Chapter 3 Chapter Three Dinner’s Embrace
Val moved through the kitchen with practiced ease, pulling ingredients from the fridge. His hands worked while his mind clearly raced. He didn’t look at her. She chuckled softly, when she looked over her shoulder. She studied him closely, her counselor skills kicked in…. She saw his mind racing and saw the brokenness that was hidden in the cracks. The loneliness as he tried to hide with each movement he made. She sighed, understanding why he was the way he was. It was simple fear that kept him from the world. Someone must have hurt him badly, she thought to herself.
“Where did you learn to cook? You look as if you have been doing it for a long time, and it already looks great.”
He pulled out a stool for her; as Enzo explored the marble floors, sniffing for leftovers, his nails clicked softly. He chopped garlic with practical precision, the knife hitting the board in a steady rhythm. A meditation, a distraction.
She watched him work-the way his shoulders curved inward slightly, like he was protecting something vital. The way his eyes didn’t quite meet hers, a man who had learned that vulnerability gets you killed. Water boiled, pasta went in. He moved through the motions like he was choreographed, each gesture controlled, deliberate.
Everything except her…
“Yeah, I learned to take care of myself a long time ago. And you're analyzing me right now. I can feel it. And yes, I have baggage; I was hurt a long time ago. That’s why I take what I want now instead of asking.”
She tilted her head and replied,
“Hmm, and how does that work for you? Have you been getting your needs met, or just urges satisfied? That’s really lonely, isn't it?”
She asked with a hint of kindness and genuine concern.
He stopped... The knife goes still in his hand. He set it down carefully, turned to face her. There was something broken in his expression-raw, unguarded.
“Urges, always just urges, needs, require vulnerability. Needs mean someone has to matter more than your own survival instinct. I haven’t let anyone matter in a very long time.”
The counselor in her couldn't let it go. The questions came anyway. Enzo padded over to him, and Val absentmindedly reached down to scratch behind the dog’s ears-a small gesture of tenderness that contradicted everything about him.
Their eyes met across the counter. As he poured her a glass of wine, he answered
“You're seeing all this all-the fear, the need-and staying anyway? Not running? It changes everything.”
She looked up at him through her eyelashes.
“Why would I do that? We just got started. I want to see where this goes and that changes everything. How so?”
He leaned forward, elbows on the counter. The space between them shrunk. His thumb traced her cheekbone-slow, questioning.
“It means I stop running, stop taking, stop pretending I’m something other than what I am. It means you’re not just something I want anymore. You’re something I’d burn for. Something I’d protect instead of possess, and it also means if you walk away tomorrow, I let you. Even though it will kill me to let you go, it means I care about what you want more than what I do.”
His voice roughened as Enzo settled at their feet, sensing the shift.
“That’s how it changes everything, Zora. You make me want to be better than the man who watched you for three months without permission.”
She swallowed hard, his words affected the air she breathed, and she blushed slightly as she looked away from him, having never had such gut-level honesty about her being said so clearly.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
He pulled back, gave her space-respecting the blush, the retreat. The deflection clear. Smart; she needed air.
“No it’s almost ready. You don’t need to do anything but enjoy.”
He watched her instead-how she moved, how carefully she was avoiding his gaze now.
“However; You could help with the wine if you want. Before you sit down. What do you want: red or white? The liqueur is in the cabinet above the sink.”
“Ummm okay.. but, I don’t much like wine, but what kind would you like? I’ll get it for you. I’m more of a Kahlúa and cream kind of person.”
His tone shifted lighter, giving her something practical to do; the intensity eases just enough to breathe. Enzo’s head rests on her foot-loyal grounding, present.
“And don’t look away from me because of what I said, Zora. Look away because you need to, there’s a difference.”
He plated the pasta, and set it before her.
“Here, sit, eat. I get it don’t worry”
She giggled. Sat down, took a bite of the pasta and moaned.
He smiled, one that actually reached his eyes—genuine and unguarded.
“Kahlúa and cream, of course you do.”
He pulled down a bottle of Barolo, dark and expensive.
“Red for me, but we have Kahlúa and cream as well for you. You’re full of surprises, Zora. Most people I know drink what impresses other people. You drink what makes you happy.”
Enzo shifts between them, a small anchor in the charged silence.
He mixed the Kahlúa and cream handed her her drink
“Yeah, I’m not into living life according to other people’s wishes, especially if it’s going into my body or mind, I won’t conform to society just because everyone is doing it. “The everyone is doing it thing” changes every week. I go by my own heart.”
He settled beside her at the counter, his own plate untouched.
He took a sip, watched her over the rim and noticed the way she didn't second-guess herself.
“That’s what I saw in you from the beginning. Not the counselor, not the woman who rides a motorcycle alone at midnight. The person who decides for herself.”
He leaned back after handing her her drink and took another sip of wine.
“Most people spend their whole lives asking permission to exit. You just… exist. That’s dangerous, you know. For someone like me, because now I want to be the one thing you choose. Not out of obligation. Out of your own heart.”
The pasta steamed between them. Outside, the city pulsed with millions of people following invisible rules. His gaze was steady and unflinching.
“That’s rare.”
She smiled at him and looked up at him.
“This is amazing. Do you think some soft music would be ok?”
He moved to the far wall where a sleek sound system sat. His fingers found the controls-a deliberate choice, not a random shuffle. Jazz filtered through hidden speakers. Chet Baker. Soft. Melancholic. Followed by BB King. Perfect.
When he returned to the table, he sat across from her instead of beside her. Giving her space to eat, to breathe, to decide what came next.
“Great idea; music helps to settle the spirit.”
Val watched her eat more than he ate himself-a man starved for something no plate could satisfy. He set his fork down slowly.
She swallowed as looks up, the alcohol giving her a bit more courage,
“Do you dance?”
She caught him off-guard-not what he expected from her. He stood, extended his hand,
“Not in a long time. But I’ll dance with you.”
The living-room stretched before them, windows framed the city. He pulled her close when they reached the open space. One hand found the small of her back, the other gripped hers.
“Fair warning though, I’m not gentle with most things, Zora.”
His voice dropped against her ear.
“Dancing might be different.”
She giggled. “Hmm, how so…” She wonders as she feels her heart hammering in her chest.
It’s been years since she’s been in the arms of any man, and the things he had been saying had been romance novel worthy, but she was still nervous. Her mind running in all sorts of interesting ways. He swayed with her, slow and deliberate, hand splayed across her lower back, as he drew her infinitesimally closer.
“Because with dancing, I don’t take. I follow your lead.”
His cheek brushed hers-barely touching, but she felt it everywhere. Her heart was racing.
He pulled back just enough to look at her face.
“That’s what I mean about being different. I want to know what you’re thinking right now.”
The city spun behind them as Chet Baker croons about lost love.
“Tell me you want this, Zora. Not because of debt or obligation. Because your body’s telling me yes, but I need to hear it from you.”
She looked up at him and bit her lip. The slight smile and the twinkle in her eyes told him everything words could in that moment. He didn’t wait for words. Her eyes said everything he needed to know.
His hand tightened at her back. He pulled her flush against him. The other came up to cup her face-thumbs traced her cheekbones with surprising gentleness, forehead rested against hers, breathing her in. Lost in the moment, both of their breathing increased,
“Three months of watching. Three hours of restraint, Zora. Tell me to stop and I will. Because all I want to do right now is to kiss you”
His lips found hers-not demanding, but deliberate. A question answered, a promise made. The city continued its indifferent spin below. Val broke the kiss just enough to breathe, his eyes still closed.
She reached out for him, wrapped her hands around his shirt, and pulled him back down to her lips. She kissed him passionately, her own legs nearly gave out from the intensity... He caught her before her legs weakened too much, his arm banded around her waist. The kiss deepened-years of hunger meeting years of longing. His other hand threaded through her hair, as he tilted her head back. He looked into her eyes and said
“Bedroom Now!!”
His voice was ragged against her lips. He guided her through the penthouse, past the floor-to-ceiling windows where the city watched. Enzo followed, then settled outside the closed door, a contented sigh-loyal, knowing his person was safe.
The bedroom was dark except for the city lights that bled through the sheer curtains. Val cupped her face again, his breathing heavy.
“Last chance to tell me no, Zora.”
His eyes searched hers, still giving her the choice-even as his body screamed for her. She ripped the buttons off his shirt with a force he didn't expect, catching him completely by surprise—something that rarely happened. A low sound escaped him-surprise, desire, something raw.
“Christ, Zora”
Buttons scattered across the floor, shirt hung open, to reveal his-scarred, muscled chest marked by a life lived dangerously. He didn’t move to stop her or help. He watched, then his restraint shattered. His hands found her waist, as he lifted her effortlessly.
Her legs wrapped around him instinctively as he carried her to the bed. The mattress gave beneath them.
“You’re stronger than you look.”
His voice was wrecked, amazed. He was used to control, to orchestrating every moment. She was taking it from him as he lowered himself over her, his breathing ragged, as he waited for her next move.
“I am a lot of things; trying to define me will take you years”
...She chuckled and kissed him again.
“I haven’t done this with anyone besides myself in years. I might go a bit crazy for the first time, or peter out too quickly. I'm not sure.” She laughs.
He grounded against her, pulled back just enough to look at her and moaned, as he said,
“Go crazy then.”
His hands moved across her- unhurried, purposeful, as he learned her body; he traced her curves, shoulder, ribs, the soft dip of her waist and stomach. He moved lower, pressed kisses along her collarbone, sternum. Slow. Reverent. Like she was something precious he had been waiting a lifetime to touch.
“No rush, Zora. We have all night.”
Outside, the city pulsed. Inside, there was only breath, heartbeats, and the sound of two people finally choosing each other.
He looked at her, waited-gave her control, even when every muscle in his body begged for more. She flipped him over the moment she realized he had given her the power, and she finished taking off his clothes.
WOW, she thought as she looked at the Greek God-like body in front of her eyes, she licked her lips, then started to kiss his legs teasingly. She headed to the promised land. He was undone by her completely.
His head fell back against the pillow, a strangled sound tore from his chest-moaned-as her lips trailed heat up his inner thigh. Control shattered. The man who orchestrated empires, who bent wills without speaking, became putty under her touch.
“Zora…”
His hands gripped the sheets instead of her restraint bled through desire. Every muscle in his body tensed when she moved closer to what she’d promised. He moaned out,
“You're killing me...”
His voice cracked-rough, desperate, honest in a way nothing else about him ever was. The city lights painted shadows across his chest as he watched her through half-lidded eyes. Three months of watching, all of it converged on this moment, and what a moment as she took his shaft in her hands, fan her tongue along the base and around the tip, and licked the precum off, all the while she looked at him through her eyelashes.
Then suddenly, without warning, all the softness was replaced by her slamming her mount down all the way to the hilt. His entire body went rigid. A guttural cry tore from his throat-moaning-so raw it echoed off the penthouse walls. His hands left the sheets, found her hair, her shoulders, anchoring himself to something real before he lost consciousness entirely. She was relentless, unforgiving in the delivery of her passion. Val-the man who broke people-was broken by her. His hips bucked involuntarily, as he chased sensation, chased her. Sweat beaded across his chest, his breath became jagged, desperate as he called out
“Fuck, Zora, Oh my God!”
She pulled her head off with a pop, for much-needed air when she moved to straddle him. He watched her, eyes dark and hungry. His chest heaved beneath her as she positioned herself over him. He moaned,
“Yes, take what you need, I’m yours.”
His hands gripped her hips, steadying her but not controlling-giving her the rhythm, the pace, the power, all to her. When she sunk down, his eyes rolled back. A groan escaped him-guttural, unfiltered.
“Ahhh Jesus Zora,”
He moaned in ecstasy. His fingers dug into her skin when she found her own tempo.
The penthouse became a cocoon of shadow and city light. The sound of two bodies finding their rhythm. He watched her face-the pleasure, confidence, the woman who ripped buttons and took what she wanted.
“That’s it. Ride me, baby….”
His voice was raw with devotion.
“Yes… like that...”
She moaned as he met her thrusts. She moved in circles. When she started to jerk getting erratic, he took control and flipped her onto her back in one fluid motion, as he pinned her wrists gently above her head.
“Let me finish this…”
His thrust deepened-controlled, purposeful, hit exactly where she needed. His forehead dropped to hers, as he breathed her in. Her body tightened around him.
“Cum for me, Zora.. I want to feel it around me.”
His own breathing fractured as he felt her building toward the edge. All the waiting -it culminated here, in this moment, with her undone beneath him…
“I've got you let go…”
She screamed out his name, lost to the passion and collapsed. His name on her lips shattered him, following her over the edge with a hoarse cry, his body went rigid after he spilled into her. He collapsed beside her, pulled her against him, heart hammered beneath her ear-wild, uncontrolled, undone. Minutes passed, neither moved.
Val's hand traced circles across her shoulder, his breathing gradually steadied . Enzo’s soft whine filtered through the door-patient, waiting. He kissed her forehead, her temple, then her lips-tenderly.
“Stay with me please,” He softly whispered.
“Mmmmmm” is her only response for a few minutes, then she says,
“Can we let him in? He’ll whine all night if we don’t, and can I get a towel please? I don't think I can move.” She chuckled softly.
He laughed-a real, unguarded sound-and rolled from the bed, and said
“Enzo’s been patient enough.”
He grabbed a towel from the en-suite, returned to clean her. His touch tender, careful, and loving. Enzo entered the room, settled back into bed, and pulled her close. Enzo curled at the bottom, content.
“Stay like this, just for tonight, and we’ll figure out the rest later. No pressure, just lie with me tonight, let me hold you.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” as she pulled him closer.
He tightened his grip, buried his face in her hair.
For the first time in decades, the weight in his chest shifted.
“You're staying…”
Not a question, a statement, a promise he intended to keep. The penthouse was silent except the distant hum of the city-millions of people living separate lives, unaware that in this room, everything had shifted.
One night that changed everything. He didn't sleep.
He held her, listened to her breathing sync with his, afraid that if he closed his eyes she’d vanish.
