Page 14

Lark

T here was no fear left between us. Only fire.

Axel laid me down like I was something precious. Breakable.

I wasn’t.

But the way he looked at me—like every piece of me mattered—undid me more than any danger ever had.

His hands slid beneath my shirt, rough from years of combat, but warm and reverent. Like touching me grounded him.

I arched into him, my breath catching. “You don’t have to be gentle.”

“Yes,” he murmured. “I do.”

Then his mouth found my neck, and I felt the world tilt. His lips trailed heat like a fuse, and I clung to him, wrapped my legs around his waist, and pulled him closer until I felt his control crack.

“Lark…” he groaned.

“Don’t stop.”

He stripped me slow, like he wanted to memorize everything—every scar, every breath. When he peeled my shirt away, he didn’t rush. He just looked at me.

Like I was rare. Sacred.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, voice rough with emotion.

I reached for his shirt and tugged it off, my breath hitching as I took him in.

Muscles. Scars. Strength. But those eyes…

His eyes were soft. For me.

When our bare skin finally met, it was like striking lightning.

Everything ignited.

He kissed me like I was the answer to every broken thing he carried. And when he slid inside me, slow and deep, I gasped—arching up, fingers clawing at his back, legs tightening around his hips.

“Axel…”

“I’ve got you,” he whispered against my mouth. “I’ve got you.”

We moved together—hungry, yes—but more than that.

Every movement was a promise. Every moan, a truth.

When I shattered beneath him, I cried out his name. He held me tight, his body trembling as he followed with a groan that sounded more like surrender than release.

He didn’t move away.

He stayed wrapped around me.

No words.

Just everything that mattered, pressed skin to skin.