The Blackwell estate was silent by midnight.
But Amelia wasn't asleep.
She lay in the center of the massive canopy bed, wrapped in silk sheets, staring at the carved ceiling above her. The events of the evening ran on an endless loop in her mind his fingers inside her, the warmth of his mouth on her skin, the way her name had sounded when whispered from his lips.
She had tried to stop thinking about it.
But her body refused to forget.
She turned on her side with a sigh, clutching the sheets to her chest, her pulse quickening as she remembered the look in his eyes that raw hunger, so barely restrained. His control had snapped, and in those few stolen minutes, she'd seen the real Richard. Not the cold billionaire or the groom she barely knew, but the man who had wanted her like he'd die if he didn't taste her.
And worst of all, she wanted him too.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
She froze.
Another tap. Gentle. Cautious.
Her breath caught in her throat as she slid from the bed and padded silently across the room. She opened the door just a crack…
And there he was.
Richard.
Barefoot. Shirtless. His black trousers hung low on his hips, and his hair was slightly tousled, like he'd run his hands through it a thousand times before coming to her.
"I couldn't sleep," he murmured.
Her pulse thudded.
Neither could I.
Without a word, she stepped aside and let him in.
The door closed behind him with a quiet click. Moonlight streamed through the window, casting soft shadows across his sculpted chest and shoulders. He walked slowly toward her, stopping just inches away.
"I shouldn't be here," he said.
"But you are," she whispered.
His hand lifted, brushing her cheek. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you."
"Same," she breathed.
He leaned in. His lips barely touched hers. A tease. A promise.
"I just need a little more," he said, his voice low and hoarse. "I need to finish what I started."
Her answer was a kiss.
It began soft, slow mouths brushing, breaths shared. Then it deepened. His hands slipped around her waist, drawing her close as he took control. Their lips moved in sync, heated and desperate, like they were both starving for something neither of them could name.
He backed her toward the bed, never breaking the kiss, until the backs of her knees hit the mattress. She sat, and he knelt in front of her like a man ready to worship.
His hands slid up her thighs, pushing the silk of her nightgown aside as he kissed her legs slow, wet kisses that made her tremble.
"You smell like sleep and want," he murmured against her skin.
She gasped as his lips traveled higher, and higher still, until they reached the hem of her underwear. With a silent look asking permission and her nod of surrender, he pulled them down slowly, then kissed the inside of her thighs again, making her squirm.
And then, his fingers returned to her heat.
Slow. Gentle.
He stroked her until she was arching into his touch, his other hand holding her steady. When he slid one finger inside her, she gasped his name.
"Shh," he whispered. "Let me learn you."
His mouth found hers again, and he kissed her as his fingers moved inside her…rhythmic, intimate, loving. Her moans were muffled by his lips, her fingers buried in his hair, holding on like she might fly apart.
"Richard," she whimpered. "Please don't stop."
"I won't," he said hoarsely. "Not until you fall apart in my arms."
She came quietly, with a strangled breath and trembling thighs. He kissed her through it, worshipped her body like it was sacred.
When the wave of pleasure passed, he laid her back gently onto the pillows, brushing damp strands of hair from her face.
Her eyes were glazed, her lips parted.
"God, you're beautiful," he whispered, hovering over her. "You undo me."
She reached down, her fingers brushing against the hardness straining beneath his pants.
"Let me touch you too," she whispered.
He stilled.
"You don't have to," he said softly.
"I want to."
Her hand slid into his trousers and found him, hot and thick beneath her fingers. He gasped, his body tensing as she stroked him slowly, lovingly.
His head dropped to her shoulder, his breath warm against her skin.
"Amelia…"
She kissed his throat, her strokes steady, teasing. She loved the way he shook under her touch, the way he whispered broken things in her ear.
It felt powerful.
It felt real.
When she felt him grow impossibly hard in her palm, she slowed, then let go gently.
He groaned in frustration and buried his face against her neck.
"Tease," he muttered, grinning against her skin.
"Now we're even," she whispered, smiling.
He chuckled, low and deep.
For a long moment, they lay tangled together in silence, hearts pounding, skin slick with heat.
But even in the quiet, there was tension.
Unspoken fears. Hidden truths.
"Why do I feel like we're running out of time?" she asked suddenly, voice barely audible.
He stiffened.
"We're not," he said, brushing a kiss to her shoulder. "Not yet."
She didn't like the sound of that.
But she didn't ask.
Not tonight.
Tonight was only for the stolen moment…the tenderness, the ache, the dangerous fantasy that maybe, just maybe, this could be something more than survival.
That maybe love could bloom in the dark.