Page 87 of Queen of Tempests and Sin

‘Don’t think for a second this means you own me.’ That spark in her… gods, it undid me.

I bent and kissed her—not the brutal crash from before, but soft, unhurried, lips brushing hers as though she might vanish if I pushed too hard. She sighed against my mouth, her hands tentative at first on my shoulders, but when she realized I wasn’t here to conquer, her touch firmed, pulling me closer.

My mouth trailed down the line of her throat, lingering at the frantic flutter of her pulse. I tasted salt and skin, heat and sweetness. Every sound she made lit a fuse inside me, every shiver tightening the coil of hunger in my gut. I wanted to devour her again, to slam into her until she screamed—but I held back. Barely. Instead, I took my time to worship her, letting each kiss soothe the raging need clawing at my insides.

I whispered kisses across her breasts, along the ribs, until I reached the ink on her skin. The black dahlia thrummed beneath my lips—not just a tattoo, but a brand, the kind that reeked of shackles and ownership. Drakos’s work. Then the blue dahlias woven through, bright against the dark. The butterflies scattered out from it, defiant and free, each stroke layered with her will, her choice. Not his. Hers.

‘Tell me about your tattoo, Little Red.’

Her blue eyes hazed, and she breathed out slowly. ‘The black dahlia was his. Power and mystery, he said… but it was nothing more than a leash. His control. His manipulation.’ She hesitated, then brushed her fingers over the brighter blooms. ‘I chose the blue dahlias myself. They mean new beginnings. And the butterflies symbolise hope, joy, and freedom. It’s what I wanted for Guinn and me.’

I understood then. The mark wasn’t just skin-deep—it was the story of her fight, of being branded… and then rewriting herself in ink and will.

My chest tightened. For a heartbeat, a thought I didn’t want surfaced—would she ever look at me and see him? Would she flinch from my claim the way she once had from his?

I pushed it down, but the fear lingered, sharp and unwelcome. I would never be Drakos. Gods help me, I’d die before I became that man to her.

‘Please, don’t leave me, kardia mou,’ I whispered. ‘Even if I am bound in chains beneath the sea, I will tear through the depths until the water remembers the shape of your soul.’ I kissed her gently.

‘In every tide that reaches the shore, in every whisper of salt that lingers on your skin, I will find you; we will cling like the sea and the moon, bound by a pull older than the gods themselves.’ Her eyes were sapphires drowned in moonlight, and she smiled—soft, almost disbelieving. ‘For I am the ocean… and you are the only one who stills me.’

‘You don’t need to find me,’ she murmured. ‘I’m right here.’

‘Cordelia,’ I whispered against her skin, my voice ragged. ‘Let me have you again.’

My hands traced the lines of her body, slow as a tide caressing the shore. Her skin was like warm silk under my fingertips as I memorized every curve, every tremor, worshipping her with my palms, my lips, my tongue.

As her hips arched into me, her need written in the way she gasped my name, it was a shot from Cupid’s bow straight to my dick, and the storm inside me cracked.

I pushed her knees up to her chest, and swiped my fingers through her dripping pussy coating them with her slick wetness. I pulled her up to sit on my cock with aching care, groaning at the wet, perfect heat of her wrapping around me. She clenched, welcoming me back, and the air punched from my lungs. I wanted to bury myself to the hilt and lose control. Instead, I set a slow rhythm, rocking into her deliberately, savouring each thrust, each gasp that tore from her throat.

I eased a thumb into her puckered hole, making her release a feral moan, then curled it just right; her pussy clamped around my cock like a vice, and she groaned and whimpered, ‘Yes… more.’

My restraint was a razor-edge. Her nails dug into my back, her breasts pressed to my chest, her moans filling the air—and I couldn’t hold back all of it. My thumb played with her ass as my hips snapped harder once, twice, enough to draw a cry from her lips before I forced myself to slow again.

‘Gods, Little Red,’ I groaned, withdrawing my thumb and pressing my forehead to hers. ‘You unravel me.’

I flipped her onto her back as her legs locked high around my waist, pulling me deeper, begging without words. I gave her more—slower, faster, gentler, rougher—waves of control and hunger breaking and receding, over and over, until she writhed beneath me, until she trembled with the weight of her own need.

When she came, it was with a cry that tore through me, her body clenching tight around my cock, dragging me to the edge with her. My control snapped. I thrust into her with the force of the tide, primal and unstoppable, until release ripped through me, flooding her, claiming her as mine in every possible way.

Even then, as the storm left me shaking, I held her carefully, kissing her temple, her cheek, her lips. She was no conquest. She was no possession. She was my everything—my fire, my fury, my undoing.

She lay beneath me, flushed and trembling, her chest rising and falling in ragged gasps. Her hair spilled wild over the pillows, her lips kiss-swollen, her eyes half-closed but still burning with that defiant light I craved.

I couldn’t stop touching her. My thumb brushed her cheekbone, then traced down to the corner of her mouth, where a soft smile might one day live if she ever truly trusted me. My other hand slid along her ribs, memorizing the feel of her, reassuring myself she was real, alive, and here.

Gods, I had nearly ruined it all. I had nearly ruined her.

‘Cordelia,’ I murmured, my voice low, solemn, almost afraid. ‘You are the sea I drown in, and the shore I crawl back to.’

Her eyes flicked to mine, the words rough but fragile. ‘If you’re going to walk away, tell me now, because if this goes any deeper, it’ll break me.’

That was the dagger in my chest—the fear in her gaze, the doubt in her words. She wanted me, I could feel it, taste it, hear it in the way she cried out my name, but she didn’t know if I would stay. Didn’t know if the sea would pull back and leave her stranded.

I wanted her more than I’d ever wanted anything. But gods are fickle—cursed by eternity, by power, by flaws that never fade. Was she right to worry? Would I love her only to break her, leave her nothing but wreckage? I swore I wouldn’t… but the thought hollowed me out all the same.

I lowered myself beside her, drawing her against my chest, cradling her close. My hand spread over her stomach, protective, possessive, gentle all at once. ‘I can’t promise I’ll be perfect,’ I whispered into her hair. ‘I can’t even promise I won’t make mistakes… but I swear this to you, Little Red, I will fight every god, every monster, even myself, before I ever let you go.’