HIS BELLA

chap. 23

ISABELLA

The rays of sunlight filter through the curtains, landing gently across my face and making me blink awake. The bed beside me is empty, the sheets rumpled and cool where his warmth once lingered. I pull the blanket closer, but the absence of his body heat makes goosebumps rise on my skin.

My mind drifts back to the night before. Heat rushes to my cheeks as memories flood in — Leonardo between my thighs, devouring me like a man who hadn’t tasted in years, murmuring things against my skin that still echo in my ears. And then afterward… his touch changed. His fingers, the same ones that had marked my skin moments ago, were suddenly gentle as he cleaned me up, wrapped me in one of his oversized hoodies, and pulled me against his chest.

The steady rhythm of his heartbeat had lulled me to sleep. For the first time, I’d seen a side of him that wasn’t cold, commanding, or controlled — but soft. Human.

Dragging myself out of bed, I pad toward the bathroom. The space takes my breath away. It isn’t just a bathroom — it’s pure luxury . Warm golden light spills across the marble floor, reflecting off the massive mirror framed in sleek black. A deep soaking tub sits near the floor-to-ceiling window, offering a view of the city skyline still wrapped in dawn. Soft steam curls from the walk-in shower lined with grey stone, and the faint scent of sandalwood lingers in the air — expensive, calming, and utterly him .

I glance at my reflection. My hair is a wild mess, my lips are swollen, and there’s a faint pink hue across my cheeks. I splash cool water on my face to calm the heat that rises again as flashes of last night replay in my head.

When I step out and head downstairs, the aroma of roasted coffee greets me. My steps slow as I spot him at the dining table. Leonardo sits there, perfectly composed, dressed in a tailored charcoal suit that probably costs more than I earn in a year. The sleeves are rolled just enough to show a hint of his watch, and the light glints off the sharp edges of his cufflinks.

He’s scrolling through his phone, a cup of steaming coffee in hand. For a second, I just… stare. He looks powerful, distant, entirely out of my world — and yet, after last night, he feels impossibly close.

“Are you done staring, principessa?” he asks smoothly, not even glancing up.

I gasp, my eyes widening. “How—?”

He finally looks up then, and there’s that familiar smirk tugging at his lips — the one that says he knows exactly what he does to me.

“I could feel your eyes on me,” he murmurs, his tone teasing but threaded with something darker.

I roll my eyes and start to walk past him, pretending to look for something to eat, when suddenly his hand wraps around my wrist. Before I can react, he tugs me down, and I find myself seated on his lap, his arm locked firmly around my waist.

“Leonardo!” I breathe out, startled, my hands instinctively landing on his chest. I can feel his steady heartbeat beneath my palms. “Wh-what are you doing?”

His gaze flickers from my eyes to my mouth, and the faint scent of his cologne — musky, expensive, intoxicating — fills my senses.

“I missed this view,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over my jaw before trailing down to my lower lip.

My breath catches. The air between us thickens, charged and heavy. His eyes darken, pupils dilating as they drop once more to my lips. I lick them unconsciously, and that’s all the invitation he needs.

He leans in and captures my mouth in a kiss that tastes of caffeine and something purely him. It’s slow at first — deliberate — before his control slips. His tongue slides against mine, claiming, exploring, consuming. When he bites my lower lip, a small sound escapes me — half gasp, half whimper.

My fingers clutch his suit jacket, desperate to hold onto something as the world seems to tilt. By the time he pulls back, my lungs are burning, my lips tingling.

“You taste sweet,” he murmurs against my mouth, his voice roughened. “Too sweet. And all mine.”

My heart skips. His words shouldn’t make me feel this dizzy, but they do. I can barely look at him as I whisper, “Aren't you going off to work ?”

He smirks, brushing his thumb along my bottom lip again. “Don’t worry, bella mia. I’ll go. But first—” His tone softens, eyes glinting with warmth. “Have breakfast with me.”

Before I can protest, he lifts me off his lap and guides me to the chair beside him. There’s already a spread on the table — fresh croissants, scrambled eggs, pancakes , waffles , fruit, and a steaming pot of coffee.

I can’t help but smile. “You actually made this?”

His lips twitch. “I had it prepared. Don’t look so surprised.”

I chuckle quietly “You just don’t seem like the type who stays for breakfast so late  .”

He looks at me over the rim of his cup. “And what type do I seem like?”

“The type who drinks three espressos and scares people before nine in the morning.”

A soft huff of amusement escapes him. “You’re not entirely wrong.”

I grin as I pick at a croissant, and he adds, “You should eat properly, principessa. You didn't eat dinner last night.”

The memory of why makes heat crawl up my neck. “I wonder whose fault that was,” I mumble.

He doesn't says anything but I see the side of lips tugging into a knowing smirk.

The air between us shifts — not heavy, just warm. Comfortable. We eat quietly for a while, the soft clink of cutlery filling the silence. Every now and then, he passes me the pancakes and waffles or refills my juice without saying a word, but the simple gestures make my chest tighten in a way I don’t want to name.

When we finish, he takes his keys from the counter and gestures toward the door. “Come on, I’ll drop you home.”

The drive is quiet, peaceful. His hand rests loosely on the steering wheel, the other occasionally brushing mine when he shifts gears.

As we pull up outside my apartment, he turns to look at me, eyes dark and steady. “Be ready tonight,” he says simply.

“For what?” I ask, my pulse quickening.

His lips curve in that knowing, devastating smile. “You’ll see.”

Before I can reply, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to my forehead. “I’ll pick you up at eight amore .”

And just like that, he’s gone — the sound of his car fading down the street as I stand there, heart still racing, realizing that no matter how hard I try… I’ll never get over how Leonardo keeps me on my toes .

~~~

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Hello there my lovely readers , I apologise for my absence and for keeping you waiting . I have been busy with a lot of stuff lately . I'll try to update more frequent . Please comment how you feel about Leonardo and Isabella and this chapter I love reading your comments.