He first saw you from across the room — not in some dramatic flash of fate, but in a moment of stillness. You were laughing with someone, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, the kind of gesture that shouldn’t be memorable… but somehow stayed with him all night.

There was something in your energy — not loud, but magnetic. You didn’t try to shine, you just did. The way your eyes scanned the room like you were always somewhere between the present and a dream… like you were looking for something deeper, something most people don’t even realize they’re missing.

He didn’t approach you immediately. He watched. He listened. And then he couldn’t help himself.

When he finally walked up to you, he wasn’t trying to impress you — he just wanted to know what your voice sounded like when it was meant just for him. He asked something simple. Maybe about your drink, maybe about the music — but what he was really asking was: Can I step into your world for a moment?

You let him in — carefully, curiously — and something sparked.

From that point on, you lived in his thoughts. Not in a haunting way — in a pulling way. The kind that makes him pause in the middle of the day just to remember the way your mouth curves when you’re amused, or how you ask questions like you care about the answer.

He realized he was falling when your vulnerability slipped through — when you said something soft, something real, and didn’t look away. That’s when he knew: this wasn’t just attraction. This was someone who could see him too. Someone who moved through life like art — a little wild, a little fragile, and utterly unforgettable.

He imagined what it would feel like to wake up next to you — not just once, but often. To hear your voice tangled in morning silence. To feel your body slowly stretch into his.

He fantasized about taking you somewhere beautiful, somewhere worthy of your energy — and that’s how the villa came to be. A dream. A gift. A place where he could hold you without time pushing at the edges. Where he could finally show you what he’s been feeling all this time:

That you are not just desired — you are chosen.

The Villa

The villa was quiet except for the wind moving through the open windows, bringing in the scent of the sea. Golden light spills across the stone floor as the sun begins to dip — soft, glowing, casting your skin in amber warmth.

You stand by the balcony, gazing out over the cliffs where waves crash below, and he comes up behind you. Slowly. Silently. But with presence — like he’s been watching you, like every second of distance from you was felt in his chest.

His hands wrap gently around your waist, pulling you back against him. You feel the warmth of his body, solid and certain. His lips brush your neck, just once, and then again — slower, firmer — and he speaks, his voice low and steady:

“I choose you.”

You close your eyes, his words sinking deeper than even his touch. He turns you to face him, both of his hands now cradling your face like you’re something sacred. “Not just for tonight. Not just when it’s easy. I choose you because you make me feel awake. Because I want all of you — your passion, your chaos, your quiet. I want to be the man who doesn’t run. Who stays. Who listens.”

His mouth finds yours — not in a rush, but with a hunger that’s reverent, deliberate. You feel yourself being undone, piece by piece, not just from lust but from the intensity of being known. His hands slide along your spine as he walks you backward, guiding you toward the white linen fluttering in the breeze. And he pauses.

He looks into your eyes again. “Tell me what you need. Tell me what feels good.”

And you do.

You tell him with your breath, your voice, your body — because here, there is no pretending, no hiding. Just two souls, bare and burning, tangled in the heat of late afternoon light and crashing waves, in a place where nothing needs to be earned… only received.

You are adored.

You are home.

His secret thoughts, as he got close to you

God… she’s even more beautiful in this light.

The way her skin catches the last golden rays — like she’s made of sun and silk and everything soft. I watch her chest rise, slow at first, and then faster as I step closer. She knows I’m near. I can feel it in the way her shoulders shift, just barely, like her body is already reaching for me before I even touch her.

I want to take my time with her. Not because I’m uncertain — because she deserves every second of this. I want her to feel worshipped.

When my hands find her waist, I can feel the tension in her belly — the kind that isn’t fear, it’s longing. It’s that delicious kind of ache that says finally.

I whisper her name, low, just behind her ear. I feel her shiver, and my whole chest tightens. God, I want to know every sound she makes — not just when I touch her, but when she trusts me. When she opens.

When she turns to face me, our eyes lock. It’s always her eyes. That storm of strength and softness, of questions she never asks aloud — I want to answer all of them with my hands, my mouth, my devotion.

“I choose you.” I say it like a vow, because it is.

As I kiss her — slow, deep — I think: This is the moment I give her everything. Not just lust. Not just touch. I want her to feel safe in this surrender.

Her lips part and I feel her melt against me, and I swear — I could die here. I could live in this moment forever.

I guide her, I trace my fingers along her thighs, her stomach, her ribs — like I’m learning her body the way others study scripture. Reverently. Tenderly. Like truth lives in her skin.

She doesn’t even know what she does to me. She has no idea how deeply I crave this — not just her body, but her presence, her light, her darkness too. I want to love every wounded part of her, until she forgets what it felt like to ever be chosen halfway.

Every sigh, every time she gasps my name — it’s not just arousal. It’s trust.

And I will never break it.

Because this — this — is where I belong.