Page 13 of Bound By Crimson

Chapter Thirteen

The Claim

His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him.

Chest to chest.

Hip to hip.

Thigh to thigh.

The music curled around them like smoke, slow and haunting.

Every shift of his hips teased against her center, igniting sparks that raced through her.

His hand, firm on her lower back, pressed her closer.

His thumb brushed the side of her ribcage with every slow turn.

Each touch, fire beneath her skin.

He dipped her low, his mouth grazing her throat—but never touching.

His restraint undid her.

When he pulled her upright again, their eyes locked.

She had never felt so bare.

So seen.

The friction of velvet and lace against her thighs.

The scent of roses and heat.

The echo of candlelight across mirrored walls —

It was too much.

But she didn’t want it to stop.

He spun her once—twice—caught her mid-twirl, held her still, lips an inch from hers.

Her hands clutched his shoulders, the only anchor she had left.

She was breathless.

She was burning.

She clung to him, trembling.

And then—his hand slid around her waist, pulling her tighter.

Without a word—he lifted her.

She gasped, arms tightening around his shoulders as he carried her across the room.

He placed her on the edge of a dark wooden dresser, cool against her thighs.

A mirror hung above it, catching her reflection—wide-eyed, wrecked.

He knelt.

Just like that.

Dropped to his knees like a man in worship.

His hands ran up her thighs—slow, reverent—pushing the fabric of her dress higher.

When he reached the lace at her hips, he paused—

Looked up into her eyes—

And slowly, deliberately, slid her panties down her legs.

She couldn’t breathe.

The cool air kissed her bare skin.

But it was his gaze that set her ablaze.

He placed her foot on his shoulder, widening her just enough, hands gripping her like she was the only thing tethering him to this world.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t need to.

Every motion said what his mouth didn’t :

You’re mine.

And she was already unraveling for him.

Her breath hitched—then shattered into short, desperate gasps.

Every nerve in her body lit up as his mouth moved with exquisite torment—slow, deliberate, merciless.

He read her like a story only he had the right to open, savoring every trembling page.

Her head fell back, lips parted in a silent cry as pleasure clawed its way up her spine.

She reached upward, searching—needing.

Her hands found the carved edge of the mirror above her, and she clung to it like it might hold her together.

Her thighs quivered around his shoulders, helpless to the rhythm he dictated.

And still, he didn’t stop.

Her cries filled the candlelit room, raw and uninhibited.

She no longer knew where her body ended and his began.

Every flick of his tongue, every graze of his stubble, sent jolts of heat crashing through her until she was nothing but sensation—liquid, wild, undone.

It was too much.

And not enough.

Tears stung her lashes. Her hips bucked. Her moans twisted into gasps, into sobs of ecstasy.

She was breaking.

She was burning.

She was unraveling beneath him.

Then—

His eyes.

He looked up at her through heavy lashes, still devouring her, still in control.

That stare.

That dominance.

And she shattered .

Her climax hit like a storm. Violent. Beautiful. Endless.

Her body arched.

Her scream echoed, primal and desperate.

The wave rolled through her, again and again, until she collapsed—limp and trembling, tears slipping down her cheeks from the sheer force of it.

He rose.

Towering. Wordless.

And then, with all the power of a man who knew she was his, he lifted her into his arms.

She melted against him, boneless, wrecked.

He carried her to the bed of satin and shadow, roses brushing her skin like kisses.

And laid her down like something sacred—

and already claimed.

His breath ghosted over her skin as he closed the space between them, his hand curling around her waist like she belonged to him. The air thickened with something electric—dark, charged, unspoken.

She couldn’t speak. Her heart thudded against her ribs, her skin hypersensitive to the smallest brush of his fingers. He tilted her chin with maddening care, eyes locked on hers like she was the only thing in existence.

“Are you ready?” he whispered, his voice low, reverent, dangerous.

A tremor rolled through her. She wasn’t ready. Not in the way innocence demanded. But her body—her soul—ached for him. She swallowed, lips parting. “Yes.”

His mouth met hers in a kiss that shattered everything quiet inside her. It wasn’t gentle. It was claiming. Devouring. His hands moved with restraint that was already beginning to fray—trailing the sides of her thighs.

The moment he pressed his body against hers, she knew there would be no going back. She gasped at the feel of him—hard, hot, restrained by the thinnest thread of control.

He kissed her throat, her collarbone, her chest—until she arched into him, each inch of her screaming for more.

When his fingers traced the curve of her thigh and found the strap that held her stockings, her breath hitched. He hooked his finger through it, pulled gently—and smiled when her legs tensed in response.

He explored her slowly, his hands and mouth undoing her one nerve at a time. She moaned, legs trembling, as he worshipped her with every stroke, every kiss, every barely-there touch that left her undone.

And when he finally claimed her—slow, full, consuming—it felt like falling. Like flying. Like every tether to the world had snapped, except for the one binding her to him.

Then—he pressed into her.

Slow. Measured. Deep.

Her breath caught, her eyes flying open. Her hands gripped the sheets, her spine arching as a gasp tore from her throat. He paused just long enough to let her adjust—his forehead resting against hers, his breath ragged.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured.

He moved inside her like he already knew every part of her soul.

She wrapped her legs around him, met his rhythm with breathless urgency, her body trembling as pleasure built like fire at her core. It filled her, consumed her—and still she ached for more.

She gasped his name. It escaped before she could stop it.

He answered with a groan that vibrated against her neck, his mouth trailing lower, teeth grazing sensitive skin. She clung to him, every part of her alive, burning, overwhelmed.

The climax tore through her like a storm. Her hands flew to his shoulders, clutching, grounding, as she shattered beneath him. He followed with a low groan—his control finally breaking—as he buried himself in her one last time.

Silence.

Only the sound of their breathing, tangled and unsteady.

She blinked, dazed, flushed, stunned.

And then it hit her.

She had surrendered everything to him. And somehow, she had never felt more alive.