Page 59 of A Memory Not Mine (Sanguis Amantium #1)

He leaned in and kissed me—softly, slowly—each brush of his lips deliberate, solemn.

Too slow for me. I ached for the rush, for the desperate, hungry part where we lost ourselves in each other.

But when I opened my eyes and looked at him, I saw it clearly: that wasn’t what this was going to be.

This time, it wasn’t about escape—it was about being here and now.

About choosing tenderness when everything else had been chaos.

So I let him lead, and I followed willingly.

It wasn’t hesitation in him—not even close.

His desire was unmistakable. I could feel his hardness through his jeans, pressing against me, right where I already burned for him.

My breath hitched at the contact, and a quiet gasp slipped from my lips, but he didn’t rush.

He deepened the kiss, one hand splaying wide against my lower back, the other curving around my hip before settling on my ass.

In one smooth motion, he lifted me, and I clung to him, legs wrapping around his waist like it was second nature.

He started toward the stairs, and just before we reached them, he paused, bent slightly, and picked up the tote bag I’d dropped earlier.

Then he carried me upstairs, the steady strength of him grounding me in a way nothing else could.

I buried my face in the curve of his neck, breathing him in, letting the thud of his heart against mine drown out everything else.

He set me down gently at the edge of the bed, his hands lingering at my waist as if reluctant to let me go.

But then he stepped back slightly, his gaze sweeping over me with something deeper than hunger—veneration.

There was no urgency in his movements, just intent.

He reached for the button of my jeans and unfastened it slowly, the zipper slipping down with a soft hum.

Then he crouched, easing the denim over my hips, down my legs, his fingers trailing lightly against my skin as he went.

When he stood again, his hands found the hem of my T-shirt.

He lifted it over my head in one fluid motion, his knuckles grazing the undersides of my arms as the fabric slipped away.

I shivered—not from cold, but from the quiet intensity of his attention.

He didn’t speak, didn’t rush. Just watched me, as if committing every detail to memory.

And then I was standing before him in nothing but my bra and panties, the soft rise and fall of my breath the only sound between us.

He still hadn’t moved to undress. He just stood there, his gaze roaming over me slowly, observant, like he was memorizing every contour of my skin, every curve and hollow.

It was more than desire—it was as if he was studying me like a map, one he never wanted to lose.

The silence between us pulsed with something electric, something sacred.

“Necklace…” he said softly, the single word thick with meaning .

I followed his eyes and realized what he meant. He wanted to see me wearing it.

I turned and picked up my tote, fingers fumbling slightly as I searched for the leather box.

My hands were trembling—not with nerves, exactly, but with something deeper.

I’d never felt this kind of weight before when putting on something I’d made.

This wasn’t just gold and emeralds. It was a vessel of everything I’d lived through, every shift in who I’d become.

I handed it to him without a word, and he stepped behind me.

His fingers brushed my nape as he opened the clasp, then a subtle pull as he fastened it at the base of my neck.

The pendant dropped against my skin with a cool kiss, the weight of it settling just above my cleavage.

I inhaled sharply—not just from the temperature of the metal, but from the intimacy of the moment. Of his touch. Of what this meant.

His hands didn’t leave me right away. They rested on my shoulders, grounding me.

And in the mirror across the room, I caught a glimpse of us—me, half-naked and adorned in something I’d poured my soul into, and him, still fully clothed, standing behind me like some immovable force.

Like this was a ritual. A claiming. A goodbye.

Or maybe something else entirely. I turned to face him and stood there, one hand against his chest.

He began unbuttoning his shirt with the same unhurried deliberateness he’d used to undress me—as if every movement was its own promise.

One button, then the next. My breath caught with each one, the anticipation itself a kind of exquisite ache.

The somber look he’d worn for most of the evening had softened, replaced now by something deeper, more certain—a quiet, knowing smile that told me he was fully here, fully with me.

He unfastened the waist of his jeans, then slowly slid the zipper down. The sound alone made my pulse stutter. When he let them fall to the floor, he didn’t rush to step out of them. He just stood there, watching me with that steady intensity, like I was the only thing in the world worth seeing.

When he was fully naked, his fingers found the strap of my bra.

He hooked one under it and let it slide slowly down my arm.

I reached behind me to unhook it, the clasp giving way with a soft snap.

The fabric fell away, and the look in his eyes as he took me in made me feel bare in more than body—like he saw all of me and wanted it anyway.

He pressed me gently back onto the bed, his hands sure but tender, and then he slid my panties down my legs with the same adoration he’d shown every other part of me.

There was no rush, no urgency—only the deep, quiet intensity of two people choosing each other again.

Choosing connection, even knowing the end was near.

His body loomed over mine, solid and warm, and I parted my legs in invitation, welcoming the weight of him as he settled between them.

He propped himself up with one hand, the other trailing slowly up my neck and back down again, his fingertips grazing the chain until they found the pendant resting just above the swell of my breasts.

He touched each emerald in turn, and then the gold, as if reading a secret message etched into the metal.

He bent to kiss me—first my mouth, deep and sensual—then lower, his lips moving to my breasts.

He worshipped them, sucking softly, first one nipple, then the other, lingering at the sides and undersides with a devotion that made my breath hitch.

When his mouth drifted across the pendant, he paused for a beat, eyes closed, his lips pressing against it like he was kissing a rosary. Something sacred.

Then he moved lower, his kisses trailing down my belly, growing more urgent as they reached the place I needed him most. His mouth found the wet heat between my legs with a hunger that unspooled me completely.

His tongue moved in slow, deliberate strokes, teasing and tasting, until I was writhing beneath him, soft cries spilling from my lips as he drew my clit into his mouth and sucked, sending shudders through me so sharp I thought I might break.

I needed more. I needed him inside me—needed that deep, perfect joining that felt like being made whole again, like a key slipping into a long-locked door.

He must have felt it too, because he pulled back with a murmur and rolled onto his back, taking me with him.

I moved with instinct, reaching between us to guide him, his thick length pulsing in my hand.

I positioned him at my entrance and pushed back slowly, taking all of him, inch by inch, until he was fully seated and I was filled.

A cry tore from my throat—half relief, half ache. I closed my eyes and let my body mold to his, knowing that in this moment, nothing else mattered but the way we fit. Like two halves reunited.

I was so close—had been for what felt like an eternity.

My body was strung tight with need, trembling at the edge, every nerve lit and waiting, every movement stoking the slow burn inside me.

I moved above him, rocking steadily, feeling the stretch and fullness of him deep inside, grounding me, unraveling me.

The rhythm built in waves, and I let it—surrendering, clinging to the sensation of being completely possessed, completely seen .

He reached up again, fingertips grazing the pendant that now lay between my breasts, and then he trailed them higher—over my sternum, my throat—until he cupped my jaw, guiding my face down toward his.

His eyes were locked on mine, unwavering, demanding something I didn’t fully understand.

Don’t look away , they said. Stay with me.

And I did.

Something passed between us then—something that wasn’t just physical. It felt like worship, yes, but not just of the body. Like he was trying to show me something beyond either of us, some truth too deep for words. And though I couldn’t grasp it, I let myself be open to it, let it wash over me.

My climax hit not just from sensation but from that —the raw, soul-deep connection blazing in his eyes.

It pushed me over the edge, white-gold pleasure searing through me in waves, starting where we were joined and radiating outward—north, south, east, and west—until I was nothing but light and sound.

I cried out, the sound torn from somewhere primal, but I kept my eyes on his, even through it— especially through it—and what I saw there made my heart ache.

His joy, his awe, the trembling devotion written so clearly across his face.

I wanted to give him that same unraveling.

That same holy undoing. I wanted to see him come apart the way he’d just watched me.

And I wasn’t going to stop until he did.