The air rushes out of me.
I try to draw a line. One of those invisible boundaries that have kept me alive this long, but when I lift my gaze to his, the line dissolves like sugar in hot water.
I nod.
He steps closer, his hand sliding to the small of my back, guiding. I feel the strength in his touch, the promise in it. That ifI walk away, he can and will pull me right back where he wants me.
I turn toward the hallway, my legs shaky, each step betraying how badly I want to look back at him. Halfway to the stairs, I feel his presence behind me. Quiet and controlled. A dark shadow swallowing the light.
The banister is cool beneath my palm as I begin to climb. My breath catches on every riser, heat building beneath my skin, anticipation coiling so tightly that each footstep feels like it might snap me in half.
Halfway up, his fingers wrap gently around my wrist. I stop. My pulse stutters violently.
He leans in, his chest pressed against my back, his mouth finding the curve where my neck meets my shoulder.
“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he murmurs against my skin. “Not tonight. I want the real you.”
I close my eyes. For so long, I’ve lived in a world where silence is survival. Where desire is a danger. Where a woman wanting anything is a mistake she ends up paying for.
I tighten my grip on his hand and lead him upward. Toward the part of the house where only ghosts have ever been allowed. Toward the part of me that stopped believing I could feel like this. Toward the part of him that already decided I belong to him. And as we reach the top step, I don’t look back.
I don’t need to.
His body is already a promise pressed against mine.
I lead him down the hallway, my hand still tangled in his, the warmth of his skin seeping into mine like a secret I shouldn't crave but do anyway. My bedroom door looms at the end, a simple wooden barrier that's kept the world out for so long. But tonight it feels like an invitation waiting to be accepted.
My heart races, a wild drumbeat echoing in my ears, and I wonder if he knows how this moment unravels everything I've held together with sheer will. I push the door open, the hinges creaking softly, and step inside pulling him with me.
The room smells like faded lavender from the sachet in my bedside drawer, mixed with the faint citrus tang clinging to my clothes from the kitchen. Moonlight filters through the thin curtains, casting silvery shadows across the bed making everything feel dreamlike, almost unreal.
He doesn't say a word at first, just reaches out and traces his fingers along my collarbone, like he's memorizing the shape of me. I shiver under his touch as a heat that's foreign and terrifying and exhilarating all at once courses through me.
He's watching me so closely, his amber-gold eyes darkening with something possessive, like he's already decided I'm his and he's just waiting for me to catch up. I step back toward the bed, my knees brushing the edge, and he follows, closing the distance until there's no space left between us. His hands slide to my waist, pulling me flush against him, and I feel the hard length of him pressing against me like a promise that makes my stomach twist with nervous anticipation.
I've never done this before, never let anyone this close. But with him, it feels inevitable, like every choice I've made has led to this surrender. I tilt my head up, my lips parting, and he captures my mouth in a kiss that's deeper than before, his tongue sweeping in to claim me, tasting me like I'm the only thing that matters in his world.
I melt into him, my hands fisting in his shirt, tugging at the buttons until they give way, exposing the smooth planes of his tattooed chest. His skin is hot under my palms, muscles tensing as I explore, and he groans into my mouth, the sound vibrating through me and settling low between my thighs.
He breaks the kiss to trail his lips down my neck, nipping gently at the sensitive spot below my ear, and I gasp, my head falling back to give him better access. His hands roam possessively over my body before slipping beneath my sweater to caress my bare skin.
He lifts the fabric over my head, tossing it aside before smoothing his hands over my shoulders, nudging the straps of my bra down. He unclips it and lets it fall as his gaze rakes over me, hungry and reverent, like he's unveiling a treasure he's hunted for years.
"You're perfect," he murmurs, his voice rough with need, and I believe him in this moment, even though I've never felt that way before. He eases me back onto the bed, his body covering mine, and I arch into him instinctively, craving the weight of him, the way he makes me feel alive and wanted.
His fingers work at the button of my jeans, sliding them down my legs along with my underwear, leaving me exposed and vulnerable under his stare. But there's no fear, only a building ache that makes me squirm as he sheds his own clothes, revealing the sculpted lines of his body, the evidence of his arousal straining toward me.
He kneels between my legs, his hands spreading my thighs gently, and leans down to kiss a path from my navel to my inner thigh, his breath hot against my most intimate places. I tense at first, unsure, but when his mouth finds my center, licking and sucking with expert precision, pleasure explodes through me like fireworks, my hips bucking off the bed.
Diomid holds me steady, his obsession clear in the way he devours me, drawing out moans I can't hold back, building me higher until I'm teetering on the edge.
"Diomid," I whimper, my fingers threading through his hair, and he looks up at me with eyes full of dark promise, like this isjust the beginning of how he'll claim every part of me. He runs a finger up either side of my channel, teasing the soft flesh there as he continues to lick and suck. “Please…” I say, but I don’t know what I’m asking for. All I can think about is chasing the edge of this pleasure until it consumes me.
He presses harder where he rubs, never entering me fully, but teasing my entrance with a promise of what’s to come. What I never knew I needed. Then he sucks my clit hard, flicking his tongue in perfect rhythm and stars burst behind my eyelids.
The scream tears from me as I shudder and writhe against his hot mouth. The pleasure rolls through me in waves, lifting me up from the bed in time with each flick of his tongue.
I gasp, I beg, I moan. But nothing slows him down. He doesn’t take his mouth off my spent core until I’m a quivering wreck.
