Chapter 43
KEIRA
He then showers and changes, and now we're sitting in my kitchen, neither of us ready to rest.
He nods.
I stand and walk over to my bar cart, looking over my options.
"Whiskey or wine?" I ask, glancing back at him.
"Whatever you're having."
"Wine it is," I say, grabbing two glasses from the shelf. The crystal clinks softly as I set them down, and I reach for an expensive bottle of Bordeaux I keep tucked in the corner.
I use my electric wine opener, and the cork comes free with a soft pop. I pour slowly, watching the dark liquid swirl into the bowl of each glass. I can feel Octavian's gaze on me.
I glance over at him. He looks... yeah. Exhausted and beautifully handsome.
I hand him his glass, and our fingers brush. Heat flares where our skin meets, spreading up my arm and settling low in my stomach.
"Octavian, Octavian, Octavian," I sigh, taking a sip. The wine is rich and velvety. "What am I going to do with you?"
He smiles, that rare, devastating smile that makes me want to forget the world.
He takes a sip of wine before speaking.
"You know I meant everything I said," he says, putting his glass down. His voice is low. "I do love you, Keira."
His eyes drop to my lips. "You've taken over me, you know. My thoughts. My feelings. My discipline."
I smile, warmth blooming in my chest despite everything. "Go on."
He smirks.
"I once counted how many times you laughed."
I blink. "What? Really? Why?"
He shrugs. "It made me feel good to hear you do it, but not when," he stops and points at me, his expression sharpening, "it was from another man, though. That had the opposite effect."
I laugh, the sound bursting out of me before I can stop it.
"Well, if it's any consolation, I only like laughing with you."
He shakes his head. "Well, I still don't like it," he says, smiling into his glass as he drinks.
We fall into a silence that isn't awkward. It's charged and magnetic, almost. My stomach coils tight.
He watches, and he swirls the wine in his glass.
"What's on your mind?" he asks.
"About what Calli always tells me."
"Which is?"
"To be vulnerable. Stand by my decisions. Get out of my head. Don't let anger control me." I stop and take a sip, the wine warming my throat. "She tells me a lot of things, actually."
"All good things, I suppose."
"Yeah," I say, pressing my lips together. "Yeah."
I lean over and grab his hand. His fingers close around mine immediately, squeezing, and I feel the strength in his grip. He looks at me, and something in my chest cracks open.
"Can I ask you something?" I ask.
"Anything."
"When you look at me like that, what are you thinking?"
He pauses, his thumb running slow circles over the back of my hand. The touch makes my pulse quicken.
"Sometimes nothing," he says, his voice dropping lower. "Sometimes how beautiful you are. Other times," his thumb presses harder, dragging across my knuckles, "feeling your warm body against my skin."
Heat floods my face. "Do you now?"
He leans in, his lips inches from mine, his breath warm and wine-sweet. "Sometimes, it's about how I want to lick every inch of your body," he says, kissing me gently, a feather-light press that makes me ache. "Worship you." Another kiss. "Be inside you."
I lick my lips and kiss him back, tasting the wine on his mouth, feeling the roughness of his stubble against my skin. "Would you like that right now?"
He nods, his breath hot against my lips. "More than anything."
"Me too." I stand, pulling him up with me.
The sky outside was beginning to gray. Sunrise was coming, and I hadn't slept in nearly 24 hours. But I didn't want sleep, I wanted him.
His hand stays locked around mine as I lead him out of the kitchen, down the hallway, into my bedroom.
The room is dark, the curtains drawn against the pre-dawn light. I don't turn on the lamp. I don't need to see him clearly. I need to feel him.
I turn to face him, and his hands are already on me, sliding up my sides, pushing the sweater up and over my head. The fabric drags against my skin, leaving me bare except for my leggings and the bandage on my arm. His eyes drop to the white wrapping, and his jaw tightens.
"I'm okay," I whisper.
He shakes his head. "You're not. But you will be."
His hands cup my face, tilting my head up, and he kisses me. Slow. Deep. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, claiming me, tasting me, and I melt into him. My hands find the hem of his shirt, and I push it up, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it over his head.
His chest is warm, and I press my palms flat against his skin, feeling the hard planes of muscle, the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath my fingers.
"Keira," he breathes, and the way he says my name, like a prayer, like I'm the only thing keeping him alive, makes my knees weak.
I step back, hooking my thumbs into the waistband of my leggings, and pull them down. His eyes follow the movement, dark and hungry, and when I stand before him in nothing but my underwear, he groans.
"You're perfect."
"I'm not."
"You're right. You're better than perfect. A goddess. My angel."
He closes the distance between us, his hands sliding down my sides, over the curve of my hips, gripping my ass and pulling me flush against him. I feel the hard length of him pressing against my stomach, and heat pools low in my belly.
I reach between us, stroking him through his pants, and he moans, his hips jerking forward.
"Bed," I whisper.
He nods, and we move together, stumbling backward until my legs hit the mattress. I sit, and he follows, his hands already shoving his pants down along with his boxers. He's hard, thick, and I can't stop staring.
He kneels on the bed, his hands sliding up my thighs, spreading them. His fingers hook into the sides of my underwear, and he pulls them down slowly, his eyes locked on mine.
"I love you," he says, and the words are rough and raw.
"I love you too."
He leans in, pressing a kiss to my inner thigh, then another, higher, and I shiver. His hands grip my hips, holding me in place, and then his mouth is on me.
I gasp, my head falling back, my fingers tangling in his hair. He licks me slowly, deliberately, his tongue making patterns that make my thighs shake. He finds my clit and sucks, and I cry out, my hips bucking against his mouth.
"Octavian," I moan, and he groans against me, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure crashing through me.
He doesn't stop. He worships me with his mouth and his tongue, his fingers sliding inside me and curling just right. I'm trembling, gasping, on the edge, and then he presses harder, sucks harder.
"I love you," he says against me.
"I love you too, baby," I say more breathless this time, fisting his hair.
He doesn't stop, and I don't know if it's his talent or if it's our pure, honest declarations for each other, but I shatter faster than I ever have before.
I come with a scream, my body convulsing, my fingers gripping his hair so hard it must hurt, but he doesn't pull away. He works me through it, drawing out every last shudder, every last whimper, until I collapse back onto the bed, panting.
He wastes no time and crawls up my body, his lips trailing kisses over my stomach, between my breasts, up my throat. When he reaches my mouth, he kisses me deeply, and I taste myself on his tongue.
"I need you," I say against his lips.
"You have me. You'll always have me."
He positions himself between my legs, the head of his cock pressing against my entrance, and I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer.
I moan loudly, my back arching, and he pushes in slowly, filling me inch by inch. I gasp at the stretch, the fullness, the way he fits inside me now like I was made for him.
"Fuck, Keira," he groans, his forehead dropping to mine. "You're my haven."
He pulls back and thrusts in again, deeper this time, and I moan, gripping his arms. He sets a slow, steady rhythm, making me feel each thrust so we both can savor every second.
"Faster," I whisper, my body wanting him too much.
He shakes his head. "No. Not this time."
He leans down, capturing my mouth in a kiss that's all heat and tenderness.
"I want to feel what it's like to make love," he says, "to worship the woman who holds my world in her hands."
I'm so overwhelmed with emotion, tears sting my eyes. "Make love to me, baby."
He picks up the pace a little, his thrusts growing deeper, harder, and I arch more into him, my body chasing the pleasure building inside me. He shifts, changing the angle, and hits a spot that makes me see stars.
"There," I gasp. "Right there. Don't stop."
He drives into me again and again, his breath hot against my neck, his body trembling with the effort of holding back.
"Don't hold back, come with me," I say, clenching around his shaft.
"Keira," he groans.
"That's it. Come inside me," I say. "I want to feel you."
My orgasm builds different. It's as if we're floating off the bed, hovering, locked as one. We don't start, and we don't end, we just exist.
My toes go numb, tingling follows up my legs, my arms, and my hands. My stomach flexes, every muscle locking up.
My head falls back, and my eyes roll. The intense erotic pleasure is almost unbearable.
I feel his cock swell and twitch.
He buries his face in my neck, his hips snapping forward one last time, and he comes, his whole body going rigid.
I feel the warmth of him filling me, and it pushes me over the edge again.
I come with a cry, my body clenching around him, milking him, and he groans, his arms wrapping around me, holding me tight.
We stay like that for a while, tangled together, our breathing slowly evening out. He presses kisses to my shoulder, my neck, my jaw, and I turn my head, capturing his mouth in a soft kiss.
"I'm never letting you go," he says against my lips.
"Good," I whisper. "Because I'm not going anywhere."
He pulls out slowly and rolls onto his back, pulling me with him, and I curl into his side, my head resting on his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath my ear, grounding me.
"We're going to be okay," he says.
"I know."
Suddenly, he sits up. "Take off your necklace a second," he says, removing his ring.
I sit up and unlatch it.
"What for?"
"This," he says, and threads the ring through the chain, fastening it behind my neck.
I look down at it, my fingers gliding over it. "What is it?"
"My brother gave it to me," he says.
"Your brother gave you a ring?"
"Yeah," he says with a smile. "He may have stolen it from a jewelry store to show off, but it's the most important thing I have. The only thing I've ever loved and cherished. And now," he says, brushing my cheek, "the only person I love and cherish in my life is wearing it."
Tears swell in my eyes, and I wipe them before they fall.
"Jesus, Octavian, that's..." I shake my head, unable to speak as warm tears hit my cheeks.
"When all this is over, I'm going to get you a proper ring, and we'll have the best wedding you can imagine. You'll become my wife, and we'll have five kids."
"Five kids?! You're insane."
He leans in and kisses me. "Yeah, but you knew that already."
"Ha, maybe crazy is a better word."
He shrugs. "Only for you, future Mrs. Voinea."
I smile wider than I have in a long time. "I like that. Mrs. Voinea. It's got a nice ring to it."