Page 36

ALLURE

By the time we got back to the brownstone, I could barely hold it together.

The second Riot closed the door behind us, my legs gave out and I sank onto the couch like the weight of everything had finally snapped my spine.

My face was hot, my chest was tight, and the tears came fast—silent at first, then sobs that shook through me like a storm that had been waiting too long to break.

I didn’t even try to pretend I was okay.

Riot stood there for a second, watching me, his jaw ticking like he was holding himself back from punching a wall.

And then he came over, knelt down in front of me, and wrapped those big arms around my waist. He pulled me into his chest and let me cry into him.

“Irina didn’t deserve that,” I whispered, the words catching in my throat. “She was my friend. She helped me get out. She put herself in danger for me.”

“And now she’s a threat,” he said, voice low but solid. “She’s not stable, Allure. You saw that shit. She came at you, hands swinging, talking crazy. That ain’t your friend no more.”

I shook my head, wiping my face, trying to make sense of all of it. “It’s complicated.”

“No, it’s not. She put her hands on you. That makes it real simple. The last thing she said was that she was out for herself.” He looked me dead in the eye, and I could feel the steel underneath his words. “If she becomes a problem, I’ll handle it.”

My heart cracked a little more hearing that.

Not because I thought he was wrong. But because I knew he meant it.

And part of me didn’t want her to end up like her brother.

Part of me still remembered the nights Irina snuck books and snacks into my room.

The way she let me try on her heels when Boaz wasn’t looking.

The way she gave me little pieces of the world when I had none.

But another part of me, the one that had lived ten years in captivity, knew that love wasn’t always enough to save people. Especially when they refused to save themselves.

I curled deeper into Riot’s chest, feeling his hand stroke my back, slow and steady.

And somewhere in the ache of it all, that heat that always simmered between us started to rise again.

My body knew his touch now. Trusted it. Craved it.

And after what I’d just been through, I didn’t want to talk anymore. I didn’t want to cry.

I wanted to feel alive.

I tilted my head up, brushing my lips against his. He kissed me back, slow and deep, his hand cradling the side of my face like I was something precious. I moaned into his mouth, letting my hands roam over his chest, down to his waistband. I tugged at it gently, needing more. Wanting more.

He pulled back, breathing hard. “What are you doing?”

“I need you,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “Please…”

I reached again, but he caught my wrist this time, his eyes dark with that wild fire I was learning to love. “Ask me.”

I blinked. “What?”

He leaned in, lips brushing mine, teasing me. “Ask me nice. I want to hear it.”

My pride warred with my need for a second, but it was no contest. I wanted this. I wanted him. I didn’t care how soft I sounded. I didn’t care if it made me vulnerable.

“Please, Riot,” I whispered. “Make love to me. I’m ready. I want it. I want you.”

The air shifted between us then. It was thick with promise, with need, with something sacred. He stared at me like he was trying to memorize every curve of my face. Then he stood, took my hand, and led me upstairs without another word.

Riot's bedroom was a sanctuary of shadow and warmth when we entered, the streetlights casting amber patterns across his king-sized bed.

He closed the door behind us, the soft click like a promise sealed.

I stood there, heart thundering against my ribs, watching as he turned to me with eyes that burned like dark fire.

"You sure?" he asked, his voice a rough whisper that sent shivers cascading down my spine.

I nodded, then found my voice. "I've never been more sure of anything."

I couldn’t believe this was about to happen. But I was so happy that it was happening with him.

He crossed to me in two long strides, cupping my face in his massive hands. His touch was reverent, like I was made of something precious and rare. When his lips met mine, the kiss wasn't hurried. It was deep, thorough, his tongue sliding against mine in a rhythm that made my knees weak.

I melted against him, feeling the hard planes of his chest, the solid wall of him anchoring me.

My hands found the hem of his shirt, tugging upward, desperate to feel skin against skin.

He broke our kiss just long enough to pull it over his head, revealing that magnificent chest covered in ink that told stories I was still learning to read.

"Your turn," he murmured, fingers finding the buttons of my blouse.

One by one, he undid them, his gaze never leaving mine.

With each inch of skin revealed, his breathing grew heavier, more labored.

When my shirt fell open, his eyes dropped to my lace-covered breasts, and the hunger I saw there made me feel powerful in ways I never had before.

His touch made me forget the fight I had with Irina.

It made me forget my fears of Boaz. I knew that I was protected under his gaze and never needed to be anywhere else.

"Goddamn," he whispered, reverence in his voice as he slid the fabric from my shoulders.

His hands were everywhere then, tracing the curve of my waist, the dip of my spine, the swell of my breasts. When he unhooked my bra, letting it fall between us, I resisted the urge to cover myself. Instead, I stood tall, letting him look his fill, watching his pupils dilate with desire.

"You're perfect," he breathed, lowering his head to take one nipple into his mouth.

The sensation was electric, shooting straight between my thighs. I gasped, my hands flying to his shoulders for support as he lavished attention on first one breast, then the other. His tongue circled, teased, his teeth grazing just enough to make me whimper.

We moved toward the bed in a slow dance, shedding the rest of our clothes along the way. When the backs of my knees hit the mattress, I let myself fall, watching as Riot stood over me, gloriously naked, his dick standing proud and thick between his muscular thighs.

I swallowed hard at the sight. He was massive everywhere, and for a moment, uncertainty flickered through me. He must have seen it in my eyes because he lowered himself beside me, not on top of me, his hand gentle as it stroked my cheek.

"We go slow," he promised. "And we stop whenever you want. No questions asked."

The tenderness in his voice brought tears to my eyes. This man, who could break bodies with his bare hands, who carried violence in his blood like others carried oxygen, he was being so careful with me, so gentle.

"I trust you," I whispered, and I meant it.

His mouth found mine again as his hand began a slow journey down my body, tracing patterns on my skin that left fire in their wake. When his fingers slipped between my thighs, finding the slick heat there, we both moaned.

"Damn, baby," he growled against my lips. "You're so wet for me."

His fingers explored me with exquisite patience, circling my most sensitive spot until my hips were rising off the bed, seeking more. When he slid one thick finger inside me, I gasped at the intrusion, the fullness.

"That's it," he encouraged, his voice thick with desire. "Feel good?"

Usually when he ate my pussy, he avoided penetrating me but I had been craving it more and more.

"Yes," I breathed, my head falling back as he worked me slowly, adding a second finger when my body relaxed enough to take it. There was pressure but no pain.

He took his time, opening me up with careful attention, his mouth traveling down my neck, across my collarbone, back to my breasts. By the time he positioned himself between my thighs, I was a quivering mess of need, my body pulsating with sweat and desire.

"Please," I begged, past pride, past hesitation. "I need you inside me."

Riot reached for the nightstand, retrieving a condom. I watched, mesmerized, as he rolled it down his considerable length. Then he was above me, supporting his weight on his forearms, the blunt head of him pressing against my entrance.

"Look at me," he commanded softly. When our eyes locked, he continued, "I need to see you. Need to know you're with me."

I nodded, wrapping my legs around his waist, drawing him closer. As he began to push inside, the stretch was intense, bordering on uncomfortable. I tensed involuntarily, and he froze immediately.

"Breathe, baby," he murmured, dropping kisses across my face. "Just breathe with me."

I did as he asked, syncing my breathing with his, feeling my body relax by degrees. He pushed forward again, more insistent this time, and I felt the moment when the barrier of my innocence gave way. A sharp pain made me gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders.

"I got you," he whispered, holding perfectly still, letting me adjust to his size. "I got you, Allure."

The pain subsided gradually, replaced by a fullness that was foreign but increasingly welcome. When I shifted my hips experimentally, pleasure sparked through me, making me moan.

"That's it," Riot encouraged, beginning to move in slow, shallow thrusts. "Take what feels good."

We found our rhythm together, his strokes deepening as my body opened for him. The sensation was unlike anything I'd imagined – the stretch and drag of him inside me, the weight of his body over mine, the way he watched my face with such intensity, learning what made me gasp and what made me moan.

"You feel so fucking good," he groaned, his control visibly slipping as our pace increased. "So tight, so perfect."

His words sent heat spiraling through me, coiling tighter and tighter in my core. When he slipped a hand between us, his thumb finding that bundle of nerves above where we were joined, I cried out, my back arching off the bed.

"That's it," he urged, circling his thumb as his hips drove into me. "Come for me, Allure. Let me feel you."

The pleasure built to an unbearable peak, and then I was shattering, crying out his name as waves of ecstasy washed over me. My inner walls clenched around him, drawing a primal groan from deep in his chest.

"Fuck," he growled, his rhythm faltering as he drove into me once, twice more before finding his own release, his body shuddering above mine.

For long moments afterward, we lay tangled together, our breathing ragged, my heart racing beneath his. When he finally moved, it was only to shift his weight to the side, keeping me tucked against him as if he couldn't bear to let me go.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice rough with emotion.

I nodded, feeling tears prick my eyes again – not from pain or sadness, but from something overwhelming and beautiful that I didn't have words for yet.

"More than okay," I whispered, pressing a kiss to his chest, right over his heart.

In that moment, I felt reborn. Not because I'd given him my virginity, but because for the first time in my life, I'd given something precious freely, by choice. And in return, I'd been given something just as valuable – a memory of tenderness that no one could ever take away.