Page 43 of Bitten & Burned

Nineteen

STEADY

Kravenspire, Sol, Verdune

My steps picked up speed. Fast. Faster. I wanted as much space between me and that door as I could get.

I still didn’t know where I was going.

Until I did.

Across the manor. Down a familiar hall. To a door I knew would open.

Dmitri.

I knocked. Waited. The door opened.

Dmitri stood there, shirtless. No questions, no hesitation. He simply stepped aside to allow me entry.

Just like that.

I was there. I was in.

I crossed the threshold without speaking. I couldn’t, anyway. My throat was constricted.

The door closed behind me with an audible click.

He waited.

He didn’t speak. Just watched me with that calm, immovable patience of his, like he had all the time in the world to wait.

I finally spoke. “I don’t know why I’m here.”

“Do you need a reason?” he asked.

“No, what I need are answers,” I said, sighing in desperation. “I have questions upon questions about questions, and no fucking answers.” My mind spun, and I almost felt like I needed to sit down. But I couldn’t.

My legs were jumpy, restless. The sigil on my thigh burned just past the edge of what I could ignore, and gods, I was tired.

Sick and tired of being left hanging.

“How can I help, Mishka?” Dmitri asked. His voice was low and soothing. Scarcely more than a hum, but just enough.

“Was that another question?” I asked, smirking slightly.

Dmitri’s mouth twitched. Almost a smile.

“No, it was an offer,” he replied.

He took a step closer, like he was approaching a wounded animal. That’s what I felt like right now. A wounded animal, one strange twig snap away from bolting.

Gods, I could smell him. His scent was different from Cassian’s or Quil’s, but not wholly unlike theirs either. He smelled… fresh. Like mountain air. Petrichor. Somehow, both frost and a warm fireplace in one.

I wanted to press my face to his neck and inhale.

But I didn’t. Instead, I fiddled with the bottom hem of my blouse.

“Do you think I’m unlovable, Dmitri?” The words came from my mouth, but it felt like someone else had spoken them. They felt unexpected, bursting out when I’d wanted to say something else. Something about him. About how much I wanted him. But now they were out there, and he’d heard them.

He was silent for a long moment, gray-blue eyes steady, searching mine. As if he were weighing every word he might give me. His jaw flexed once before he shook his head.

“No. You’re not.”

I bit my bottom lip to stop the tears from welling up. I turned and walked closer to the fireplace.

“Is this about Quil?” he asked, voice soft, careful. His hand hovered at his side, like he wanted to reach for me but wouldn’t without permission.

I shook my head. “No. I mean—yes. It is. And it’s also about Vael. And Anton. Maybe Cassian, too? Gods, I don’t know.” I nearly clapped my hand over my mouth to stop the words from breaking free.

Why couldn’t Vael love me?

I stared hard into the fire, trying to memorize the way the flames jumped and danced. To guess where they would flit next. Being wrong every time.

“Vael has loved you for longer than he knows. He loves you more than he’s ever loved anyone. And that scares him,” Dmitri finally said.

“So he’s scared by how much he loves me?” I asked, the fact not making me feel better in the slightest. “Quil said he loved me. Then he said he hated that he loved me…” I wasn’t even sure why I was saying it. What I was saying, what point I was trying to make. “So Vael’s scared, Quil hates it…”

My shoulders slumped, the burn in my thigh flaring in quiet agreement — like even the sigil knew I was running out of fight.

“I just want someone to say it and mean it. Not have all these caveats and footnotes. I’m so tired of doing all of this alone.”

“You’re not alone, Rowena.”

I looked over at him sadly. “Not now, no. But eventually. I will be. Eventually, you’ll all be gone and I’ll be… just me. Just here.”

Dmitri’s expression didn’t change. No shift, no flinch. He just listened.

Gods, why did his silence hurt more than someone arguing?

“You think you’re temporary,” Dmitri said softly.

“I think I’m a phase. A novelty. Something that will lose all charm once all the polish and sparkle are gone. I’ll just be what I always was: a complication none of you signed up for.”

He stepped closer. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that I felt the warmth from his body.

“I think you don’t realize just how deeply ingrained you are. In all of us. In me.”

I wanted to believe him. Gods knew I did.

But belief was dangerous.

Hope was dangerous.

And I was so damn tired of being hurt by both.

The sigil throbbed sharply in my thigh, a cruel reminder of just how dangerous they could be.

“You say that now,” I murmured. “But what will you say when I stop being easy to want? Easy to care for? When I’m no longer shiny?”

Dmitri closed the space between us finally, his strong arms sliding around my waist and pulling me back against him. He hooked his chin on my shoulder.

His voice was a soft rumble that I felt in my chest as he spoke. “Then I’ll just keep wanting you. Because you are what I want. With all your messes and imperfections. You.”

Tears welled in my eyes. I didn’t want to be emotional now. I wanted to remain composed, but it was so difficult when he spoke like that. Said those things. Held me like I was the only thing that mattered to him.

Maybe in this moment, I was.

But what about the next? And the one after that?

“Let me stay here tonight,” I whispered. “Just—let me pretend I’m not temporary.”

“You don’t have to pretend,” Dmitri rumbled, his lips pressing softly behind my ear.

That small gesture ignited something in me.

It woke up my whole body.

Every nerve was alert.

I exhaled, the sound shaky and staggered. His hand stilled, palm open on my belly, his hand nearly spanning across my waist. I felt him breathe behind me.

I slowly turned, placing my hands on his shoulders to keep my balance, because, when I looked at him and saw the way he was looking at me, I nearly collapsed—knees weak, thigh searing, like my body couldn’t hold the weight of his gaze and the wound I carried both at once.

My entire body tensed, and I inhaled sharply.

His hands tightened at my waist. He looked at me like I was made of starlight.

“May I touch you?” he asked, his hands flexing at my waist. He was touching me already, but this felt like he was asking for more. “Really touch you?”

I nodded before I even had time to think.

Because yes.

Yes, I wanted his hands. I wanted his hands and his mouth. I wanted to feel something good. Something real. Something that wouldn’t slip through my fingers if I wasn’t holding it correctly.

He kissed me.

His mouth didn’t just brush over mine. He really kissed me. Deep and breathtakingly slow. Lips pulling at mine, leaving me no room for other interpretations, just kissing me. Wanting me. Just this.

His hands held me as if he thought I would break. And honestly? I might break. Without him to hold me together, I could very well shatter into a million pieces.

He walked me back toward the bed, giving up on walking a few steps in and bending to scoop me up, his lips never leaving mine as he strode over to the bed. He set me down gently on the edge of the bed—and then, he knelt.

He knelt.

Not to beg, like Vael needed to.

Not to worship, like Anton did.

Not to supplicate, like Quil.

Not even to mend, like Cassian.

To honor.

His hands went to the buttons on my blouse. He undressed me slowly, folding each piece neatly before moving on to the next. His hands treated me with the same care. Like I was made of silk, fragile and prone to tearing.

He kept at it until I was wearing only my slip shorts, quivering before him on his bed.

He kissed me again. “You’re trembling.”

“I’m scared,” I admitted.

“Of me?” he asked.

“Of me,” I replied. “Of how badly I want you right now.”

“Well, let me make it good. So you forget to be scared. Just say the word. I’ll give you everything. You want me as much as you want, and I’ll give you everything.”

I swallowed thickly, my eyes boring into his. “Please.”

He made a low sound that could have been a growl. It rumbled and touched me, made me clench again as he tugged down on my slip shorts. He slowly dragged them down my legs, extending one leg over his shoulder before finally pulling them off, dropping them on the floor somewhere.

I didn’t see where they went, and I sort of lost all desire to care when he started kissing his way up my leg.

He kissed my calf, the back of my knee, up my inner thigh. The burn in my wound eased under the press of his mouth, dulled by the heat of his kisses—until he was a breath away from where I truly needed him.

“You’re still shaking. I haven’t even touched you yet.”

“Oh, you haven’t touched me yet?” I asked, smiling softly. Teasing.

He grinned, pushing my thighs apart.

And then, he touched me.

His mouth was there, parting my folds and inhaling my scent. He groaned when his tongue found my clit. He flicked it softly with his tongue, bringing my other leg up over his shoulder as he did.

He licked a long stripe up my slit, and I moaned. “Dmitri…”

“Gods, you’re beautiful like this,” he whispered. “You’re beautiful when you moan for me. Just for me.”

He flicked his tongue faster then, right on my clit as he moaned with me.

He dropped one hand from my leg and brought it to where he was so thoroughly devouring me. He pressed two thick fingers inside me, and I snapped.

Pleasure rolled through me in a seemingly never-ending wave of heat. I clenched around those two fingers and moaned his name like a chant. A prayer. And he took it like one.

He kept his fingers inside me, working me through the tremors as he slowed his tongue. He gave me one final lick through my folds and sat back, slowly sliding his fingers from me as well. He pressed a kiss to the crease of my thigh. Reverent. Adoring.

He looked up at me, lips slick. Breathing hard. Wrecked but still holding himself together. For me.

And then he licked his fingers, humming as he did.

“Dmitri?” I whispered.

“Hmm?” he asked, fingers still in his mouth.

“I want you.”

“Do you?” he asked. “All of me?”

I nodded, and he shifted to stand.

His shirt was already off, and when his hands went to his trousers, I held my breath.

He pushed them down, his cock bobbed free, and I swore I nearly came right up off the bed.

Gods. I wanted him. I wanted every glorious inch.

I reached for him, and he followed, dragging me to the edge of the bed and bringing my legs up to wrap around his waist.

He stroked himself once, before lining himself up and gazing down at me. “All of me?” he asked, eyes on mine. The bond hummed low, vibrating through me as though it wanted the answer as much as he did.

“Please,” I murmured, my head falling back.

He pushed into me with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips, and I swear—gods, I swear—I could feel every inch.

I gasped, fingers tightening on his shoulders, legs instinctively trying to close. He was so big. Thick. Heavy. Stretching me past full.

“Shh,” he murmured, bracing himself with one arm beside my head. The other hand slid between us, resting low on my belly. “I’ve got you. Breathe for me.”

I tried.

But he kept pushing in, deeper and deeper, until my back arched and I let out a strangled sound I didn’t recognize as mine.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he whispered. His voice was wrecked—still controlled, but only just. “Me, pressing right here.”

His palm splayed wide, pressing gently against the taut skin just below my navel.

He was there. Deep enough that I could feel him with more than just my nerves—I could feel him in my bones.

“Gods,” I choked, eyes fluttering shut. “You’re too much.”

“Then I’ll go slow,” he said, kissing the corner of my mouth. “I’ll stay right here, and I’ll make it feel so good you won’t care if it breaks you.”

And then he moved.

Not fast. Not punishing.

Steady.

He rocked into me like a tide creeping steadily up the beach—rising, crashing, retreating just enough to build tension, then pressing deeper again. Every stroke had weight. Every single one made me feel him. Not just inside me, but around me, like my whole body was built to take him.

“You take me so well,” he murmured, forehead pressed to mine. “So tight around me. I can feel you clench every time I pull out… like you can’t bear to have me gone for even a second.”

I whimpered.

“You like that?” he asked. “Being stretched like this?”

I nodded, too far gone for words. My nails scraped down his back, dragging moans from both of us.

He adjusted slightly, angling his hips until—

“Oh fuck—”

I saw stars. Actual stars.

“There it is,” he breathed, jaw tight, muscles trembling from the restraint it took not to wreck me. “That spot that makes you forget your own name.”

He kept hitting it, again and again, each thrust more certain than the last. I was climbing towards something wild and massive—something I couldn’t contain.

And he knew. Gods, he knew. He chased it with me, breath ragged, eyes fixed on mine as though he wanted to see me come undone.

“Come for me,” he growled. “Show me what it looks like when you fall apart with me.”

The bond thrummed like a struck chord, vibrating through every nerve as I broke apart beneath him.

I shattered.

Everything inside me tightened, then unraveled in one sharp, blinding wave. I cried out his name—broken, breathless—my body pulsing around him so tightly he groaned through his teeth.

He dropped to his forearms, buried his face against my throat, and thrust once, twice, then came with a low, guttural sound that felt like it was ripped from his core.

We stayed there, bodies trembling, pressed flush in the aftershock.

His weight on top of me was grounding—not too much. Just right. Even the ache in my thigh quieted beneath him, as if the sigil itself had no fight left in it. It was the weight of someone who wasn’t going to vanish the moment things got messy.

I exhaled beneath him, chest rising into his, skin slick with sweat and pleasure and something so much heavier.

His breath warmed the crook of my neck as he slowly shifted, easing out of me with care. He didn’t go far. Just onto his side, so he could gather me against him like I was something precious and tuck my head beneath his chin.

I didn’t speak.

I didn’t need to.

He stroked a hand along my back in slow, even lines. Not possessive. Not expectant. Just present.

“If you knew what you meant to me,” he whispered, “you’d never call yourself temporary again.”

I closed my eyes.

Not temporary.

Not to him.

Maybe not to any of them. Not forever. But in this moment, I didn’t feel like a problem to solve. Or a duty. Or a consequence.

I felt… quiet.

And gods, I wanted to stay there.

Just for a little while longer.