Page 30

Veronica

A t 11 p.m., Veronica can’t sleep. She tries reading but it doesn’t work. Her social media following is nothing to write home about. So after going through several pieces of content from fellow artists for nearly an hour, it gets boring pretty quickly.

Then she decides to pick out the outfit she will wear to the airport, should she change her mind and decide to head back to Pennsylvania tomorrow.

She ends up in a flannel jeans she doesn’t really like much—and quite frankly, can’t understand why she packed it in the first place—and a green woolen long sleeve top with a really cute artistic work on the front.

Then a knock comes on the door and she stills, her eyes breaking away from the mirror to glance at the door.

She already told Shiro good night. So she knows who the person behind the door is. The slow creeping awareness of his presence even before he speaks gives him away.

“Come in,” she murmurs, pulling the sweater over her head, leaving her in a black lacy bra and the jeans.

The lock creaks, the door creaking as a resounding echo travels down the empty hallway, while his silence stretches into the room, thick and weighted.

Then his voice. Low, smooth and dangerous in its quiet intimacy. “Still awake?”

His gaze crawls over her, zeroing on her chest, igniting heat beneath her skin.

“Was just about to sleep, actually,” she murmurs, her hand moving behind her to take out the hook of her bra, the straps of the lace falling off her shoulders, and her silky breasts bounce free.

Stripping in front of him isn’t really an invitation for intimacy. With how weary he is of physical touch, she doubts he is even interested in that. But she wonders if she is affecting him nonetheless. That he doesn’t like being touched doesn’t mean his loins can’t stir when in front of a sexually appealing naked woman.

The door shuts, and a click follows as the lock latches into place. She hears his footsteps, slow, deliberate, as he crosses the room to her. And her pulse hammers with each measured step.

She folds the sweater she just pulled off, sure that she won’t be wearing it tomorrow. She suddenly hates the color, the texture, the weight of it in her hands.

Then she feels it, warmth. A presence behind her now. He’s close, so close, his body heat seeps into her skin, his scent curling around her in a dark intoxicating embrace.

She takes in a sharp inhale, and doesn’t move.

She can’t.

His breath fans against the back of her neck, a ghost of sensation that sends a shiver running down her spine. And without warning, a strong chest presses into her back, and then his arms—hesitant at first, then grows a sudden courage—curling around her waist, strong, possessive, yet unhurried.

A low gasp escapes her lips.

His face buries into her hair, his nose skimming along the curve of her neck, as if breathing her in.

Veronica’s fingers curl into fist. The air thickens, charged with something inevitable.

She’s sure this is not Kael. There’s nothing gentle about Kael. And Raidon holds her like she’s fragile, like she is a treasure that must be handled with care. But he has never been this touchy with her. They have never shared a hug before, let alone a kiss. What’s going on? What changed? Why are his hands and lips all over her?

“You’re a little tense.” His breath fans her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. “I can sense your irritation.”

Her bare skin is alight with anticipation, her nipples hardening from the ghost of his touch. And she finds herself aching for more—for his hands, for his mouth, anything.

“Are you okay?” he murmurs.

“Mhmm.” She nods, her body tilting toward him, desperate for contact. She has been confused all morning, tense, just like he said, trying to wrap her head around what she should do next. “I’m just exhausted.”

His hands release from her waist, resting on her shoulders, his nose tracing the curve of her neck, low and deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment. Her eyes flutter shut as heat blooms in her stomach.

“Do you want me to go so you can sleep?” The question is a taunt, his voice a low rasp that snakes down her spine.

His fingers drift down her arms, barely touching, leaving goosebumps and fire in the wake. She knows what he’s doing. And she wonders why she never knew this side of him. He’s teasing her, giving her a glimpse of what she will miss if she let him walk out that door.

“Do you want to go?” she whispers, opening her eyes enough to meet his gaze in the mirror—molten gold, darkened with lust. A slow-burning fire.

“No.” His lips graze her ear, his hand slipping around her waist again, palm splaying over her stomach. Heat pulls between her thighs.

“Then stay.” Her voice is barely a whisper, but her body is screaming, pressing into him, silently begging. And any lingering doubt vanishes the moment his hand cups her breasts, his thumb circling the hardened peak.

“What do you want me to do?” His voice is rough against her ear. And she trembles beneath him.

She wonders, will he be gentle? Will he ask permission for every touch, every kiss? Or will he be like Kael, taking what he wants and leaving her wrecked, breathless, undone?

She doesn’t know which versions she craves more.

His fingers tighten, teasing her nipple between them and she gasps. Then his lips are at her neck, tongue flicking, teeth grazing, heat searing through her veins.

“What can I do to make you feel better?”

She whimpers, pressing her back into his chest, feeling the rigid lines of his body—especially the hard length pushing against her lower back. Her pulse stutters.

“Tell me.” His lips move against her skin, his hand greedily exploring her.

“I—” she yelps when his free hand tugs her second nipple, her breath hitching. “I—fuck, I need you to fuck me.”

A low growl rumbles in his chest. Then, in one fluid motion, he spins her around, his hand gripping her waist as he lifts her onto the vanity table.

Impatience thrums in her blood. Her legs fall open instinctively, drawing him closer. She fists his collar, yanking him until there’s nothing between them but heat and desperation.

One hand remains at her waists, the other cradling her jaw. His eyes flicker to her lips, the air between them thick, buzzing with electricity.

Then, he kisses her. For the first time, he kisses her. It starts featherlight, a slow test, a tease. But the second her lips part for him, the dam breaks.

His hot mouth claims hers, each movement deliberate, each second stretching into eternity. He’s slow, achingly so, because he is being cautious, trying to do it right, but she likes it, because she gets to feel it—everything. The warmth of his touch, the heat of his tongue. The way he tastes—dangerous, intoxicating, a drug she wants to overdose on.

Her fingers tangle in his hair that falls down his shoulders, pulling him closer, harder. She is drowning in him, burning from the inside out. He deepens the kiss, devouring her like she’s the only thing keeping him alive.

And she loves it.

Yes, she did love how Kael kissed her—bruising, punishing, all-consuming. A storm of violence and possession.

But Raidon’s kiss is different. Lingering, slow. A build-up so tortuous, so unbearably good it makes her chest ache.

Her lungs scream for air but she doesn’t want to break away. And when they do, their foreheads touch, breaths mingling in the charged space between them.

“Can I?” he whispers against her lips, his fingers hovering over the zipper of her jeans.

She nods, her own hands working fast, unhooking the button, pulling down the zipper. She doesn’t know how it happens next, but in a second, the jeans are gone, leaving her in nothing but lace.

Lifting her effortlessly, he wraps her legs around his waist, his swollen lips finding hers again as he carries her across the room. She barely notices where they are going until she feels the cool sheet against her overheated skin.

She wastes no time, her fingers hooking around the band of her panties, pulling it off in seconds. His shirt follows, then his belt, his pants.

Her breath catches when he slides off his boxers.

The sight of him—hard, thick, impossibly big—makes her pulse stutter. Then the memories of last night flicker in her mind. The way Kael stretched her, filled her, ruined her.

His weight dips the bed as he settles between her opened legs. His lips hover over hers. “I—I have never done this before.” He cups her cheek. “I Just want you to feel good. Tell me if I’m doing it right?”

“You’re already doing so great,” she cradles his face tenderly, her lips brushing against his. “Just keep the pace, don’t overthink, follow the rhythm.”

A soft smile grazes his lips, his eyes shining with pride. “Okay.”

He doesn’t rush, he takes his time, dragging his mouth down the valley of her heaving breasts, down, down, down, until he is settling between her thighs.

His lips graze her inner thigh, a warm, teasing breath fanning over her dripping core. And her breath hitches, fingers fisting the sheet.

She is losing her mind, and he is taking his time.

“Fuck, do it, Raidon,” she begs, arching towards him.

A quiet, breathy chuckle rumbles from his chest before he swipes out his warm tongue, flicking against her swollen clit.

“Oh, god!” she chokes out a gasp, back arching, her nails digging into the sheet. Then she sucks, slow and deep, his fingers locking around her thigh to keep her from escaping the onslaught.

“God, yes, you’re doing so good.”

She writhes, moaning, shaking as his tongue fucks her mercilessly.

The pleasure is too much. And yet, not enough.

She tugs at his silky hair, her hips rolling to meet his tongue, needing more, more, just a little bit more.

He hums against her, the vibration sending shockwave to her spine. Then, his fingers join in, plunging inside her, curling, stroking that spot that she has no clue how he knows makes her body convulse.

She is unraveling, falling apart at the seams.

She is close, so close.

“I—oh, fuck, Raidon, please.”

Her body seizes, her breath shattering as the pleasure clashes over her, drowning her in waves of blinding heat.

She barely has time to come down as he is suddenly over her, his body pressing against her, his mouth on her.

She tastes herself on his tongue, and it makes her dizzy with need.

“Don’t stop yet.” She grinds against him, feeling his thick length pressing into her soaked entrance, and he groans, low and guttural.

“Veronica,” he murmurs against her lips, his voice hoarse with need. “I need—I want to be inside you, but with switched positions.”

She raises a teasing brow. “You want me to ride you?”

He bobs his head. “C-can you do that for me?”

“Yes.” She presses her lips to his.

He flips them around, and suddenly, she is on top, straddling him, his cock heavy and hot in her palms.

His jaw works as she strokes his length, eyes dark with mischief. “Hands over your head, soldier.”

His lips twitch, but he obeys, lacing his fingers behind his head as he leans into the pillow against the headboard. He watches her through heavy lids, his lips parted as she positions him at her entrance.

“Good boy.”

She strokes him once, twice, and a muscle in his jaw ticks.

Then tortuously slowly, she sinks down onto his cock.

“Fuck.” His voice is guttural as he drags the word, his head falling back.

Her nails rake down his chest, her hip rolling, taking him deeper, setting a slow, agonizing rhythm.

“Eyes on me,” she commands when he snaps his eyes shut, her voice low, edged with desire. She rolls her hips, savoring the way his breath hitches, the way his jaw clenches, the way his muscle coils like a man barely holding onto the edge of restraint.

A sound escapes him, a desperate, broken whisper that sends a shiver racing down her spine. His cock twitches inside her, and his hands fly from behind his head, gripping the sheet so hard his knuckles turned white.

“V-veronica,” he groans, his body trembling beneath her, the veins in his muscle taut with the effort of holding himself back. “I’m—” His golden eyes burn with need. “I’m gonna come.”

“Not yet, soldier.” She leans down, cradling his face in her palms, her lips teasing their way down his jaw, his throat, her breath hot against his sweat-licked skin.

Not yet. She isn’t there yet, and she needs them to unravel together, to drown in each other at the same time.

But his eyes, blown wide and dark with need, begs for mercy. He is close. So close, he is shaking with the effort to hold back.

She presses her forehead to his, whispering, “Just a little longer.”

He trembles beneath her, his body a bowstring drawn too tight. Then with a ragged moan, he snaps.

“Please,” he whimpers, his voice wrecked, his control slipping through his fingers like sand. “I can’t hold it, please.”

One hand plants against the bed, the other clamping onto her hip, as he bucks upward, driving into her with force that steals the breath from her lungs.

“I said, not yet,” she gasps, trying to pry his fingers from her hip, but it doesn’t work. He refuses to let go.

A growl rumbles in his chest as he thrusts, his movement rough, relentless, desperate. His lips part on a groan, his head tipping back against the pillow, exposing the strong column of his throat as he loses himself in her.

“Oh, god, Raidon!” Her thighs quake as he pounds into her, his grip bruising, his rhythm punishing. Every snap of his hip pushes her closer to the edge, shoving her straight into oblivion. Her nails rake down his chest, over the taut muscle of his abdomen, and he shudders beneath her touch.

Then his body tenses, his arm locking around her, his face buries between her neck, and his breath shatters against her skin.

Heat floods her.

His broken moans vibrate against her throat, his body quaking as he spills his cum inside her, holding her too tight like he is afraid she will disappear.

“I told you, not yet,” she whispers against his lips, but there’s no bite in her words, only the intoxicating rush of power, the pleasure of knowing how deeply she undoes him.

He is wrecked. Ruined. Shattered in the best way.

His chest rises and falls in ragged gasps, his lips tracing soft, reverent kisses along her collarbone.

He sounds drunk, high, when he murmurs, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t. You—you felt so good.”

His head tilts up, his lips barely brushing hers before he devours her in a kiss again.

It’s slow, deep, consuming. It’s a brand, a claim, a worship.

He tastes like sin, like euphoria, like something she will never get enough of.

“Veronica.” His voice is soft, rough around the edges. And she feels it, the hardening inside her, the slow throb of his cock already stirring back to life.

A rush of heat pulls low in her body. She should be exhausted. She did this all night. Then the early hours of the morning. She should want to rest.

But she doesn’t.

She wants more. She wants all of him.

“Veronica?” he calls again, his arms tightening around her body, pressing her flushed against his own.

“Snow white?” she breathes, her fingers tracing his sharp jawline, the curve of his lips, the ridges of his cheekbones.

She feels so drunk on him. Addicted. Obsessed.

He swallows hard, his voice barely above a whisper. “I—I want you all to myself. Can you be mine? All mine?”

Something tightens in her chest. An impossible request. A dangerous one.

“Okay,” she whispers against his lips, her hip rolling, squeezing around him, chasing the high all over again. “I can be yours. All yours, Snow white.”