The Spaces Between Us

Devotion, Defined

The soft sheets rustle as she stirs, the morning light barely slipping through the cracks of the curtains. I watch her for a moment from the doorway, coffee warming my hand, her hair spilling across the pillow like a halo. She reaches across the bed, searching for me, and when her fingers brush against emptiness, her brows knit in the faintest frown.

"Morning, fiancée," I murmur, stepping in shirtless, coffee in one hand, a grin tugging at my lips.

Her head turns, and just like that, the world rights itself. She stretches, a lazy feline kind of stretch, and smiles. "Someone's up early."

I set the cup on her nightstand and lean in, close enough that my breath brushes her ear. "I have one goal today," I whisper, savoring the way she shivers. "Make you forget how to walk properly."

Her cheeks flush instantly, her toes curl under the sheets. God, she's beautiful like this—unguarded, still hazy with sleep.

"That's your idea of romance?" she teases.

"It's my idea of devotion." I smirk, letting my lips graze the edge of her jaw. "And you'll be worshipped properly. But first—wine. Food. A shut-out-from-the-world kind of day."

The blinds stay closed. The room glows with the soft, moody light of candles and the steady warmth of the fireplace. On the coffee table, I've set up a spread fit for her—two bottles of red, fresh berries, flaky pastries, smoked cheese, avocado toast, and a slice of something sweet I know she won't resist.

She's draped in one of my linen shirts, bare legs curled beneath her. I sit across from her, pajama pants hanging low on my hips, glass in hand. She laughs easily, feeding me bites of strawberries, her lips stained with wine.

When a drop of juice clings to her lip, I trail the berry down from her mouth to her throat, set it aside, and kiss the path it left. She tilts her head back with a soft sigh, fingers gripping my wrist.

The rest of the day blurs into something indulgent, decadent. I take my time with her—every button undone slowly, every sigh pulled from her with care. We don't rush. There's nowhere else we need to be.

"You're glowing," I murmur against the curve of her hip, kissing a mark I left there hours earlier.

"You're ridiculous," she whispers, breathless.

"I'm yours," I correct, pressing my lips lower, until her laughter catches on a moan.

Every hour, I find a new way to remind her she belongs to me—with my hands, with my mouth, with the ring that never leaves her finger. By the time the sun sinks low, her voice is hoarse from laughter and gasps, her body pliant against mine. She collapses onto my chest, utterly undone, and I stroke her thigh with the back of my knuckles.

"So..." I tease. "How're the legs holding up?"

She groans, half-heartedly smacking my chest. "I loathe you."

"That's not what you said when—"

A pillow lands against my head. I catch it, toss it aside, and kiss her forehead instead.

The sky outside is painted in molten pink and gold, reflected in the still water of the indoor pool. Candles flicker at the edges, their scent—jasmine and rose—hanging sweet in the air.

I'm already in the pool when she steps out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. Her hair is damp, cheeks flushed, skin glowing from the steam. She walks slowly, deliberately, and when the towel slips away, my breath catches.

"Come on, fiancée," I call, resting lazily against the edge. "Water's perfect."

She drops the towel with a wicked grin. "You said you were done worshipping."

"That was before the sun set." My voice comes out rougher than I intend.

She slips into the water and into my arms, back pressed against my chest. We stay that way for a while, her fingers playing with mine under the surface. The silence is soft, intimate, the kind that feels like forever.

Until she stiffens. "Oh my God—" She twists her shoulder to look.

There it is. A faint bite mark blooming along her skin.

She whirls on me, half-laughing, half-scandalized. "Is that... a bite mark?"

I bury my face into the curve of her neck, entirely unapologetic. "Possibly. I was... moved."

Her gasp turns into helpless laughter when she finds more along her thigh. "Alex! These look like petals scattered all over me!"

"Beautiful ones," I say shamelessly, brushing my lips over one.

Then she spots the one on her neck and gasps again. "Okay—this one. What were you trying to do? Brand me?"

"Maybe." I meet her glare with a smile. "You're mine now, remember?"

She groans, splashing at me. "I have work, you maniac. I can't go in looking like I wrestled a vampire and lost."

I nuzzle her temple, murmuring against her damp skin. "Turtleneck. Concealer. Strategic scarfing. I believe in you."

She tries to keep her glare, but it melts into a reluctant smile, the kind that makes my chest ache.

"You're impossible."

"And madly in love," I answer, pulling her closer.

And when she leans back into me, laughter still trembling in her shoulders, I know I've never been more certain of anything in my life.