Page 28 of Claimed In Darkness

28

ZEPHIRAN

H er blood is still on my skin.

Still burning where it seeped into my wounds, where it stitched me back together with something dark and binding and wrong.

She should not have done that. I should not have let her.

I didn’t have a choice, though.

Her fingers pressed into my chest, her blood leaking into the brand my father left on me, and the moment it touched me—the curse stilled.

Not fully. It’s not the solution. I don’t even know how she did it.

But I can’t deny that the curse stepped back.

Like a beast recognizing something older, something it couldn’t sink its teeth into.

And now—she’s waiting.

Her fingers still damp, lips still slightly parted, eyes locked onto mine with something I can’t fucking name.

"Tell me the truth," she murmurs, insisting even after my denial.

I remain still. If I move, I don’t know what I’m going to do next.

She doesn’t either. We’re in a stalemate

This thing between us, this twisted, violent pull—is going to consume us both.

And we’re both not ready.

We’re only inches apart.

Her breath warms my jaw, her pulse a frantic rhythm just beneath her skin.

The air between us overflows, charged with something too raw, too sharp, too inevitable.

I still feel her blood thrumming inside me, soaking into my bones like a brand, tying her to me in ways she doesn’t even fucking understand yet.

She should run while she still can. Leaving while I’m weak is her best option.

But she doesn’t.

She stays.

That’s her mistake.

My fingers curl around her wrist, dragging her down until she’s straddling me, her thighs tight against my hips, her breath catching, betraying her.

She doesn’t pull away.

She should.

But in her eyes, I see the hunger she doesn’t want to admit.

The defiance and hate she’s using to keep herself sane.

She wants me as much as she wants to kill me.

And I want her to try.

Her fingers trail down my throat, over my collarbone, stopping just above the my heart.

Too light.

Too goddamn cruel.

She’s taunting me.

I shouldn’t want it this much.

The need I have for her is clawing at me.

And I’m done pretending I don’t.

She gasps as my lips bite their way down her neck, her body arching beneath me, her skin flushed and alive under my hands. The sound of fabric tearing echoes in the room as her tunic gives way, and my fingers trace the curve of her ribs, her waist, her hip.

“You’re—” She starts, but I cut her off with a sharp kiss, her words dissolving into a moan that vibrates against my tongue.

“Don’t talk,” I growl, my voice rough, my breath ragged. “Don’t ruin this.”

Her nails dig into my shoulders as I yank her pants down her legs, the fabric pooling at her ankles before I kick them away.

She’s bare now, every inch of her exposed, and I take my time drinking her in—the curve of her thighs, the dip of her waist, the way her chest rises and falls with every labored breath.

I rip the offending fabric on my body, never taking my eyes off her. I’m mesmerized.

“You’re staring,” she says, her voice low, dangerous.

“You’re mine to stare at,” I reply, my fingers trailing up her leg, stopping at the gash she earned earlier. Blood wells up, and I press my thumb into it, making her hiss.

“You’re a bastard,” she mutters, but her thighs part further, her hips lifting off the ground in silent invitation.

“Tell me to stop,” I say, my voice a challenge, my cock hard and aching as I hover above her. “Tell me, and I might but we both know you want it. Crave it.” I rub my cock against her inner thigh and we both moan.

“I’m going to fuck you hard and deep,” I groan, my eyes almost rolling back.

Her eyes meet mine, and there’s no hesitation in them. No fear. Only defiance. Only hunger.

“Don’t you dare stop,” she whispers, her hands sliding down my back, her nails leaving trails of fire in their wake.

I brush my cock against her pussy, the heat of her slickness making me shudder, my body trembling on the edge of release before I’ve even begun. A low, guttural moan escapes me, raw and unfiltered, and she echoes it, her voice breaking as her nails dig into my shoulders.

“Naira,” I groan, her name tearing from my throat like a prayer of deliverance. My hands grip her hips, holding her steady as I press against her again, teasing us both, the friction maddening.

“Fuck me,” she demands, her voice sharp, desperate. Her fingers twist in my hair, yanking my head back just enough to expose my throat. Her teeth sink into my lower lip, sharp and punishing, drawing blood.

The metallic tang floods my mouth, and I growl, the sound vibrating through her as I surge forward, burying my cock inside her in one brutal thrust.

She gasps, her back arching off the ground, her thighs clamping around me like a vice. “Yes,” she hisses, her nails raking down my back, leaving trails of fire in their wake. “Like that. Don’t stop.”

I don’t. I can’t. Every movement is a battle, a collision of need and fury, pleasure and pain.

Her body grips me like a weapon, tight and unrelenting, and I drive into her again and again, each thrust deeper, harder, until the room is filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, our breaths ragged and mingling in the air.

“Look at me,” I snarl, my voice rough, commanding. Her eyes snap to mine, dark and wild, and I see the same hunger there, the same desperation. “You wanted this. You wanted me.”

“Yes!” Naira screams in a broken voice as she shakes. She’s coming, and I’m becoming undone.

We come together, clashing in ways we never thought possible. Magic explode my mind and I come inside her her pussy milking every drom of my cum.

I lay beside her, panting and sweaty and my legs still shaking. We turn to each other and our gazes lock with emotions we don’t dare to explore.

Nairamy undoing, and so am I to hers.