Chapter 59: To Feel Something

The next evening, the sitting room was quiet. A cracked window let in fresh air as Elena sat on a velvet couch, blowing smoke rings from her cigarillo. She took a slow drag, savoring the calm, the quiet-

her first moment of solitude in months.

Niegal stood at the doorframe, silver eyes amused, admiring the silhouette she cut in the firelight. He turned to leave, not wishing to intrude.

But her voice stopped him.

"Niegal. Perfect timing."

She smiled gently, patting the cushion beside her. "Join me?"

He couldn't refuse her. He sat beside her, taking a cigarillo from her fingers. She lit it for him, their eyes meeting in the flame. For the first time in a long time, neither of them flinched at the closeness.

Their smoke curled and danced between them.

"What is it?" Niegal asked softly, watching the way her brow furrowed.

Elena hesitated, then smiled faintly. Relief. That's what she wanted. Not a replacement. Not a promise.

She reached out, giving him her hand.

"Come," she said. "I need your help with something."

Niegal followed her through the dim hallway, the only sound their footsteps against old stone. She led him to her chambers.

"Sit," she said over her shoulder as she disappeared into her boudoir.

He obeyed, curious. The fire in the hearth warmed the shadows.

Should I stay? Should I bolt while I have the chance? He already knew the answer.

She returned in a white linen shift, thin enough that the curve of her body was revealed beneath.

"Elena…" he breathed, stunned.

She crossed to him, taking his hand and placing it on her waist.

"Take me," she whispered. "Please. I've been holding on too tightly. I just… I want to feel something."

Niegal didn't ask again. He kissed her, hard. Devout. Hands sliding up her thighs, her hips. She gasped against his mouth, pulling him toward the bed.

He paused, just once, a silent question in his eyes.

She answered by lifting her shift over her head, laying herself bare.

Niegal's hunger broke free. His kisses trailed across her chest, her thighs, her neck. Worship, not conquest.

She arched beneath him, breath hitching with each new sensation.

Then, in one swift movement, he removed his belt and gently tied her hands above her head.

Elena grinned, flushed with anticipation. "Gods, yes."

When he entered her, it was like a sacred act. Slow. Deep. Reverent.

Their bodies moved in rhythm, in mourning, in rebirth. A new chapter not yet spoken aloud.

When it was over, and they lay tangled in breath and sweat and shadows, Niegal whispered, "I want this. You. But I could never replace him."

"You don't have to," Elena said quietly, tracing the curve of his shoulder. "I wouldn't ask that of you."

She paused. Her voice wavered.

"I think I've just… been lonely."

Niegal kissed her again. "I know that feeling all too well."

They held each other through the night, their moans echoing down the ancient halls of the Matteo estate.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, they didn't apologize for wanting.