Chapter 80

Chapter 80
The next morning, the bed beside me is empty. I roll into the space Diego occupied, breathing in the lingering scent of him on the pillow—warm, masculine, grounding. Only then do I notice the folded piece of paper lying neatly where his head had rested.

I pick it up, my chest tightening as I read his simple, direct words:
I had to go to the office. I’ll be home around dinner time. I love you. I’ll see you later.

The flourish with which he wrote I love you sends a shiver through me. To have the love of a man like Diego—unyielding, dangerous, yet tender—is a heady, intoxicating feeling.

I laze through most of the day, only venturing downstairs at lunchtime to ask the staff for a sandwich. 

I watch them prepare it with practiced precision, then carry it back upstairs. Sitting at the table by the window, I eat slowly, savoring the taste. I don’t know if it’s the bread or the ingredients, but these sandwiches always feel like perfection.

When I finish, my back begins to ache. I take another Oxy, lying down to wait for it to take effect. Instead, it pulls me under into deep, dreamless sleep.

Hours later, I’m jolted awake by the buzz of my phone on the nightstand. I grab it, blinking at the screen. A text from Diego:
I’ll be home in half an hour. See you soon.

A shiver races down my spine. Half an hour. My mind spins with anticipation, wondering what will happen when he walks through that door.

I rise, head to the bathroom, and turn on the shower. Steam curls around me, soothing my body as the water cascades down. After washing thoroughly, I dry off and move to the closet. At the bottom drawer, tucked away behind folded clothes, my fingers find what I’d hidden weeks ago. Lace.

I pull it out, chuckling quietly to myself. Black lace panties, delicate and daring, with a hole placed strategically in the back. Perfect. I slide them up my legs, the fabric clinging to my skin, and just as I’m adjusting them, a knock sounds at the door.

I grab a robe, slip it on, and open the door. The staff stand there with trays of food. I step aside, watching as they enter and begin setting up the table. Candles are lit, soft music fills the room, and the savory aroma of dinner drifts through the air. I smile faintly, wondering what Diego has orchestrated.

When they leave, the room feels transformed—intimate, expectant. I sit at the table, inhaling the scent of the meal, waiting.

Moments later, the door opens again. Diego steps inside, his eyes trailing up and down my body, lingering, devouring. He crosses the room quickly, leans over me, and claims my mouth in a bruising kiss. When he pulls back, I touch my lips, half in disbelief that they’re still there.

“I’m going to jump in the shower real fast,” he says, his voice low, rough. “Then we’ll eat.”

But the way he looks at me makes me think he’s talking about eating something other than food.

I watch him strip out of his clothes as he heads to the bathroom, the sound of the shower soon filling the silence. Ten minutes later, he emerges with a towel wrapped around his waist. He moves to the dresser, pulls out silk pajama pants, and slips them on—no underwear. I chuckle softly, shaking my head when I see the imprint of his erection pressing against the fabric.

He joins me at the table, lifting the lids from the plates. Steak, mashed potatoes, green beans—cooked to perfection. The steak glistens, the potatoes creamy, the beans crisp.

Diego picks up the bottle of wine the staff provided and pours some into each of our glasses.

I take a bite, moaning softly at the flavor. “This is so good! So… how was your day? Busy at work?”

Diego freezes at the sound of my moan, his eyes darkening before he shakes his head as if to clear it. 

He takes a bite, chews, swallows, then answers. “My day was fine. Had to deal with an issue with an overseas shipping partner. But everything was handled.”

I nod, humming as I continue eating. “That’s good. I missed you today. I didn’t do much of anything. Slept most of the day, actually.”

Diego smirks, his gaze steady, predatory. “That’s good. That means you’ll be well rested for what I have planned next.”

I raise a brow, teasing. “Oh? Please, do tell. What do you have planned next?”

His smile widens, slow and deliberate, a promise in the curve of his lips. “I guess you’ll have to wait to see.”

I smile, a thrill coursing through me at his words. We finish eating, talking about everything and nothing, the kind of conversation that feels endless because it’s so easy. The bottle of wine disappears between us without either of us noticing, lost in the rhythm of laughter, quiet admissions, and the comfort of being together.

When I drain the last sip from my glass, Diego rises smoothly, his movements deliberate. He takes my hand, pulling me gently to my feet, and guides me toward the bed. Sitting down, he positions me between his legs, his presence commanding yet tender.

His hands reach up, almost reverently, and he parts my robe. His eyes darken, the intensity in them making my breath catch when he sees the lace covering my erection. He studies me as if I’m something sacred, something he’s waited too long to touch.

His palm presses lightly against my dick, not with urgency but with a kind of worship. The sensation makes me groan softly, the friction of lace against my dick sparking heat through my body. But he doesn’t linger there. Instead, he slides the robe from my shoulder, turning me gently until my ass is facing him.

I hear the low, growling sound that escapes him when he sees the detail of the lace, the deliberate design meant for him alone. The sound sends a shiver down my spine.

Then his lips press against my back—careful, deliberate—avoiding the worst of the injured skin but close enough that I feel the reverence in the gesture. It isn’t hunger alone; it’s devotion. His kiss is a promise, a claim, and a reminder that even my scars are something he cherishes.

His lips trail slowly down my back, each kiss deliberate, reverent, until I feel the sharp tease of his teeth against my ass—a gentle bite that makes me shiver. A groan escapes my throat, my voice breaking into a whisper. “Diego…”

He turns me back around, his hands firm but careful, his eyes locking onto mine. “Shh,” he murmurs, his voice low and commanding. “Let me take care of you.”

My breath hitches, my eyes shining with desire, caught between restraint and surrender. The intensity in his gaze makes my chest tighten, every nerve alive under his touch.

His fingers move with deliberate slowness, lowering the lace just enough for my hard dick to pop out. 

The gesture isn’t rushed—it’s purposeful, almost ceremonial. His eyes darken as he takes me in, and I feel the weight of his hunger, the reverence in the way he looks at me.

The air between us feels charged, heavy with anticipation. My body trembles, not just from desire but from the knowledge that Diego is holding me in the palm of his hand—both protector and predator, lover and king.