Chapter 10
thorne
(PUNNY TITLE)
Morning light filters through my blinds—sharp, clear beams that announce the day with precision. I’ve always been awake with the sun, my body attuned to its rhythms. But today is different.
Today, there’s a warm, soft body curled against mine, her breath shallow in sleep, her dark hair spilled across my pillow like ink. Lena. In my bed. The reality of it hits me anew, and something in my chest tightens, unfamiliar and dangerous.
I shift slightly, careful not to disturb her.
In sleep, her face is softer, the mischief that usually animates her features momentarily at rest. Her lashes cast delicate shadows on her cheeks, and her lips are slightly parted, still swollen from our night together. I could watch her like this for hours.
But I’m a morning person, through and through. And right now, I want her awake. With me.
I trace my fingertips lightly along the curve of her shoulder, down the slope of her side, to the dip of her waist. She stirs slightly, murmuring something incoherent, but doesn’t wake.
I smile, leaning in to press my lips to the sensitive spot behind her ear, inhaling the scent of her—vanilla and sleep-warmth and the lingering traces of sex.
“Lena,” I murmur against her skin, my voice rough with morning and want. “Wake up.”
She makes a small sound of protest, burrowing deeper into the pillow. I chuckle, the sound vibrating through my chest as I trail my lips down her neck, to the junction of her shoulder, where I nip gently.
That gets her attention. She gasps, her body arching reflexively, and I feel her pulse jump beneath my mouth.
“Good morning,” I rumble, sliding my hand around to cup her breast, my thumb brushing over the nipple that hardens instantly at my touch.
“Mmm,” she manages, still half-asleep but responding beautifully to my touch. “Morning.”
I roll her onto her back, hovering over her, drinking in the sight of her—tousled and warm and mine, at least for this moment. Her eyes flutter open, dark and hazy with sleep, then sharpen as she focuses on me.
“Hi,” she whispers, a slow smile spreading across her face.
Instead of answering, I capture her mouth with mine. The kiss is soft at first, a gentle good morning, but it quickly deepens as she wakes fully, her hands coming up to tangle in my hair, fingers brushing the base of my horns in a way that sends electricity down my spine.
I growl into the kiss, my body already responding to her touch, hard and ready against her thigh. But this morning isn’t about me.
I pull back, pressing kisses down her throat, over her collarbone, taking my time. Her skin is like silk beneath my lips, warm and fragrant, and I map every inch of it with methodical attention.
When I reach her breasts, I pause, appreciating their perfect weight in my hands, the dusky mauve of her nipples. I take one into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the tight peak, and she arches beneath me, a breathy moan escaping her.
“Thorne,” she gasps, her fingers tightening in my hair.
“Patience,” I murmur against her skin, moving to the other breast to give it the same treatment. I suck harder, using the edge of my teeth, and she whimpers, her hips lifting in search of friction.
I ignore her silent plea, continuing my journey downward, over the soft plane of her stomach, dipping my tongue into her navel, following the trail to the apex of her thighs. I settle between them, parting her legs wider, exposing her to my gaze.
She’s already wet, glistening with arousal, her cunt pink and swollen from our activities last night. The sight of her makes my cock throb, but I resist the urge to take her immediately. Instead, I lower my head, breathing in her scent—musky and sweet, intoxicating.
“What are you—” she starts, then breaks off with a gasp as I lick a long, slow stripe up her center.
She tastes like heaven—like salt and honey and something uniquely her. I explore her with my tongue, learning the terrain of her pleasure, noting what makes her thighs tremble, what draws those delicious sounds from her throat.
When I find her clit, swollen and sensitive, I circle it with the tip of my tongue, applying just enough pressure to make her whimper. Then I suck it gently into my mouth, flicking my tongue against it in a rhythm that has her hands flying to my horns, gripping them for purchase.
“Oh gods,” she breathes, her hips jerking. “Thorne, please—”
I hum against her, the vibration making her shudder. Then I release her clit to focus on her entrance, teasing her with shallow thrusts of my tongue, tasting her arousal as it increases.
Her thighs begin to shake on either side of my head, and I know she’s close.
I return to her clit, sucking it more firmly now, and slide two fingers inside her at the same time.
She’s tight and hot around them, her inner walls clenching as I crook my fingers to find that spot that makes her see stars.
When I find it, she cries out, her back arching off the bed. I press harder, working my fingers in and out while my tongue continues its relentless attention on her clit.
“Please,” she begs, voice breaking. “I need—I need—”
I know what she needs. I curl my fingers more firmly, sucking her clit in rhythm with my thrusts, and she shatters. Her orgasm washes over her in waves I can feel around my fingers, her body clenching and releasing, her cries filling the room.
I work her through it, gentling my touch as she becomes too sensitive, pressing soft kisses to her inner thighs as she trembles with aftershocks.
When I finally raise my head, her eyes are closed, her chest heaving, her body lax with pleasure. She’s beautiful like this—undone, vulnerable, satisfied.
But not completely satisfied. Not yet.
I move up her body, positioning myself between her legs, the head of my cock nudging at her entrance. Her eyes flutter open, meeting mine, and the raw want I see there nearly undoes me.
“Yes,” she whispers, reaching for me. “Please, I need you inside me.”
I push forward slowly, watching her face as I enter her. The stretch of her around me is exquisite—like the perfect fit of two pieces of wood joined with precision, the grain aligning just so. She takes me inch by inch, her body accommodating my size in a way that feels like a miracle.
When I’m fully seated within her, I pause, savoring the sensation of her tight heat surrounding me. It’s like she was crafted specifically for me, every curve and hollow designed to match my dimensions.
The thought is dangerous. Too close to the feelings I’ve been fighting, the vulnerability I’ve been avoiding.
I’ve spent years building walls—physical ones in my workshop, emotional ones in my heart. I’m a solitary creature by nature, content with my own company, with the solid predictability of wood beneath my hands.
But Lena...Lena makes me want things I have no business wanting. Softness. Ease. A warmth in my chest that has nothing to do with physical pleasure and everything to do with the way she laughs, the way she challenges me, the way she fits in my life like she was always meant to be there.
It should terrify me. It should make me pull back, put distance between us.
Instead, I begin to move.
I start slow, long, deep thrusts that have her gasping, her nails digging into my shoulders. But I can’t maintain that pace for long. Not with the way she feels around me, the way she looks up at me with those dark eyes full of need.
“More,” she demands, wrapping her legs around my waist, taking me deeper. “Harder.”
I obey, increasing my pace, the headboard knocking against the wall with the force of my thrusts. Her breasts bounce with each impact, hypnotic in their movement, and I long to capture one nipple in my mouth. Instead, I palm the quaking mound, rolling the taut peak between my fingers.
She cries out, her inner walls clenching around me, and I growl. “Take it,” I command, my voice barely recognizable. “Take all of me. You do it so well, so perfectly.”
“Yes,” she gasps, meeting me thrust for thrust. “Yes, yes, yes—”
I reach between us, finding her clit, circling it with my thumb as I pound into her. Her eyes widen, her breath coming in sharp pants.
“Come for me again,” I growl. “Let me feel you fall apart around me.”
Her body obeys, clenching tight around my cock as she comes with a broken cry.
The sight of her—flushed, trembling, utterly undone—pushes me over the edge.
My rhythm falters, my hips jerking as I spill inside her, filling her with my release until it overflows with each pump until finally—finally—I’m completely drained.
For long moments, we stay joined, our breathing harsh in the quiet room. Then, slowly, I withdraw from her, both of us groaning at the loss of connection.
I press a kiss to her forehead, her nose, her lips, then slide from the bed. She makes a small sound of protest, reaching for me, but I smile.
“Stay,” I tell her. “I’m going to get us breakfast.”
I return minutes later with a tray of fruit, bread, and coffee. She sits up, pulling the sheet around her, and I’m struck by the domesticity of the moment—morning light, shared food, her smile as I hand her a cup.
“I have to go to the workshop soon,” I say, though the words feel heavy. “I have deadlines.”
She nods, understanding in her eyes. “I need to prep the bakery anyway. Test recipes for the competition.”
I lean in, kissing her deeply, tasting coffee and sweetness. When I pull back, her eyes are half-lidded, her lips curved in a satisfied smile.
“Tonight?” I ask, surprising myself with the question.
Her smile widens. “Definitely tonight.”
I dress reluctantly, my body already missing the warmth of hers. At the bedroom door, I pause, turning back for one last look.
She’s wrapped in my sheets, her hair a wild tangle around her face, her skin marked with evidence of my passion. The image burns into my memory—something to carry with me throughout the day.
And as I head to my workshop, I realize that the walls I’ve built so carefully are already crumbling.
And for the first time in my life, I don’t want to rebuild them.