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She’s naked.
Lit only by the flicker of a single dying candle, her skin gilded in gold and shadow, mouth parted slightly, eyes fixed on me like she’s already decided how I’ll fall apart for her.
And the worst part? I do. Immediately. Every part of me goes still. Quiet. Like my brain short-circuited and my body’s waiting for new instructions.
She lets the robe fall. It pools around her feet like black silk mourning the loss of her restraint.
I forget every clever thing I was ever supposed to say. No joke. No quip. No sarcastic one-liner to dodge the way my heart’s trying to break its fucking way out of my chest just to reach her faster.
I stare like a goddamn idiot. Because she’s perfect. And terrifying. And mine in a way that feels too sacred to name. She moves toward me, slow and deliberate, like every step is calculated to drive the last bit of oxygen from my lungs.
“Still want this?” she murmurs.
And gods help me, I can’t speak.
So I nod.
Because if I open my mouth, it won’t be words.
It’ll be worship.
She steps between my legs. Slow. Deliberate. Like she knows I’ll break if she moves too fast and maybe she wants to watch it happen in real time.
Her bare thighs brush mine, and my hands instinctively go to her hips. Not possessive. Just… anchoring. Because I need something solid while the rest of me spins off-center.
She’s heat. She’s gravity. She’s the kind of storm that tears the roof off your house and then kisses you on the mouth while the world burns down around you.
I don’t breathe.
Her hands lift. Slide into my hair. Tug just enough to pull my head back so she can look at me fully, so I can’t hide behind my sarcasm or wit or the thousand deflections I’ve trained myself to throw up between me and feeling anything too much.
“You don’t talk now,” she whispers, and her voice is silk laced with threat.
I nod, mute. Because gods, if I open my mouth again, something humiliating is going to fall out, and I’ve already met my quota for cringey declarations tonight.
Her fingers trace my jaw, feather-light, and then her mouth is on mine.
Not gentle.
Not kind.
Just claiming.
And everything inside me shatters.
She kisses like she owns the moment, like she owns me, and maybe she does now. Maybe the bond is already rooted too deep for me to claw it out. Maybe I don’t want to.
My fingers dig into her waist. Not to stop her. Just to feel her. Just to remind myself she’s here.
Alive.
Naked.
Mine.
Her teeth catch my bottom lip and the low sound that leaves my throat is not remotely dignified.
Her voice brushes against it, low and full of promise. “You going to make that noise every time I bite you, Elias?”