“Only as little,” I say, relaxing into the sensations his fingers are creating. He leans over, taking my other nipple into his mouth and flicks his tongue over it.
“The sheets slipped, and I couldn’t resist,” he admits when he finally lifts his head again.
“It’s okay,” I say, a little breathless now his fingers are working circles over my sensitive bud. “I like it.”
His eyes flare at my words, dark and hungry in the silvered light. Something inside me unfurls at the way he looks at me, like I’m the only thing that exists in the entire world. He shifts lower, kissing a slow path down my ribs, my stomach, until his shoulders wedge between my thighs and his mouth replaces his fingers.
I gasp, back arching off the bed as his tongue slides through me, deliberate and devastating. He groans against my skin, the vibration making my toes curl, and I feel the sound more than hear it, a deep rumble of pure want.
My hands find his hair, gripping tight because I need something to hold onto while he takes me apart with slow, perfect licks that have me trembling in minutes.
“Diomid,” I breathe, half plea, half prayer, and he answers by sucking gently on that aching bundle of nerves until my hips jerk and I’m coming again, softer this time but deeper, like the pleasure is sinking straight into my bones.
He doesn’t stop until the last shudder leaves me, until I’m boneless and whispering his name like it’s the only word I remember.
Only then does he crawl back up my body, settling over me, his weight braced on his forearms. His lips glisten when he kisses me, and I taste myself on him, sweet and intimate, and it makes me kiss him harder.
He’s already thick and hot against my thigh, and when I reach down to wrap my fingers around him he hisses, hips pushing into my grip like he can’t help himself. I stroke him, marveling at how velvet-hard he feels, how the simple touch makes his breath stutter against my mouth.
“I need to be inside you again,” he says, voice rough, almost desperate, and the raw edge to it sends a fresh rush of heat through me. I nod, letting him guide me to roll over onto my stomach.
He slides in slow, dropping kisses on my neck the whole time. There’s a slight sting from earlier, but it melts into pleasure so quickly I barely register it. When he’s fully seated, he stills, and I feel him trembling with the effort of holding back.
“Please,” I whisper, and that single word breaks whatever leash he’s been keeping on himself. He starts slow, deep rolls of his hips that drag over every sensitive spot inside me, but soon the rhythm turns harder, faster, the bed creaking beneath us.
I lift my hips back, urging him deeper, and he growls my name like it hurts to say it. His hand slips beneath me, fingers finding my clit, and the dual sensation makes me cry out.
“You’re mine, Elizabeth. Say it.”
“I’m yours,” I pant, because it’s true, because in this moment I want nothing more than to belong to him completely. The words tip me over the edge again, pleasure crashing through me so hard my vision whites out. He follows seconds later, burying himself deep and spilling inside me with a broken groan that sounds like my name and surrender and forever all rolled into one.
Afterward, he doesn’t pull away. He stays inside me, softening slowly, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if we become uncoupled.
“I wasn’t looking for this,” he murmurs into my hair, voice low and reverent. “But now that I’ve found you, I’m never letting you go.”
I close my eyes, fingers relaxing in the sheets either side of my shoulders.
Diomid
She is still in my arms.
The first thought that enters my mind is slow and reverent, like a prayer I was never taught but somehow always knew how to speak. Her body is molded against mine beneath the tangled sheets. A soft warmth pressed to my chest, one leg hooked lazily over mine, her breath brushing the center of my ribs with every exhale.
I’ve woken with women before. Beautiful women. Willing women. And I’ve left their beds the moment the heat cooled, eager to slip out before sunrise made things real in a way that didn’t feel right to me.
Never like this. Never with the instinct to hold on and not let go.
Never with the certainty that if she tried to leave, I would wrap the sheets around her and pull her under me until she remembered where she belonged.
Her hair spills over the pillow and part of my arm like dark silk, chaotic and wild, as though even sleep refuses to tame her. I move a hand slowly, brushing a stray strand away from her lips. She doesn’t stir. Her face relaxes further into the quiet I’ve shown her.
Peace looks good on her.
Too good for the life she was forced to survive.
Golden morning light filters through the curtains, soft at first but growing stronger, daring to illuminate the marks I left on her neck. The small bites along her shoulder and the faint red trail my mouth made across her throat. Proof of my claim, as far as I’m concerned.
The sight tightens something low in me. Desire, yes, but something deeper too. Something potent and ancient that has nothing to do with lust and everything to do with possession.
