STELLA
My relationship with Christian could be measured in incremental shifts. It started with my move into the Mirage and inched forward milestone by milestone—our almost kiss, his confession, dinner with my family, Hawaii, our real kiss, and a million other moments that transformed us from strangers to something so much more.
But our time in Italy, especially after what he shared about his family, felt like more than an incremental shift.
It felt like a turning point.
Perhaps the turning point should’ve been our first time having sex or when we’d agreed to officially date, but Christian had never shared as much about himself as he had in Rome. And it hadn’t been just anything; it’d been a fundamental part of his upbringing, something that’d shaped him into who he was today.
He’d finally opened up. His past was ugly and messy, but it was real, and that was all I could ask for.
I turned my head and watched Christian adjust something on the boat’s instrument panel.
I’d seen him captain a boat before in Hawaii, but that’d been in the dark. In the sunlight, wearing nothing but black Tom Ford swim shorts and miles of bronzed skin, he looked like a Greek god come down from Mount Olympus.
“You should captain a boat more often.” I stretched, luxuriating in the sunshine. “It’s sexy.”
It was something I would’ve cringed at saying to anyone else, but I didn’t have to worry when I was with Christian. I could say anything and he wouldn’t judge or laugh at me.
His eyes glowed with amusement. “Good to know.” The rich, slightly husky timbre of his voice sent a delicious thrill down my spine.
We were currently anchored off the coast of Capri, our last stop in Italy.
There was no one around except us, a gentle breeze, and the faint scent of coconut sunscreen and salt-tinged sea air. The island’s famous Faraglioni rocks loomed in the distance like mountainous sentries emerging from the deep blue depths of the Tyrrhenian Sea, and the gentle rocking of the boat lent a dream-like quality to the scene.
In fact, the entire past month had been a dream, and I was scared I would wake up and find out it’d all been a figment of my imagination.
There was magic in reality, no matter how temporary.
“You’re overthinking again.” Christian could always tell when I spiraled down the dark paths of my mind.
“I can’t help it,” I admitted. “It’s my default setting.”
He settled beside me and wrapped a muscular arm around my waist. “What are you thinking about?”
“About how this doesn’t feel real,” I said softly. “It’s too good to be true.”
Every time something good happened to me, something terrible lurked in the wings, waiting to drag me down from my high.
My relationship with Christian had been perfect so far, but a part of me was waiting for that inevitable crash.
“It is real.” He pressed his mouth to the base of my throat. “And if it isn’t, I’ll find a way to make it real.” His kisses burned a path up my neck to my mouth. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Stella.”
My heart expanded so fast and full I thought it might explode.
“I know,” I whispered.
Christian pressed a light kiss on my mouth before he slid a hand over my hip. “Good. Now…” He hooked a finger in the string of my bikini. “Let’s quiet that overactive mind of yours, shall we?”
The air shifted. Heat drowned the soft emotion from a moment ago, and suddenly, my flushed skin had nothing to do with the sun blazing overhead.
I arched an eyebrow in an attempt to play it cool. “How do you propose we do that?”
His wicked smile curled like a sensual wisp of smoke in my stomach. “There’s plenty of rope on the boat, Butterfly.”
The suggestion throbbed with painful insistence between my thighs. He knew I liked being tied up, but…
“Here?” I squeaked.
We were in the wide-open sea. There was no one else around, but someone could come along at any moment.
“No one will see us. I promise.” Christian watched me carefully, his eyes like pools of golden-dipped amber in the sunlight. “Do you trust me?”
My pulse fluttered with nerves, but after a long, hesitant second, I nodded.
If he said no one would see us, no one would see us.
I would never tell him because I didn’t want to inflate his ego to Jupiter-size proportions, but I was convinced Christian could bring down the stars if he wanted.
My reservations melted when I felt the first bite of the rope around my wrists. I’d taken my bikini off at his orders, and I lay face up on the cushioned seat at the end of the boat while he bound my wrists together above my head.
The tighter the ties, the wetter I got.
I used to feel ashamed or embarrassed about my sexual proclivities, but being with Christian had put most of my worries to rest. He never made me feel bad about what I wanted in bed. He pushed me out of my comfort zone and embraced my fantasies so thoroughly they felt normal—which they were, according to my online research, but there was a difference between knowing something and feeling it.
Still, my body tightened with surprise when I saw the silk scarf in his hands.
“If you want me to take it off, tell me,” Christian said.
“Okay.” My voice pitched higher than usual.
I’d never been blindfolded during sex. The thought of not seeing the world around me made my stomach flip, but my tension eased when he tied the scarf around my eyes.
The hint of sunlight filtering through the thin silk was enough to help me relax.
I waited.
And waited.