Page 82 of Velvet Chains

“Then why are you still here? Why the hell did you come back?”

“Because I made my decision already,” I said. “You and Rosie? You're not part of this. Not anymore. If he forces the issue… then he forces me too.”

She stared at me. “So what? You’re going to take a stand? Against Tristan Callahan? You think he’s going to let you walk away with the witness he was ready to bury?”

“I’m not asking his permission.” My voice came out quiet, but solid. “And I’m not asking yours either.”

That stunned her into silence.

I softened, just enough to keep from pushing too hard. “How are you feeling?”

She stared at me for a beat. She wanted to interrogate me, it was what she did…but she also knew I was done with this line of conversation.

And somehow, shockingly, she let it go.

“You mean after you didn’t let me sleep all night?” Her voice was dry, but her lips quirked into a smile. “I’m sore as fuck. Tired as hell.”

“Good,” I muttered, ducking under the covers like I lived there now—because I did. I edged closer, let my hand trail up her thigh, fingers dragging along sensitive skin until she twitched. “You wet already? Just thinking about last night?”

I didn’t wait for an answer. I slid my fingers higher. “Let me find out.”

She sucked in a breath as I brushed over her, slow and deliberate.

“I like it when you sleep naked,” I murmured. “Makes it easier to get to what’s mine.”

“Kieran,” she warned, breath hitching. “Do you ever give it a rest?”

“Never,” I said, mouth ghosting over her stomach, then down. “I want you all the time. Every second. Even when I’m sleeping, I want you.”

I kissed her—mouth, neck, the soft skin just beneath her breast—then lowered myself fully between her legs.

“You said we didn’t sleep,” I murmured, dragging my tongue up the inside of her thigh. “But you got at least an hour. That’s generous, considering how many times I made you come.”

She laughed, breathless, and kicked lightly at my shoulder. “Get out.”

“Not before I’m done with you.” I wrapped my arms under her thighs, locking her down. “Again.”

I buried my face between her legs like it was my only prayer. Like she was the only god I believed in.

She gasped, hands flying to my hair. “Wait, I’m really—fuck—I’m really sensitive—”

“I know,” I said, voice rough against her skin. “I want you sensitive. I want you shaking. I want you crying from it.”

She whimpered, already there, already unraveling.

“I’m going to stay here,” I growled, “until you forget your own name. Until the only thing left in your head is mine.”

Then my fingers found the spot they knew like a prayer—precise, unerring, hers. My tongue circled her clit, teasing, dragging, pressing just enough until she gasped. Until her hips jerked. Until she started to shiver with it.

I didn’t want to leave. I could’ve stayed buried between her thighs forever, mouth locked to her like she was oxygen.

“Christ, you taste good,” I groaned into her. “I could do this all fucking day. The rest of my life. Every meal. Every morning. My mouth on you, always.”

My fingers slipped over her, soaked and warm, and I swore I’d do it just one more time—make her fall apart again—but I was so fucking hard it hurt. I was trembling with it, teeth clenched, cock dragging against the sheets, against her stomach. I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to be inside her.

“Too much,” she gasped, sharp at first, then softer. “Fuck… it’s too much.”

She tugged at my hair, yanking me up, pulling me in like she didn’t care what it did to either of us. Her body did the rest—legs wrapping tight around my waist, back arching, all of her slick and open and hungry. Selfish and perfect and mine.