Your courage is intoxicating,cara mia," Philippe murmurs.
"Is it?" I ask, a nervous laugh escaping my lips. It's strange how one's own boldness can be both exhilarating and terrifying.
"Si, it is." He steps closer to me, his large frame dwarfing mine, making me feel safe and protected. "You're stunning. More special than you know."
"Thank you," I reply, fighting to maintain eye contact, not wanting to appear timid. Yet, the intensity of his piercing blue eyes sends shivers down my spine.
"Allow me," he says, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from my face. I crave more contact with this enigmatic man who has captured my heart.
"Philippe," I breathe, unsure of what to say or do next. I'm completely out of my depth here, but something inside me urges me forward, refusing to let fear hold me back. I want him – all of him – and I know that, for this night at least, he's mine.
Philippe's hands glide over my shoulders, his touch so warm and tender that I can't help but lean into him. He stands behind me, our bodies close but not quite touching, and I relish the proximity.
