Page 133 of Fire and Silk

I step closer. The space between us closes in seconds. My hands rise carefully to her waist. She doesn’t pull away.

“I want you,” I say.

Her brow lifts. A flicker of doubt, hesitation. I press closer, arms anchoring her gently.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “For all of it. For not telling you. For making you fight alone.”

She looks up at me, and her face softens—not completely, but enough. “We’re a team, Severo. If it’s too much, you can tell me. We fight Maksim and Mina together.”

I nod. “Two of us against them?”

She nods back.

I cross the distance and take her face in both hands and kiss her like I’ve been starving for it. Like her mouth is the only thing that could keep me breathing. Her lips part for me with that small gasp I love—open, soft, eager—and I press harder, kissing her with teeth, tongue, with everything I didn’t say when I left her waiting.

She groans into me, fists curling in the front of my shirt, dragging me closer until we’re chest to chest, breath tangled, her thigh grazing mine.

Then she pulls back, her mouth kiss-swollen and her eyes shining like war.

“You ditched me,” she says, voice low and dangerous. “You deserve to get punished.”

My heart kicks hard. I gri but keep my mouth close to hers. “Yes,” I murmur, lips brushing hers. “I was bad.”

Her nails dig into my chest through the fabric. I feel the challenge in her grip.

Good.

I don’t give her the chance to think twice—I lift her, arms strong under her thighs, her legs wrapping around me without hesitation. She’s not light, she’s perfect.Mine.I carry her inside, across the polished floor of our suite, her kiss still fresh on my tongue, her breath hot against my throat.

When I step into the bedroom, I don’t speak. I lower her to the bed with care, but not softness. Then I go to the drawer.

I take out the black lace blindfold.

She watches me as I walk back over. Her gaze drops to what I’m holding, and a slow, dangerous smile curls her lips.

But I don’t offer it to her.

I kneel on the bed instead. I hold it out.

To her.

Her brows lift, the shift of power crackling like electricity . Her hand wraps around the lace and her eyes flick to mine—searching, deciding. Then she moves, pushing me gently back until I’m sitting against the headboard.

“Hands up,” she says.

I obey.

She leans in, close enough that her breath brushes my ear. “If you so much as twitch,” she whispers, “I stop.”

My cock throbs against the inside of my pants.

She ties the lace around my wrists—slow, methodical, every knot deliberate. The silk binds me to the headboard, not tight enough to hurt, but tight enough to hold.

I test it. No give.

Good.

She straddles me, slow and feline. Her hands settle on my chest, and she leans down to kiss me—once—a press of lips that’s all heat and no mercy. Then another, slower, more lingering, until I’m aching to touch her, to pull her closer, to bury my hands in her hair and fuck her mouth with my tongue the way she deserves.