Elizabeth
My mind completely empties when he kisses me. The kind of silence I haven’t experienced since the night my mom was killed. For the brief moment we were connected, I could just be.
And whatever it is, I do feel it. I might not want to, I definitely don’t understand it. But for this reckless, stupid moment, I’m not Lukan’s dutiful daughter or the daughter of a brutally murdered woman. I’m not even the woman who slowly poisoned a man to death. Deserving or otherwise.
I’m just a woman kissing a handsome man who sets her pulse racing and her core throbbing in ways she has never felt before.
And it’s electrifying.
My body is still humming with the intensity of it when he pulls back just enough to make me feel the sudden loss of his mouth like a wound. His breath skates across my lips, rough and uneven, and I realize I’m trembling with a hunger I’ve never experienced before.
The thought tried to break through to the sensible part of me.
There’s an inner voice telling me I should shove him away, retreat back behind the walls I built brick by brick over years of surviving this house.
But his hands are still on me, steady and claiming, and instead of making me flinch they make me feel safe.
No, not just safe. Seen.
I swallow hard, but the taste of him lingers, dark and intoxicating.
“I shouldn’t…” I whisper, though I don’t pull away. I can’t.
His fingers trace the line of my jaw, slow and commanding, turning my face back to his. “You should do whatever you want.”
The words land like a spark to dry tinder.
Want.
When was the last time I wanted anything just for myself?
He leans in again, but this time he doesn’t kiss me. He hovers, lips a breath from mine, eyes locked on me like he’s letting me choose. My heart slams against my ribs.
“I don’t know how to want,” I admit, my voice barely making a sound over the thundering of my heartbeat.
His thumb sweeps across my bottom lip, and I feel it everywhere.
“Then let me teach you.”
Everything inside me clamps tight and then unfurls at once.
No one has ever offered me anything that wasn’t wrapped in obligation or fear. No one has ever looked at me like this.
Until him.
“Elizabeth.” The way he says my name carves heat down my spine. “Show me where your room is.”
The air rushes out of me.
I try to draw a line. One of those invisible boundaries that have kept me alive this long, but when I lift my gaze to his, the line dissolves like sugar in hot water.
I nod.
He steps closer, his hand sliding to the small of my back, guiding. I feel the strength in his touch, the promise in it. That if I walk away, he can and will pull me right back where he wants me.
I turn toward the hallway, my legs shaky, each step betraying how badly I want to look back at him. Halfway to the stairs, I feel his presence behind me. Quiet and controlled. A dark shadow swallowing the light.
The banister is cool beneath my palm as I begin to climb. My breath catches on every riser, heat building beneath my skin, anticipation coiling so tightly that each footstep feels like it might snap me in half.
Halfway up, his fingers wrap gently around my wrist. I stop. My pulse stutters violently.
He leans in, his chest pressed against my back, his mouth finding the curve where my neck meets my shoulder.
“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he murmurs against my skin. “Not tonight. I want the real you.”
I close my eyes. For so long, I’ve lived in a world where silence is survival. Where desire is a danger. Where a woman wanting anything is a mistake she ends up paying for.
I tighten my grip on his hand and lead him upward.
Toward the part of the house where only ghosts have ever been allowed.
Toward the part of me that stopped believing I could feel like this.
Toward the part of him that already decided I belong to him.
And as we reach the top step, I don’t look back.
I don’t need to.
His body is already a promise pressed against mine.
I lead him down the hallway, my hand still tangled in his, the warmth of his skin seeping into mine like a secret I shouldn't crave but do anyway.
My bedroom door looms at the end, a simple wooden barrier that's kept the world out for so long.
But tonight it feels like an invitation waiting to be accepted.
My heart races, a wild drumbeat echoing in my ears, and I wonder if he knows how this moment unravels everything I've held together with sheer will. I push the door open, the hinges creaking softly, and step inside pulling him with me.
The room smells like faded lavender from the sachet in my bedside drawer, mixed with the faint citrus tang clinging to my clothes from the kitchen. Moonlight filters through the thin curtains, casting silvery shadows across the bed making everything feel dreamlike, almost unreal.
He doesn't say a word at first, just reaches out and traces his fingers along my collarbone, like he's memorizing the shape of me. I shiver under his touch as a heat that's foreign and terrifying and exhilarating all at once courses through me.
He's watching me so closely, his amber-gold eyes darkening with something possessive, like he's already decided I'm his and he's just waiting for me to catch up.
I step back toward the bed, my knees brushing the edge, and he follows, closing the distance until there's no space left between us.
His hands slide to my waist, pulling me flush against him, and I feel the hard length of him pressing against me like a promise that makes my stomach twist with nervous anticipation.
I've never done this before, never let anyone this close.
But with him, it feels inevitable, like every choice I've made has led to this surrender.
I tilt my head up, my lips parting, and he captures my mouth in a kiss that's deeper than before, his tongue sweeping in to claim me, tasting me like I'm the only thing that matters in his world.
I melt into him, my hands fisting in his shirt, tugging at the buttons until they give way, exposing the smooth planes of his tattooed chest. His skin is hot under my palms, muscles tensing as I explore, and he groans into my mouth, the sound vibrating through me and settling low between my thighs.
He breaks the kiss to trail his lips down my neck, nipping gently at the sensitive spot below my ear, and I gasp, my head falling back to give him better access. His hands roam possessively over my body before slipping beneath my sweater to caress my bare skin.
He lifts the fabric over my head, tossing it aside before smoothing his hands over my shoulders, nudging the straps of my bra down. He unclips it and lets it fall as his gaze rakes over me, hungry and reverent, like he's unveiling a treasure he's hunted for years.
"You're perfect," he murmurs, his voice rough with need, and I believe him in this moment, even though I've never felt that way before. He eases me back onto the bed, his body covering mine, and I arch into him instinctively, craving the weight of him, the way he makes me feel alive and wanted.
His fingers work at the button of my jeans, sliding them down my legs along with my underwear, leaving me exposed and vulnerable under his stare.
But there's no fear, only a building ache that makes me squirm as he sheds his own clothes, revealing the sculpted lines of his body, the evidence of his arousal straining toward me.
He kneels between my legs, his hands spreading my thighs gently, and leans down to kiss a path from my navel to my inner thigh, his breath hot against my most intimate places.
I tense at first, unsure, but when his mouth finds my center, licking and sucking with expert precision, pleasure explodes through me like fireworks, my hips bucking off the bed.
Diomid holds me steady, his obsession clear in the way he devours me, drawing out moans I can't hold back, building me higher until I'm teetering on the edge.
"Diomid," I whimper, my fingers threading through his hair, and he looks up at me with eyes full of dark promise, like this is just the beginning of how he'll claim every part of me. He runs a finger up either side of my channel, teasing the soft flesh there as he continues to lick and suck. “Please…” I say, but I don’t know what I’m asking for.
All I can think about is chasing the edge of this pleasure until it consumes me.
He presses harder where he rubs, never entering me fully, but teasing my entrance with a promise of what’s to come. What I never knew I needed. Then he sucks my clit hard, flicking his tongue in perfect rhythm and stars burst behind my eyelids.
The scream tears from me as I shudder and writhe against his hot mouth. The pleasure rolls through me in waves, lifting me up from the bed in time with each flick of his tongue.
I gasp, I beg, I moan. But nothing slows him down. He doesn’t take his mouth off my spent core until I’m a quivering wreck.
Then he slowly rises over me positioning himself at my entrance, and pauses, his forehead pressing against mine.
"Tell me you want this," he demands, his voice strained, and I nod frantically, wrapping my legs around his waist to pull him closer.
He enters me slowly, inch by inch, stretching me in a way that's painful at first but quickly turns to exquisite fullness.
I bite my lip to stifle a cry. He stills, giving me time to adjust, whispering words of praise and possession in my ear.
One of his hands is stroking my hip until the discomfort fades into pure bliss.
Then he starts to move, thrusting deep and steady, each stroke hitting places I didn't know existed, building a rhythm that has me clinging to him.
His need fuels every motion, his lips crashing against mine as he murmurs how I'm his now, how he'll never let me go.
I lose myself in the sensation, the coil in my belly tightening until it snaps, waves of ecstasy crashing over me again, stronger, but shorter this time.
“Yes, zolotse,” he grunts. “Your virgin pussy is mine now. Only mine.”
I open my eyes to find his, hooded with arousal, looking into mine.
“Say it, zolotse,” his hips piston faster as I hold on, ignoring the way I’m throbbing with sensitivity. “Say it!” he demands.
“yours,” I say, expecting it to come out as a breathy pant, not the screamed confession it actually sounded like. But in saying it, something inside me cracks open. I begin to meet him, thrust for thrust, lifting my hips and slamming against him hard enough that I feel his balls crush against me.
His jaw clenches and I say it again and again, ignoring the sensitivity that’s turning into an ache.
“I’m yours, Diomid, every part of me.”
His pace stutters and falters as he throws his head back and groans my name like a prayer. His whole length seems to flex inside me, jolting against the front of my body and making me whimper.
When his head tips forward, his face is completely relaxed. He is still twitching inside of me, both of us sensitive now as he slowly withdraws and collapses beside me. We’re a tangle of limbs and sweat-slicked skin. He drapes his arm over my waist, pulling me close as our breaths slow.
I turn to look at him, seeing the depth of his fixation in the way his eyes refuse to leave my face.
It's overwhelming, this connection we've forged in the heat of passion, but as I nestle into his side, feeling his heartbeat sync with mine, I realize I don't want to fight it.
I feel truly claimed, not as property, but as an equal in this dangerous dance we've begun.