26. Surrender #3
Their bodies writhe against one another as the man’s hands work with swift efficiency, pulling the woman’s dress up past her thighs, exposing her olive complexion to the dim light. Her back arches against the rough surface of the wall as his fingers dig into her with a possessive grip.
In one fluid motion, he releases himself from his trousers, the urgency in his movements leaving no room for subtlety or decorum. Their breaths, heavy and uneven, echo faintly in the surrounding space.
He grips her firmly, hoisting her up against the wall with an eager desperation. She responds by wrapping her legs tightly around his waist, anchoring herself to him as their bodies meld together in an unrestrained display of passion.
There’s no hesitation, no thought of their surroundings—only raw, unbridled need. I hear the moment he enters her, both of them releasing breathless, broken moans that spill into the quiet corridor like a confession.
The man groans low, praise spilling from his lips in a broken whisper. “Por todos os santos… you take me like you were made for me.” His voice is thick with hunger, extolling in a way that feels all-consuming.
“T?o apertada… t?o boa, meu amor.” He presses deeper, his breath rough against her skin. “You were carved from sin—meant for nothing but this. ”
His movements are brutal in their rhythm, driven by a desperation that feels almost feral. With each thrust, he lets out a guttural sound—low, hungry, ragged. The wet slap of skin against skin echoes in a rhythm too primal to ignore, their bodies colliding with wild abandon.
As he moves against her, the woman’s hands slide to the bodice of her dress, pulling it down in one swift motion to free her breasts.
He moves from sucking her bottom lip, tongue, and neck to flick his tongue against her nipple. She hisses as he takes her into his mouth, only letting go to suckle roughly over that silky soft flesh.
“Harder,” she pants. “Take me like you mean to ruin me, meu amor. Fill me full. Leave your name written beneath my skin.” Her words come out in broken gasps, her toes curling, eyes rolling back as he angles her neck to the side to bite the flesh just above her collarbone.
He says nothing, his only response a growl that vibrates through the air as her nails drag down his back, leaving angry red streaks in their wake.
She brings two fingers to his mouth, and he eagerly sucks on them. Without hesitation, she trails that hand downward, her fingers sliding between them to meet him at her core. Her movements are deliberate, teasing, and he lets out a ragged breath, his control unravelling further with every touch.
“You love being wicked to me, don’t you?” His voice is low, dripping with dark amusement as his grip on her hair tightens. From where I stand, it looks almost painful, as her head is pulled back at a sharp angle.
So why is it arousing to me?
The question burns in my mind, unsettling and impossible to ignore.
Heat rushes through my body, a mixture of shame and fascination pooling low in my belly.
I hadn’t known it could be like this—so raw, so unrestrained.
The intensity of it holds me captive, even as my cheeks flush and my breath comes quicker.
When the man speaks next, his voice is commanding, dripping with raw seduction. The intensity coils in my chest, so overwhelming that my hand drifts to my throat, as if to steady myself.
“Quero ver tudo—cada tremor, cada suspiro. Watch the way you unravel for me… the way your soul reaches for mine when you break.” His voice is dark, molten, a command wr apped in silk. “And when I do, I’ll spill so deep inside you, you’ll still feel me long after I’m gone.”
Her screams tear through the air, the sound so intense it gives me chills.
“When you’re still trembling, still catching your breath, I’ll press you over this barrel—claim you all over, slow and relentless, until the memory of me lingers in every part of you. Até n?o haver dúvida nenhuma de quem é que você pertence.”
A few final thrusts, and their cries of release tear through the air, echoing in the stillness like something sacred and profane all at once.
I finally turn away, shame crawling hot beneath my skin.
My cheeks burn, my heart pounds, and an aching discomfort twists in my chest—because I lingered.
I watched for far too long, held captive by something so visceral, so private.
And now I can’t unsee it. Can’t undo the way it stirred something in me.
I don’t make it far. A strong hand catches my elbow, halting my escape before I can slip away.
My body betrays what my mind refuses to admit.
My nipples tighten against the fabric of my dress, and between my thighs, a slow, aching thrum pulses in time with my racing heart.
With Finn so close, his hand lingering at my elbow, every thought and sensation courses through me in a flood I can’t control.
“Tri…”
His voice is low—velvety, sultry—a dangerous melody that undoes me with a single note. The way he says my name makes my knees weak. I hold my breath, frozen, unwilling—or perhaps unable—to pull away.
He steps in closer, the heat of his body licking at the space between us. His breath skims along the curve of my neck, and a tremor steals through me, unbidden.
Then, with deliberate slowness, his fingers drift to the nape of my neck. The pad of each fingertip skates across my skin, delicate as a whisper—but it feels like lightning.
Each brush of his fingers feels like a vow, whispered not in words but in touch.
My skin hums beneath him, every nerve alight with awareness.
There’s a gravity in his nearness, a pull I can’t—and won’t—resist. The thrum deep in my belly isn’t just desire; it’s recognition.
Of him. Of this. Of something that feels inevitable.
Despite the hardened warrior Finn has become, there is nothing harsh in him now. His calloused hands move with aching gentleness, as though he’s trying to memorise the way I fit against him. He maps my body with reverent precision—like a man discovering sacred ground.
“You feel it too, aye?” Finn’s lips graze my ear, his voice a low, intimate growl. “That ache, that hunger—I feel it too, Triona, gods help me. I’ve never felt anythin’ stronger.”
Then his hand moves—steady, sure—rising to wrap around my neck. Not to control. To anchor. To claim. A silent vow spoken in flesh and heat.
A soft, unbidden whimper escapes my lips as I finally exhale the breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding. The sound is my answer, raw and unguarded, leaving no room for denial.
His hand at my neck tightens, the roughness of his calloused palm a stark contrast to the tenderness of his hold, anchoring me to the moment, to him, in a way that feels both dreamlike and achingly real.
“Aye,” he murmurs, his voice deeper now, rough with his own need. “I thought so.”
“This is no game to me, Little Doe,” Finn murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “You know that.”
My breath tangles in my throat, his words cutting through the defenses I’ve so carefully built.
“You see me, Triona. Ye’ve always seen me. And you know almost every part of me. And I knew from the moment you looked at me like I was worth seein’ that I’d never tire of you.”
My skin tingles under his palm, and despite my better judgment, I lean back slightly, letting my body move closer to his. The moment I do, he groans, the sound deep and guttural, his breath hot against my neck.
His other hand finds my hip, firm but not forceful, anchoring me in place. “I would not move again,” he warns, his tone devoid of playfulness as he groans into my neck. It feels hungry, almost desperate. A command wrapped in a plea.
“Finn…” I whisper, my voice trembling, caught between surrender and self-preservation.
“I dream about you. Whether I’m awake or asleep, ye’re there, hauntin’ every corner of my mind. You consume me, Triona, until there’s nothing left—only this yearning that refuses to fade. The weight of it is unbearable.”
“Thinkin’ I couldnae have you the way I wanted—it’s been torment. Pure and cruel.” His voice breaks slightly, each word a confession dragged from his very soul, before he exhales sharply .
“If we were sleepin’ outside under the stars,” he begins, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, “even with everyone around us, I watched yer chest rise and fall, lingerin’ on every breath you took, wonderin’ if you ever dream of me the way I dream of you. Wishing to the gods above that it was me.”
His voice grows steadier with each word.
“I pictured how it’d feel holding you in my arms, feelin’ yer bare skin against mine.
I thought about how ye’d look after I worshipped every inch of you…
kissin’, touchin’, tastin’… until you could take no more.
Pleasurin’ you for hours, until the stars themselves envied what we shared. ”
“From the moment I saw you standin’ on that cliff’s edge, the wind tanglin’ yer hair, as if it wanted to claim you for itself, I knew you had ruined me. No one else could ever compare.”
His words hit me like a wave, the weight of them sinking deep into my chest. My breath catches as I turn to search his face, looking for some sign of hesitation, of doubt—but there’s none. His golden eyes are steady, filled with an honesty that leaves me bare.
“I’ve tried to fight it,” he continues, pressing closer, his presence overwhelming. “Tried to convince myself that I could ignore what I felt. That I could go back to bein’ the man I was before. But I—.” He lifts a hand, his fingers trembling as they trace the curve of my cheek.
“Ye’ve claimed me, Little Doe, in a way no one else ever could.”
Without thinking, I move, brazenly placing my hands against his chest. His body tenses beneath my touch, his breath hitching sharply.