Chapter Thirty Two

Pia's POV

"What do you mean I saved you?" I asked him, curious to know why.

He paused, observing me for a moment before he looked down, staring at his coffee.

"There was a time when I was at my lowest. It happened about a month after Mom and Anton died," he heaved a sigh, shaking his head slowly. I felt his struggle to open up, and I waited silently, until he continued, "I blame myself for their death, I still do... and I... I have this survivor's guilt that won't let go."

"Oh, Kristov," I touched his hand, and he captured it with his. He stared at me, and I could see the sadness and pain in his eyes.

"I was eighteen, so vulnerable. I was so upset with dad for throwing a party for his employees here in the mansion. He was drinking, talking business and laughing so loud, like..." his lips pressed together briefly, "like he never lost his loved ones. We were still mourning."

I nodded, acknowledging his feelings.

He heaved a long sigh, "I was so miserable, and cried a lot that day. I carved a heart in that tree using a knife," he pointed at the big oak tree, "then stabbed it deeply in frustration. I was contemplating on taking my own life at that moment, until I heard your giggles."

"Oh... you saw me."

He nodded, "I was amused. A teenager chasing a butterfly."

"Strange, right?" I laughed, "I love butterflies, and I haven't seen much where I live."

He smiled faintly, "you saw the heart in the tree, and you said something that struck me."

My brows raised questioningly, "I can't remember it anymore. What is it?"

"You said... It was a very sad and empty heart. That time could only fill that empty heart," he smiled, "I was holding on what you said. That soon, my extreme sadness and misery would soon pass and I would be healed."

I pressed his hand gently, "I'm glad I came at the right time."

"You did," he chuckled, "I was mesmerized looking at you, so bright and happy, enjoying the simple things... playing with butterflies, sleeping in the bermuda grass, appreciating the nature that surrounded you. You looked like an angel, a beautiful sweet angel. I thought for a moment that I was in heaven."

"Stop it. That's too cliche," I pulled my hand away, but he would not let go.

"I love holding your hand."

"Well, you can't. It's not your property."

"But it's my birthday today," his eyes were begging, and my heart melted easily.

"Okay, just for today."

His grin widened, and laced my fingers with his. Oh! This man is driving me crazy. All my insides stirred, evoking delicious sensations in the pit of my stomach.

He told me that the secluded garden used to be his mom's favorite spot. She brought him here often as a child - to read stories, have picnics, play hide and seek, or sleep on the soft grass. The garden became his favorite spot also. His hiding place especially whenever he wanted to paint.

"You love painting, and you're so good at it. I saw your painting that won first prize."

"You saw it?"

I nodded vigorously, "not the actual thing, but on the internet."

"I see," he looked pensive for a moment, "I don't know who owns the painting right now. The committee sold it to an anonymous person for a hundred million bucks."

"That's a whole lot of money! My goodness. You could save a whole lot of dying people in hunger and sickness in just one painting. You should do a lot of painting, Kristov."

He shook his head, "I can't anymore."

"What do you mean you can't? That's God's gift, a talent that's already built in you."

His denial took me by surprise. He looked upset all of a sudden. He let go of my hand, and diverted his face away from me.

"I loathe the sight of art paintings. Any of it. If I didn't pursue that hobby, Mom and Anton would still be alive right now," he grunted.

"Is that the reason why I don't see a single art painting inside the mansion?"

He looked at me and nodded.

My heart felt so heavy knowing how the accident left him too much trauma. Such a beautiful man on the outside. Strong, confident and powerful. But inside, he had a wounded heart and soul.

I did not have to push him into anything that he was not ready for. I still believed that time would heal a person's wound. Give him time no matter how long it would take. He would come to realize it by himself naturally... and not by force or pressure.

It should be honored that he trusted me by opening himself. That was enough already, for now. I got to know him more as a person, and understand better where he came from.

"Is that a lighthouse?" I pointed at the hill.

"It is. That hill still belongs in the Stavrakos estate."

"Oh. I never realized how massive the estate is."

"As far as you can see with your eyes. It all belongs to me."

"Oh," my eyes rose, "you're bragging, right?"

He laughed, "nope. I'm selling myself to you."

"Oh... I see," my lips twisted, "too cliche, Kristov. I'm not impressed."

"I know," he chuckled, "anyways, that lighthouse, it's where Pops used to live."

"Pops?"

"Mom's dad," he was smiling now that we shifted to another topic, "he was also an artist."

"Ah- so you got your talent from him."

He ignored what I said and continued, "all this huge estate belonged to Pop. When he and mom died, it all passed down to me. Dad hates this place, he's more of a city guy. He likes living in a penthouse."

"And you love it here."

"Very," he gave me a very tantalizing smile that gave butterflies in my tummy.

I was enjoying the feeling of responding to his flirty eyes, when I felt something crawling on my thigh and bit me.

"Oh no... oh no..." I jumped up and ran in panic, rubbing my thighs and legs.

"What's going on?" He ran after me, with a worried expression.

"Something bit me... down here," I pointed at my thigh, my eyes were teary with the achy sting.

"Let me check."

"No...no... I'll go now. I'll let Tess see to it."

"It could be serious," he insisted, and I let him inspect the bite.

I sat down on the stone bench, and pulled the hem of my dress higher. I showed him the bite in my inner right thigh.

He knelt down and inspected the bite. His dark brows frowned, "an insect bite, probably an ant. Does it still hurt?"

I nodded, "it's itchy and burning."

"Wait here," he took something from the basket. When he came back, he put some ice in my sting, making me moan with intense pleasure. The relief from the itchiness and pain was very satisfying.

He chuckled, shaking his head, "you should stop doing that. You made me think of wicked things."

"What wicked things?" I frowned at him.

He shook his head, "I'll pretend I didn't hear your question. I'm pretty sure you don't want to hear it."

"I'm not naive, Kristov. Stop treating me like a Victorian maiden. Tell me."

His eyes gleamed wickedly, then he said, "I prefer to demonstrate."

Before I knew what was happening, he put the iced in his mouth and opened my legs wider.

I was shocked when his mouth captured the bite.

"Kristov no..." I protested, but stopped when the deliciously feeling of the iced soothed the burning feeling.

I felt the sexual excitement watching him on his knees, his mouth on my thigh. I gasped when he spit the ice and licked my skin greedily with his cold tongue.

High. Electrified. Burning.

I was so wet down there, and I could smell my own arousal lingering in the air between us. The pain in my feminine center intensified, begging for release.

"Kristov," I touched his head, then shamelessly raking his silky black hair. I dreamed of doing it ever since I met him. Feeling the texture with my fingers and imagining how it would feel in my hand.

His dark eyes met mine, and without inhibition, I captured his lips with mine. Kissing him with fervor.

Didn't I dream of this also? Too many times I guess, I lost count. No matter how much I denied my attraction for him, it gets stronger every passing day. The more I denied it, the more I craved it.