Craving Uncle Leornad

The first Move

Now, with her plan set right, emilia waited as she observed any small changes in his behaviour. Leornad, who seemed always composed, was beginning to crack. Yes, finally, she had more hopes about having him. She had to applaud him for masking all those guarded glances, which lasted a heartbeat too long. His usually demeanour and the way his shoulders stiffened at her presence.

It broke her heart seeing he would go to such an extent so as to avoid her, but this girl is strong. She had a feeling that piece of a puzzle would eventually stick into their places. He was fighting it-her at most, but Emilia sorely knew that their feelings mirrored each other. Or so she hoped.

The first move had to be subtle. Subtlety wasn't her most trait, but at least it would prompt him until he could no longer silence the little whispers of desire between them.

The perfect time was evening,and she chose that mainly because he would be alone in his study reviewing some boring paperwork.

The perfect opportunity came on a cool, quiet evening. Leonard, as was his routine, had retreated to his study, buried under a pile of papers that needed his attention. The house was still. The only sound was the occasional creak of the wooden floors and the distant hum of the birds outside. Emilia had planned for this—she knew his schedule well. He often worked late, long after she went to bed, and tonight was no different.

Emilia dressed with care, slipping into a soft, flowing robe that clung just enough to hint at the curves of her body without being overt. She let her hair fall loose, cascading over her shoulders in soft waves, just the way Leonard had once complimented. A touch of perfume—his favourite—drifted around her, subtle but intoxicating, designed to stir memories he couldn’t suppress. Her reflection in the mirror smiled back at her with a mixture of confidence and anticipation. Tonight, she wouldn’t fail.

As she walked down the hallway towards his study, her heart raced, but not from nerves. It was excitement, the thrill of knowing she was on the precipice of something inevitable. Each step brought her closer to him, to the moment she’d been carefully orchestrating. There was no turning back now.

She paused outside the study, steadying her breath before lifting her hand to the door. A soft knock. Just enough to announce her presence without startling him. When there was no immediate answer, she slowly pushed the door open, her movements deliberate, controlled.

He looked up from his vas papers with a neutral glance but being the observer that she is she didn't miss the way his eyes raking over her briefly, taking in the skimpy robe and the way it clung to her leaving her skin bare only for him to see.

"Leonard," she murmered softly, more like a whisper putting some edge of vulnerability in her voice. "I couldn’t sleep."

She hoped it would work.

His eyes quickly returned to his papers, as if the words on the page could shield him from the pull she knew he felt. "It’s late, Emilia. You should go back to bed."

She didn’t move.Instead, her dainty fingers lightly traced the edge of her robe as she stepped a little closer "I had hopes that we could talk… like we used to."

“There’s nothing to talk about here,” he replied with his infamous cool voice, though it carried a faint tremor. It actually added her some little confidence.

She detected a battle of conflict in his features like the way his jaw clenched his usual sturdy shoulder had a tautness in it, too. But that only spurred her more and she slowly moved to the side of his desk and lean against it in a way that made the robe part slightly, just enough to show the inviting smooth skin of her thigh.

It was a deliberate gesture, and she saw it land. His eyes darted to the exposed flesh, and though he quickly looked away, it was already too late. She had him.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked strained, although his eyes remained fixed on the papers, as if they were a lifeline.

"I miss you." Emilia whispered longingly.

The words hung up between them, carrying heaviness of unspoken emotion. "I miss how we used to be."

"Emilia—" He began, but she didn’t give him the chance to finish.

"Please, Leonard," she cut him off, her voice trembling with sincerity. "Don’t push me away.

"We don’t have to go back to what we were, but… we don’t have to be strangers either."

She continued desperately.

Silence enveloped them, and when his eyes finally lifted to meet hers, there was war within him. Desire versus restraint.

She internally crossed her fingers, waiting, and for a brief second, she thought he might surrender. But then he pushed his chair back, rising to his feet as if putting physical distance between them would help him gain back the control he didn’t realise he lost a few moments ago.

"This won't ever work," he said, his tone clipped as the walls were coming back up. "What happened between us was a mistake. I won’t let it happen again."

Her heart ached at his words, but Emilia wasn’t one to give up so easily. She had anticipated this.

"You say that now, but I see how you look at me," she countered, her voice steady, unwavering. "You cannot pretend you don’t feel something. I know you do."

"And pray tell how do I look at you?! Attention seeking brat? You're like a child to me!"

That didn't hurt. Really, it didn't.

She bit back the retort of how 'he didn't see that as such when he was balls deep into her', but it would only make things worse. But since her brain is not functioning, she screamed exactly that.

With his hands gripping the edge of the chair, he turned his back to her. The way he was gripping it, one would think it was the only thing grounding him. His knuckles turned white from the pressure, and she instantly knew she had struck a chord.

"I’m trying to do the right thing," he muttered lowly, almost defeated. And she almost, key word almost felt sorry for him.

"And what about what’s right for us?" she blurt out her selfish mind, taking over as she stepped closer, her hand hovering above his back before she hesitantly placed it there. His muscles tensed from her touch, but he didn’t pull away.

That, to Emilia, was a victory.

"What about what we want?" she added her voice more like a soft whisper and coaxing like a predator. Her fingers lightly brushed the fabric of his shirt, and she could feel the heat radiating from his skin, and she almost threw herself and basked in that forever. She had sensed the tension coiling through him like a spring wound too tight.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked quietly. "That I don’t think about you?

That I don’t remember how it felt to hold you? Because I do, Emilia. Every single day. Is that what your desperate mind wants to hear. Now you've heard it."

Her breath trapped in her throat. She thought he was being honest for a second, but at the same time, it felt like he was mocking her feelings.

"It doesn’t have to be wrong," she said, her breath warm against the back of his neck when she leaned closer. "Not if we don’t let it be."

Leonard shuddered beneath her, the struggle within him palpable. He was breaking, and Emilia knew that the walls were coming down, and all she had to do was push a little further.

"Emilia," he warned, with no conviction left in his voice. It was an empty threat and a plea—a last, desperate attempt to hold onto the crumbling remains of his resolve.

"Just tell me you don’t want this," she whispered, her lips grazing against the shell of his ear.

"Tell me you don’t want me, and I’ll walk away. I’ll never bring it up again."

Silence.

A silence so fat it pressed against her already overwhelmed chest. Her shallow breath slowed down with every second that ticked by feeling like an eternity as she waited for his answer.