Page 79 of Mystic's Sunrise

“I’m afraid of me,” I admitted, the words torn from somewhere raw.

Her hand slid higher, fingers threading into my hair, anchoring me to her. “I’m not,” she breathed. “And I want you. All of you.”

I gave up trying to be good. Gave up pretending I had control. I kissed her. Hard. With all the hunger I’d buried, all the need I hadn’t let myself feel. She opened for me with a gasp, her legs parting just enough to cradle me between them. I groaned against her lips, hand slipping beneath her shirt, over the curve of her waist, then higher—slow, reverent.

She arched when I brushed the underside of her breast, her soft sigh feeding something feral in me. I didn’t rush. I wasn’t gonna. I needed to feel her. Every sound. Every shiver. Every damn heartbeat.

Her shirt came off first, my hands pausing to savor the sight of her. Her skin still showed signs of her attack—bruises faded to gold and green—but I saw beauty in every mark. I memorized her all over again, mouth trailing down the column of her throat, over her collarbone, the curve of her breast. I kissed the scar beneath her ribs. She trembled when I did, her fingers tightening in my hair like she needed the connection.

“You’re perfect,” I rasped, pressing a kiss low on her stomach.

“No,” she whispered, voice shaky. “But I’m yours.”

I swallowed hard, pulling her panties down slowly, watching the way her body moved, how she trusted me—me—with this.With her.

I kissed the inside of her thighs, felt her breath stutter above me. Her fingers threaded tighter into my hair, and when I tasted her, she gasped. Quiet, soft. Sweet. My name, breathed out like prayer.

She came undone on my tongue, slow and aching. She didn't cry out—she didn’t need to. I felt it. Felt her body tighten, her thighs tremble, the way she arched as her release rolled through her. And I stayed there, holding her through it. Not just with hands—but with everything I was.

When I finally rose above her again, she pulled me down into another kiss—this one different. Slower. Deeper. Like she was reaching past the scars, past the man the world had broken, and straight into the part I’d tried to keep buried.

We got lost in each other.

When her hands moved over my body, her touch wasn’t timid. She explored me like she wasn’t scared of the damage. Like she wanted all of it. All of me. And when I pressed into her, slow and careful, she let out a broken little sound—half breath, half moan—that hit me harder than any bullet ever could.

She was tight. Warm. Mine. My body locked up trying not to lose it too fast.

I stilled, giving her time to adjust, brushing my lips across her cheek, her jaw, her mouth. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

Her nails scratched lightly down my back, her hips rising up in answer. “Don’t stop.”

We moved slow at first, like we had time. Like this wasn’t something that could be ripped away at any second. Her legs wrapped around my waist, pulling me deeper. Her hands roamed every inch of me like she wanted to memorize the way my body felt above hers, against hers, inside hers.

Her voice was soft, broken in the best way—my name slipping past her lips again and again, each time breathier, needier. And I gave it to her. Everything.

She clung to me, lips brushing my shoulder, her tongue tracing one of my scars, and I nearly lost it right then.

“Zeynep,” I choked, voice cracking. “You… you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me.”

“Yes I do,” she whispered. “I’m loving you.”

That was it. The final blow.

We found a rhythm, slow but deep, drawn-out and aching. My hips rocked against hers as I buried my face in her neck again, smelling her, breathing her in like she was the only thing that could keep me alive, and maybe she was.

The air thickened with heat and breath and the kind of silence that doesn’t beg to be filled. Just felt, and when she came again, whispering my name like it was something sacred, I broke. I buried myself deep, pulse crashing as my release tore through me, and I collapsed against her, heart pounding so hard it shook both of us.

I didn’t move right away. Didn’t want to. Just held her, our slick skin pressed tight, her cheek resting over my heart. Ourbreath slowly syncing. Her body softening under mine, pliant, trusting. Home.

Eventually I rolled to my side, bringing her with me, never letting her go. I tucked her close, her fingers drifting across the burn scars that tracked over my shoulder.

“That was so wonderful,” she whispered, like she didn’t know she’d just stitched something back together inside me.

I didn’t answer right away.

Because wonderful didn’t even begin to touch it. It was sacred. Terrifying. Pure. Something I hadn’t believed I could have anymore. But even in the warmth of it, I felt the cold edge of truth crawling back in. Because I was still drowning in a secret, and I knew the minute she found out—I’d lose this.

Lose her.