Page 37 of Burning Her Beautiful

We move together, the chemise discarded.

Her skin glows in candlelight, kissed with the faint sheen of sweat and moon-pulled silk.

Iliana presses me onto my back, straddling my waist, her thighs strong and trembling.

Hair falls around her face in a dark, glinting curtain—moonlight caught in obsidian waves.

She looks like prophecy come to life, a goddess no prayer could deserve, and yet she chooses me.

Her palms explore my chest slowly, reverently.

She traces the old battle scars with soft fingertips—down my ribs, across my shoulder, lingering at the rune-silver tattoos etched into my arms. Her touch makes the marks hum, the runes responding to her presence as if they, too, know she is the only one who ever mattered.

She presses her palm to the glyph over my sternum.

A pulse arcs from the contact—blue-white light streaking beneath skin like contained lightning. She gasps, but not in fear. Wonder fills her gaze. Awe. As though even after everything, she still cannot believe I’m hers.

“I feel you everywhere,” she whispers. “Even before you move.”

I cup her hips, holding steady as she shifts forward. Her hand slides down, fingers curling around the base of my cock. My breath shudders out. I’m already hard, already aching for her, but I don’t rush her.

“I want to feel you,” she says, lifting slightly. “I want to take my time learning how your body sings.”

My fingers dig into her thighs as she aligns us. And then—slow, controlled—she lowers herself onto me.

I groan, low and feral. Her pussy takes me inch by inch, tight heat gripping me in a molten hold. She’s soaked, so warm I feel swallowed. Her brows knit as she takes all of me, hips pressing flush to mine, her cunt stretching and fluttering around my cock like a heartbeat. We don’t move. Not yet.

She sits still, her chest rising and falling, our eyes locked. I see everything in hers: the storm she tamed, the chains she broke, the vow she made beside the river, the love she offers now—fierce and unshakable.

I run my hands up her thighs, over her hips, until they cradle her waist. She trembles under my grip, and I feel her clench around me, fluttering.

“Iliana,” I whisper. “You feel like fucking heaven.”

“And you,” she replies, voice thick, “feel like home.”

Thunder rumbles in the distance, a soft echo that mimics the rhythm growing between us.

She begins to move—slow and sure, her hips rolling in a deep grind that drags my cock along every swollen, slick inch inside her.

Each lift and fall, each swivel of her hips, draws a ragged sound from my throat.

My hands guide, but I do not control. She sets the pace, and I follow—helpless, reverent, utterly undone.

Her body undulates above me, breasts bouncing gently with each movement, skin golden in the flickering light. Her pussy grips me with wet heat, fluttering as she rocks back and forth, each slide of my cock deeper, harder. The friction is unbearable and perfect, every stroke searing.

“You’re so deep,” she gasps. “So thick. You fill me like no one ever could.”

I sit up, wrapping an arm around her waist and catching her mouth in a kiss. Tongues tangle. Her moan vibrates against my lips, and I swallow it whole. I can feel the tension building in her—the way her thighs tremble, the way her pussy tightens. My cock throbs inside her.

She breaks the kiss, panting. “Lie back,” she says, voice dark and wanting. “I want to ride you harder.”

I obey, falling back against the mattress.

She leans forward, bracing her hands on my chest, and begins to move faster.

Her pace turns wild, erratic, sweat slipping between her breasts as she bounces on my cock, gasping.

The sound of her pussy slapping against my hips fills the room, wet and rhythmic, each collision sending sparks up my spine.

“Fuck—Iliana—” I can barely breathe. “You’re going to make me come.”

Her eyes gleam. “Not yet.”

She slows, then rotates her hips in a deep, swirling grind that has both of us groaning. Her clit drags against the base of my cock with every shift, and I know she’s close too.

I sit up again, wrapping her in my arms, and roll us. She lands beneath me with a breathless laugh that’s quickly swallowed when I thrust back inside her, hard and deep.

She cries out, legs wrapping around my waist.

“More,” she begs. “Give me all of it.”

I do. I fuck her in deep, steady strokes, each one slamming into the tight clench of her cunt, her body rising to meet mine.

Our rhythm is thunder.

I brace one hand beside her head, the other slipping beneath her thigh to press her knee higher. The new angle lets me drive deeper, cock slamming against her g-spot with brutal precision. She writhes beneath me, gasping, cursing, chanting my name.

“Varok—Varok, gods—I’m going to?—”

I shift again, thrusting harder now, hand slipping between us to rub her clit in tight, relentless circles.

“Come for me,” I growl. “Let me feel you break around my cock.”

She shatters.

Her back arches, pussy clamping down on me like a vice. Her scream echoes through the cavern, her entire body convulsing. She milks me with every spasm, and I can’t hold back.

With a roar, I thrust once more and come inside her—deep and hot—my cock pulsing with wave after wave of release. My vision blanks out, stars behind my eyes. Every drop of control unspools into her.

We stay fused, breathing in tandem, slick with sweat, limbs trembling. Her nails trail along my spine, and I feel her smile against my neck.

“I never imagined…” she whispers. “That being claimed could feel like liberation.”

I ease to the side, bringing her with me, tangled in the sheets. She nestles her head under my chin, fingertips tracing the line of my jaw. My heart still thumps erratically. She whispers, “I am whole.”

“As am I,” I reply, my voice hoarse.

Silence thickens, yet it feels comfortable. Rain taps the canvas roof in a rhythmic lullaby. I stroke her hair until her breathing evens. She drowses, yet manages to speak, “Tomorrow yields trials new.” A yawn halves the sentence.

“We meet them with joined thunder.” I kiss her brow. She drifts into sleep.

I stare at the canvas ceiling glowing amber from the dying candles. Memories scroll—years of violence, ambition, and empty nights. All culminate here—not an end but a genesis. Possessive fire once ruled my regard; now devotion, shaped by parity, steadies the flame.

Outside, the storm withdraws fully, revealing a field of stars.

A breeze carries petrichor. I slip from the bed, wrap a light robe around myself, and step onto the shore.

The sand is cool under my feet, the surf luminous.

I kneel, scoop water, and let rivulets run through my fingers.

The sky-silk cloak lies near the arch where she dropped it; I gather it reverently.

Returning, I pause at the pavilion entrance, watching her sleep. Moonlight paints her back, muscles relaxed, hair fanned across the pillow. She is no captive, no mere consort—she is my partner, the equal architect of dawn. Pride swells fierce, yet softer than prior arrogance—pride in her, in us.

I douse every candle save a single one. Sliding beside her, I feel her instinctively curl into my warmth. I tuck the cloak over us, the silk whispering promises of the skies we now share. The hush of the tide rocks my senses while sleep creeps in, my last thought echoing the vow spoken earlier:

May every thunderclap bear witness to the harmony we forged, and may each sunrise find our hearts still bound by song.

I close my eyes, listening to the rhythm of her breaths, of my own, and of the sea—three notes entwined, an overture to a lifetime yet composed.