Desire
Ryan
The world falls away the moment her lips meet mine.
It’s not a soft kiss. No, this is raw, desperate—a kiss that’s been a lifetime in the making. A kiss that could definitely not compare to our first. Her mouth presses against mine with a hunger that mirrors my own. Her breath is shaky, but she doesn’t pull back. I can feel the way she’s trembling, the wild beat of her heart matching mine. I want to devour her, to pull her deeper into this moment, into the storm that’s been brewing for years.
Her fingers slide across my chest, tentative at first, as if testing the waters, before she’s tugging at the hem of my shirt, pulling me closer. I can feel the heat of her, the way her body calls to mine, and it drives me to madness. But I hold back. I have to. I gently pull back, my voice shaking with urgency. “Keep your eyes closed, Little Bird. Please,” I beg, the desperation clear in my tone.
The mask I wear keeps me hidden, keeps her from seeing the man behind the shadows but I have pulled it down so I can take her lips into mine.
I can’t show her my face—not yet.
But that doesn’t stop my hands from roaming across her back, pulling her against me to kiss her again. She melts into me, her body pressing into mine with a fire that threatens to consume everything in its path. Her fingers tangle in my hair, tugging me closer, and I lose myself in the sensation of her. She’s all I’ve ever wanted, and now, she’s here with me, her lips parting as she gasps against my mouth .
I don’t give her time to think. My hands find the small of her back, and in one swift motion, I lift her into my arms. She gasps, her hands instinctively wrapping around my neck, but she doesn’t pull away. She holds on, trusting me completely, as I carry her toward the bedroom.
The weight of her in my arms sends a jolt of heat through me, every inch of her body pressed against mine. The intensity of the moment, of everything that’s led to this point, threatens to consume us both. I feel her pulse, fast and frantic, matching the rhythm of my own as I move us into the room. The soft glow of the afternoon sun filters through the windows, casting a warm, golden light across the space.
I lift my head from her lips as I gently place her on the bed, my forehead resting against hers as I look down at her. She’s breathless, her eyes closed, her body rising and falling with each desperate breath. She doesn’t need to look at me. She doesn’t need to see the man I’ve hidden for so long. Her touch tells me everything I need to know—she wants me. She trusts me. She knows me.
“Nightshade…” She whispers my name, her breath ragged as her hands are everywhere, running along the lines of my body as though she’s trying to map out the places she’s yet to touch. Her fingertips brush under my hoodie and shirt, against the hard planes of my chest, and I can’t stop the groan that escapes me. She’s like fire, burning through every wall I’ve built around myself.
“Are you sure?” I rasp, my voice low, rough, my mind battling the desire to tell her to open her eyes, to let her see who I really am.
“Yes,” her lips curve into a smile that tightens something deep inside me, a bittersweet ache that I can’t shake. “I trust you,” she whispers, her voice soft, but it hits me like a wave, soothing a wound I’ve kept buried for so long it almost hurts to let it breathe. “I want to see you, Nightshade. Please, let me see you.”
Her words pierce through me, raw and real, but I can’t. I won’t let her see my face. Not yet. Not until she’s ready to face everything that comes with it.
“I can’t do that, Little Bird,” I rasp, my voice strained with the weight of it. “You said you trust me. So now I’m trusting you—to keep your eyes closed. Or,” I add with a hint of playful challenge, my heart pounding in my chest, “if you want to make this more interesting, I do happen to have a blindfold in my pocket.”
I feel her hesitate as she tilts her head, caught between desire and doubt. After a long, lingering moment, she speaks, her voice steady but with an undertone of vulnerability that only tightens the grip on my heart.
“Put it on,” she says, a quiet resolve in her words. “I’m afraid if I don’t, I’ll get carried away and open them. If you don’t want me to see, I understand. I trust you. I trust this … whatever this is.”
Her trust in me, so unwavering, stirs something inside me I can barely control. The weight of her words, the depth of what she’s offering me, is almost too much to bear. But I take a deep breath and reach into my pocket, feeling the cool fabric of the blindfold.
The tension in the air thickens as I slowly, carefully, place it over her head and down over her eyes. And as I do, I know without a doubt that this moment, this connection, is everything I’ve ever wanted.
And just like that, I can’t hold back any longer.
I claim her lips again, this time with a hunger that leaves us both breathless. I’m desperate for her, every touch and every kiss unraveling the control I’ve fought to maintain for so long. Her hands are everywhere, pulling at my clothes, as if she wants me closer, as if she’s already claimed me.
My hands slide under the hem of her shirt, feeling the warmth of her skin, the softness of her body that has haunted my dreams for years. She arches against me, urging me on, and I can’t stop myself. I pull her closer, feeling her heart race against mine, matching the rhythm of my pulse .
I trace the curve of her neck with my lips, leaving soft, heated kisses as my hands roam lower, feeling the heat of her skin beneath the fabric. Her faint moans urge me on, pushing me to the brink of losing control. But I force myself to slow down, wanting to savor every second with her. “Little Bird,” I whisper, using the nickname that has always been reserved for her.
But I can’t take it slow anymore. I need her—now, in this moment, like this—more than anything. The weight of the years we’ve spent apart, of the years I’ve spent hiding from her, staying in the background, has all come crashing down.
Her hands slide to the front of my pants, pulling at the fastenings with trembling fingers. The sight of her, so eager, so willing, makes me ache.
But even as she works on freeing me from my clothing, I hold back, afraid that I might hurt her in my desperation.
She pulls me back to her, kissing me with a fervor that leaves me breathless. And in that moment, everything that’s ever mattered, everything I’ve fought for, is here. Right now. With her.
Her lips part as she exhales my name. “Nightshade, I want this.”
I let my voice drop low, edged with something deeper—hesitation, doubt. “Are you sure, Little Bird? After everything you’ve been through? After everything that’s been taken from you… you still want this? You still want me?”
She nods, breathless, her hands tightening around me like I’m the only thing keeping her grounded. “I’m sure.”
I reach for the hem of her shirt, my fingers trembling slightly as I lift it over her head. The moment her body is revealed to me, I pause—taking her in, soaking in the sight of her. This body, this woman, is everything I’ve longed for since I was just an 18-year-old boy, aching for her in silence. I knew then that it wasn’t right, that I had to wait. But now—now, she’s finally mine to claim.
My breath hitches in my chest as I lower my lips to her neck, kissing her with a tenderness that betrays the storm raging inside me. Slowly, I trace my way down, each kiss a silent confession of everything I’ve held back. She arches beneath me, her breath catching as my lips trail to her belly button, and I feel the shudder run through her body.
“Nightshade, please,” she whispers, her voice raw with need, and it sends a rush of heat through me.
“What are you begging for, Little Bird?” I taunt, my voice low, testing the waters, hoping—praying—that she’ll say the words that will push me over the edge.
She hesitates, and then her voice is soft, uncertain, but honest. “I don’t really know, if I’m being honest.”
The admission shakes me. Good girl.
“Good girl,” I murmur, my lips brushing against her skin. “For not lying to me. Remember what I said—”
“Don’t,” she says, her voice almost pleading, and I feel the sudden shift in her, the way she tenses beneath me, like she’s about to pull away. She reaches for the blindfold, but before she can move, I’m back on top of her, straddling her thighs to keep her still. I press my hands gently over hers, holding them to the bed.
“Little Bird,” I whisper, my voice suddenly serious, “what else did he do to you?”
Her body stiffens beneath mine, her breath coming in shallow, jagged gasps. “I can’t, Nightshade. Don’t make me do this now. Please, don’t ruin the moment.”
The desperation in her voice, the way she’s trying to keep her distance from the truth, makes my heart ache. But I need to know.
“I need to know so I don’t hurt you,” I say, the words scraping from my throat, heavy with the weight of my fears.
“You won’t,” she promises, her voice trembling, and she tilts her head up, searching for my lips. It’s a small movement, but it’s enough.
I crash my mouth to hers, all the tension between us unraveling in the heat of the kiss. My hands tangle in her hair, pulling her closer, needing to feel her—needing to lose myself in her. Her hands find their way back up my shirt, her touch soft but determined, searching, wanting more.
“Please,” she whispers against my lips, “take this off. There’s too much happening here.”
I chuckle, the sound dark and needy, and pull off my hoodie, followed by my shirt, casting both aside in a frantic rush. The air feels cooler against my skin, but the heat between us is unbearable. I lean down to kiss her again, this time deeper, more urgent—like I can’t get enough of her.
“By the end of the night, you’ll be mine, Little Bird,” I murmur against her lips, my voice low and possessive. “Do you understand that? Not anyone else’s… but mine.”
Her head tilts slightly as if sensing my presence, her lips parting with a breathless challenge. “Then stop talking and show me.”
The words hit me like a thunderclap, and a growl escapes from deep within my chest. She can’t see me, the blindfold keeping her in darkness, but I can see her—laid out before me, waiting, trusting. I push her back onto the bed, pinning her hands above her head, as my lips trail down her body—kissing, tasting, worshiping every inch of her.