Chapter Seventy-Six #2
“Ami,” he groaned. “Yes—”
She moved—hesitant at first, then bolder. Her brows drew tight, each motion a discovery. Every brush, every slide made her gasp anew.
The rhythm stuttered, then surged again, her thighs trembling with effort.
“I thought I could,” she panted, bracing against his chest.
“You did,” he growled, grabbing her hips and flipping them.
“Now you’ll take all of me,” he rasped, dragging her beneath him.
“Every damn piece until you can’t breathe without it.”
He drew her leg over his shoulder, holding there, letting her feel it—asking without words if she wanted this.
She smiled.
He took her mouth in a kiss that devoured, his hand locking her leg higher. His body shook with the fire barely held back.
“Last chance,” he rasped against her lips, voice raw. “Tell me now… or I’ll ruin you.”
Her laugh was a gasp. “Then ruin me.”
He buried himself in a single, brutal thrust, driving her breathless into the mattress.
She cried out, back arching, nails scoring fire down his shoulder.
“Viktor—yes—”
“You wanted all of me,” he ground out, voice breaking at the edges.
“Now—feel it.”
“Yes—” the word tore from her throat, sharp with need.
She bit down on his shoulder
“I want—” another cry broke loose, “all of it.”
His control shattered. He slammed into her, teeth clenched, every thrust a vow and surrender. She was fire and silk and storm beneath him, taking everything. All of him.
Her cries came sharper, higher—broken pieces of his name on her lips. He braced above her, devouring every sound, every shiver, every flutter.
The pace turned brutal, beautiful.
Skin on skin.
Sweat and water.
Her head fell back, mouth open in silent ecstasy.
“Right here,” he said, voice wrecked. “I want to see you… when I give you everything.”
“Give it… to me.”
Her words fractured.
“All of it.”
Her eyes didn’t waver. Not when he slowed to the edge. Not when he plunged again, deeper than before. She was watching him—claiming him with her gaze.
Her body clenched around him and she moaned.
“Viktor—Viktor—”
He buried his face in her neck, his release ripping through him with a roar. His body shook as he spilled into her, every ounce of himself surrendered, every shred of restraint burned away.
Take it. Take all of me. Only you.
And still she didn’t let go.
She shattered around him, crying his name, her fingers fisted in his hair like she could hold the moment—hold him—forever.
His chest heaved against hers. His forehead dropped beside her ear. His hand still gripped her thigh, twitching like his body hadn’t accepted it was over.
If I let go, I'll lose her. If I stop, I'll break.
“Viktor,” she whispered, stroking his hair, his temple, as if she could soothe the violence from his veins.
He shook harder.
She doesn't understand. She should never want me like this. Not wrecked. Not ruined.
But her lips brushed his cheek, his jaw, his mouth.
“I want all of you,” she breathed.
As though she’d seen the darkness and chosen to stay.
And he broke again—silently this time—clinging to her like she was the only thing keeping him alive.
He choked on air, his voice ragged.
“If you regret me, Amerei, I won’t survive it.”
She tilted his face until he had to look at her—until he could see the truth blazing in her eyes.
“I will never regret you, Viktor. Not now. Not ever.”
Something in him cracked wider than before. Not from pain, but from the unbearable relief of believing her. He kissed her slow, shaking, nothing left of the wildness but the raw edges of devotion.
They lay tangled, wet and marked, her hair plastered to his chest, her gown twisted between them. He let out a low, shaky laugh.
“We’re a mess.”
“You’ll have bruises,” she said, touching his skin. “I left marks.”
“Strategic marks. My uniform will hide them.”
Her fingers traced his tattoo, gentle where moments ago they’d been fierce.
“Let’s go back to the bath,” she whispered. “Together.”
She kissed his brow.
“Let me care for what I’ve claimed.”
He lifted his head, searching her face.
“You want to bathe me, love?”
He almost laughed, the sound hoarse, stunned.
“I want to love you,” she said, her hand finding the bite she’d left on his shoulder.
His chest rose and fell, something sacred anchoring him to her gaze.
This time, he didn't look away.
Rising slowly, she reached for her gown, letting it slide down her arms and pool at her waist, then hips, then floor. With quiet grace, she crossed the room. Without a word, he followed.
At the edge of the marble tub, she knelt and turned the brass valves. Pipes groaned, water rushing in—a soft roar as steam unfurled like breath on a winter’s morning.
Viktor lit a taper with a touch of his fingers, then another. Golden light flickered across her damp skin as she pinned her hair, steam curling upward, sweet with moonblossom.
He lingered close, still half dressed, his leathers clinging to his hips. He watched her test the water with her wrist, her fingers stirring ripples. She closed her eyes, listening to the rise and spill.
Then she looked back.
Let me love you.
She’d said it before. But tonight, she wanted all of him.
He met her gaze.
And slowly, he obeyed the one thing she’d once begged of him.
He set down his armor.
First his hair—unbound, falling loose.
Then his leathers.
Then everything else.
The room hushed but for the water and the rise of steam.
He stood bare before her, every inch revealed in firelight and heat. Her eyes lingered over his chest, the healed burns, the ink beneath his heart.
She didn’t look away.
She stayed.
Her hand skimmed the water’s surface, ripples breaking the quiet. The tub brimmed, heat lapping at the marble edges.
“Come,” she whispered.
And he did.
She stepped in first, sighing as warmth rose around her skin.
He followed, heat curling up his legs.
“Dask, that’s warm,” he muttered.
She laughed—soft, hushed—as the water sloshed between them. She gathered him to her chest, her arms cradling his shoulders, her mouth brushing the crown of his hair as she untied the last of his braids.
“I thought I’d lost you today,” he whispered against her chest. “When he led you down that hall.”
“I felt it,” she breathed. “I know.”
His brow pressed to her collarbone.
“You didn’t just look like a queen today,” he said. “You looked like his queen. You spoke—dask, love—like someone who should command the realm. Like someone I could never reach. And for a moment… I wondered what right I had to keep you. To stop you from becoming who you’re meant to be.”
She was quiet.
Candlelight flickered across the water.
Her hand moved again—slow, deliberate—drawing the cloth over his shoulders. Each motion was penance. A promise.
Finally, she spoke.
“High-Captain,” she said softly. “You’re not powerful enough to stop me. Yet I am here. With you. And not in Amethyst.”
Her fingers curled at his nape.
“I am yours,” she whispered, pressing her lips to his brow. “And always will be. Even if the realm forgets my name.”
“I cannot ask that of you—”
“I am Casqadia’s queen,” she said, holding him to her heart. Her voice was soft, fierce, sovereign. “Who gave you the right to ask?”
He had no answer. Not for a queen who had already chosen.
In silence, she soaked his hair, cleansing it with oils. Her fingers moved through his scalp, each touch a benediction. When she finished, he reached for her, unpinning her long locks until they fell heavy and damp down her back.
They laughed when he fumbled with the lather, but she never stopped him. Never hurried him.
He asked her to turn, to lay against him, so he could run the cloth along her back. And though his body ached for hers, and though she pressed into him, they held each other through the quiet—bathing one another in the kind of silence born only of love’s knowing.
When at last they rose, the candle burned low.
They dressed each other in silence.
And when they curled into the quiet warmth of bed, only the whispered words:
“I love you.”