I close the last inch between us and kiss him.
It starts soft — just the relief of it, the presence of him, the warmth after days of cold stone. Then his hands move into myhair and mine pull at the front of his coat, and it shifts into something more desperate than either of us planned.
I pull his coat off his shoulders. He works at the laces of my prison blouse with quick, careful fingers. Clothes come away piece by piece until his hands are moving across my bare skin and mine are pressed flat against his chest, his stomach, the ridge of muscle along his side.
He wraps his arms around me and lifts. I lock my legs around his hips and he steps back until my shoulders meet the cold stone wall, bracing me there with the warmth of his body against the chill. His mouth drops to my throat — lips first, then teeth, a slow path down to my collarbone and back up that pulls a sound from me I bury against his hair.
His cock is hard against my inner thigh, the heat of him radiating through the thin fabric still between us. I shift my hips, trying to close the distance, and his hands tighten at my waist.
"Nyrius—"
His breath is low and rough at my ear.
He works the last of the fabric away. His hand slides between us, fingers finding me slick and ready, and I grip his hair and press my face against his temple to muffle my moan. He strokes slowly, tantalizing, until my thighs are trembling against his hips and my nails are pressed into his shoulder.
Then he positions himself at my entrance.
"I love you," he says, low and certain, against my neck — and pushes into me.
My breath rushes out. He fills me completely, his arms locked around my waist, keeping our bodies flush from chest to hip. He holds there for a moment, his mouth at my throat, his hands gripping me like I might disappear if he loosens his hold.
Then he begins to move.
Each thrust slow and deep, his lips and teeth working up my neck and back down to my shoulder — kisses and nips thatspread heat through my chest and down my spine. I wrap my arms around his neck and press my mouth close to his ear, letting every sound out quietly, gasping with each push of his hips.
His hands slide to my lower back, pulling me tighter against him with each thrust, the friction building fast and relentless. I feel every movement through my whole body. His skin against mine, his breath hot on my neck, the stone wall cold at my back and Nyrius impossibly warm everywhere else.
The pleasure in my center rises in long, tight waves. I grip his neck and hold on. He quickens his pace, his arms tightening around my waist, and I turn my face into his hair and moan against it as everything inside me crests and breaks — a full, shuddering climax that rolls through me and pulls a cry I barely contain.
He drives into me twice more, fast and hard, and then his teeth sink lightly into the curve of my neck as he groans against my skin, low and muffled, his whole body going taut as he finishes inside me.
We stay there, pressed together against the wall, while both of us come back down.
His arms don't loosen. His face stays pressed to my neck, his breathing slowing gradually, and I keep mine around him and don't move either. The lamp light is very low. Outside, the block is silent.
Eventually we find our clothes.
He fastens his coat. I retie my blouse. My hands are steadier than I expect. He watches me dress and when I look up he's already looking at me, an expression on his face that I've only seen a few times — open, unhurried, nothing held back.
He pulls me in one more time, arms around my shoulders, and presses his mouth to my forehead.
"Tomorrow," he says quietly, "I am going to walk into that courtroom with every document we have. And when it's done, I'm going to walk you out of this building." He holds me close for another moment. "And after that, I'm claiming you. Publicly, formally, in front of every noble who has an opinion about it." His arms tighten briefly. "You and the child both. No exceptions."
I press my face against his chest and breathe him in — leather and cold night air and his scent, familiar now, mine.
"Okay," I say.
He kisses my hair and pulls back.
At the cell door he pauses, hand on the frame, and looks at me one more time.
"Try to sleep," he says.
"Try yourself," I say back.
He almost smiles. Then he's gone, and the door clicks softly behind him, and I'm alone again in the quiet cell.
I lay on the stone shelf and press my palm flat to my stomach and let myself believe that tomorrow is not the end of anything.
