Chapter 29 Aisling
AISLING
Riley melts against my side the second I start reading, the way she always does when she’s safe and happy and sleepy after a full day of excitement—when she’s warm and fed and loved and absolutely certain nothing bad can reach her.
Her fingers curl into the hem of my shirt as if to anchor herself to me, lashes fluttering lower with every page I turn.
The book is about a dragon who hoards not gold but stories.
Riley picked it herself, as solemn as a priestess, because she likes dragons that aren’t lonely, she said.
And I know it’s because of how much she loved her game with Raf the first time she played with him—so much so that she’s still thinking about it, still processing the man she wants to know better, to understand, even as she sees him with the childlike lens through which she still views the world.
She is just so sweet, so good, so innocent.
And it melts my heart to hold her close and have this time with her.
My voice softens without my trying. The words slow and stretch. I tuck meaning into the spaces between sentences the way I always have, like I’m building her a world she can step into and hide inside if she needs to.
Her breathing evens out before I reach the end.
I keep reading anyway. Because this, right here, makes everything feel right in the world.
I smooth my thumb over her hair, kiss her forehead gently enough not to wake her, and sit there longer than necessary, memorizing the weight of her, the shape of her cheek, the faint wrinkle between her brows she gets from me.
My daughter. My world.
The thought is dangerous. I don’t usually let it surface like that—not since the moment I walked into that church, stood before Raf, and said, “I do.” And I never really let myself sit with it, to soak up the joys of loving someone so fiercely, so completely that the rest of the world could burst into flames and I wouldn’t notice. But tonight feels… softer.
Like the sharp edges of reality have been wrapped in velvet—just for this moment in time.
Eventually, I ease Riley down into the pillows, tuck the blanket up to her chin, and turn off the bedside lamp.
The room glows faintly from the hallway light, shadows stretching long and gently across the walls.
I slip out quietly and pull the door closed, nearly colliding with Raf as I turn.
He’s leaning against the wall just outside her room, arms folded, hazel eyes intent as he watches me.
My heart jumps straight into my throat. For one irrational, terrifying second, I’m convinced he knows.
That he sees my secret written all over my face.
That the truth has finally slipped through the cracks, betrayed by the way my shoulders soften around Riley, the way my entire soul rearranges itself when she’s near.
My pulse races as I school my expression, forcing my breathing to stay steady.
He says nothing, just reaches out and brushes a loose strand of copper hair behind my ear, his knuckles warm where they graze my skin. The touch is gentle, unassuming yet devastating.
“What?” I ask too quickly, suddenly hyperaware of my body and how close he is—how I want him to be closer.
His gaze doesn’t leave mine. “I was just thinking…” he says slowly, like he’s choosing each word with care. “About how much I want to kiss you.”
The admission ignites the air between us like a spark. Heat blooms low in my stomach, sharp and undeniable.
My first instinct is to deflect, to joke, to remind him of the rules we agreed to for this fake, temporary relationship—clean lines drawn in ink that was supposed to dry.
But my body betrays me.
My breath stutters. My heart pounds hard enough I’m sure he can hear it.
And before I give myself permission, I’m leaning closer to him. “Okay,” I breathe.
He doesn’t hesitate.
His hand cups my jaw, thumb warm against my cheek, then his mouth is on mine, firm and unhurried.
It’s not the claiming kiss of a man who thinks he owns me, not the careful one of a man afraid of crossing lines.
It’s deliberate, confident, and filled with wanting. It’s the kind of kiss that asks a question and waits for the answer.
I give it to him without words, opening my lips to him, fingers curling into the front of his shirt as the world narrows to heat and breath and the familiar, dangerous pull between us.
He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine. “Come to bed with me,” he murmurs.
It isn’t a command. It’s an invitation, and I should say no. I should remind myself that this ends.
It has to.
I already let things get completely out of hand last night—and again this morning.
I’m balancing too many secrets on a knife’s edge.
But all I do is nod.
His hand finds mine, our fingers interlacing, and the simple gesture feels far more intimate than anything we’ve done before.
My heart stutters, my breath catching in my throat as he leads me down the hall to our bedroom, and I know I’m dangerously close to losing myself in this moment, to losing myself to this man.
The door closes softly behind us, and he crowds me against it, his arms caging me in as he leans down to steal another scorching kiss.
My lips meet his greedily, my hands reaching for the buttons of his dress shirt of their own volition, and a low, satisfied rumble rises from his chest as Raf lets me undress him.
His abs flex beneath my fingertips as his shirt falls open, and I curl my fingers around the waist of his pants, opening his belt, button, and zipper with breathless confidence.
But before I can shed him of his clothing, he’s pressing forward, his hips meeting mine.
One knee presses between my thighs, urging them open as his foot knocks against mine, spreading my stance.
And when the firm muscle of his leg meets the peak of my thighs, the friction it creates drives me wild.
“Tell me, dolce, what’s your darkest desire?” he breathes against my lips, and the words tickle the back of my mind, awakening a memory I’ve long since tried to bury.
The first time he asked me that, I’d been eighteen. Young, innocent, not twenty-four hours past losing my virginity. But I’d burned to know the kind of pleasure that women came to Portentia’s to experience.
Suddenly, I can hear the sharp sound of flesh meeting flesh, the pained yelp, a pleasure-laced groan. My core throbs with anticipation, and my cheeks flame. I hadn’t been able to say it that night. And the thought of suggesting it now feels almost impossibly more off limits.
But I wonder if Raf even knows the door he just opened. I doubt it. He’s probably asked the question to a hundred women before. It’s how he sets the mood, and god, he’s dangerously good at it.
I want him to know.
I want him to bring those dark desires into the light.
To show me just how good it feels when he fulfills them. But I’m not nearly brave enough to give them a voice.
“Don’t you know?” I tease, wielding the question like a weapon just as much as a defense.
A low, wicked hum vibrates from his chest, tightening my nipples until they’re hard against his chest. “I think I can guess,” he growls.
Despite knowing it was a long shot, his response still makes my stomach sink just a little—to know that he doesn’t remember our first few nights together quite so vividly as I do.
But I push the thought aside. I’m done holding the past against him.
I don’t know what this is between us, but if it has a prayer of becoming something more than the contract we agreed to, I need to stop looking back.
So instead, I focus on the way his lips claim mine, the way his hands roam down my ribcage, his fingers curling around the hem of my shirt. He drags it slowly up my body, and I lift my arms, letting him strip me, inch by inch.
With impressive dexterity, he has my bra unhooked with the flick of his wrist, and as the straps slide down my arms, exposing my full breasts, I toss the lacy fabric aside.
Only then does Raf shrug out of his dress shirt, letting it fall in a heap on the floor as he pulls me into his arms, bringing our bare skin together.
The heat that pulses between us feels like it’s taken on a life of its own.
I can scarcely breathe around it, and even as my lungs burn, I want more.
So when his hands splay around the curve of my ass and he lifts me in his arms, I wrap my legs around him without question.
Then he’s carrying me across the room like I weigh nothing.
The bed takes us in a tangle of limbs and breath as we spill onto the mattress.
And when he kisses his way down my exposed flesh, it’s with far more urgency than he had this morning.
I stare up at him as he rocks back onto his heels, his fingers curling around the waist of my jeans, and he strips me of them in one fluid motion.
Then his sharp hazel eyes burn into mine as he takes his belt… and slowly draws it out of the loops of his slacks.
It comes free with a snap, and I gasp as he leans forward, capturing my wrists and bringing them together in a flash.
The leather bites into my soft skin as he quickly binds them with his belt—then forces them over my head, buckling me to the headboard with such practiced ease, it makes my head spin.
“Raf,” I gasp, heart racing as I lie before him, naked and exposed, and entirely at his mercy.
“You’re mine tonight, dolce,” he rasps, his voice echoing in my memory once more. “And I’m going to show you all about pleasure… and pain.”
My pulse skyrockets as he shoves his pants and boxer briefs down all in one go, then he leans down over me, his hips spreading my thighs as his weight settles on top of me, arm muscles rippling as he dips low.
He nips at my lips, then ears, then throat, his fingers raking down my body with almost bruising force.
And igniting a fire in his wake.
I arch into his palm as he kneads my breast, then bite back a cry of pleasure as he gives my tender nipples a sharp twist.
A moment later, his fingers are stroking between my thighs, parting my slick folds and circling my clit until pleasure washes away the pain.
“Are you ready, Aisling?” he murmurs, his voice soaked with dark warning and promises of sinful release.
“Yes,” I moan, hips rolling against his palm as I seek the friction I desperately need.
Then his fingers are gripping me, strong hands encasing my waist as he spins me with impressive dexterity until I’m on my belly, my wrists twisted into an impossible constraint above my head.
I gasp as he lifts my hips, putting me on my knees, and a moment later, I feel him lining up behind me, his thighs pressed to the back of mine as he supports me and overpowers me all at once.
His mouth traces a familiar path up my spine, his hands rediscovering me with a confidence that steals my breath away.
When he touches me, it’s with the same knowledge he had all those years ago.
Like my body never changed its language. Like he never forgot how to make me come undone.
Five years ago flashes through me in sharp, sensory fragments. Low light.
Silk sheets.
The press of bodies and music and hunger.
Raf’s hands on me like he’d mapped my skin and memorized it.
His fingers tangle in my hair, tipping my head back so I have to meet his eyes, and in them, I see a wicked promise.
“You want to know the pleasures of my world?” he asks, and this time, I know without a shadow of doubt as he leans in to claim my lips without an answer.
He remembers.
The realization hits me hard, sending a shiver straight through me when his mouth shifts, when he kisses me the exact way he did back then—slow and deep, like he’s savoring me, building the anticipation until I might just snap.
“You remember,” I whisper, quivering beneath him as pleasure coils tight and sharp.
His mouth curves against my lips. “Every second.”
Then he plunges inside me, obliterating my world.
But it’s the admission that sends me over the edge, shattering me in a rush of sensation that leaves me trembling beneath him.