Chapter 11 Precious Things
Precious Things
Fee:
Anton does what Anton always does: he shifts the entire axis of my world. His presence fills every corner of the room, and the heat radiating from his body should comfort me.
Instead, it burns. Because I can practically feel his fury beaming through that perfect control of his, and it's all directed at my news.
His voice sharpens instantly. "What?"
"I'm going with my sister to Providence. I talked to Cillian. He said everything was cleared. You personally cleared it with my father and my uncle."
I turn my body from his, but Anton's arm stays around my waist. His body is a wall of heat at my back, steady, immovable.
I feel it, a tiny shift in the muscle beneath his shirt, a heartbeat of tension. He's furious, holding it in by sheer force of will.
"Did Cillian call you?" The question sounds casual. It's not.
"No, I called him. I called Moira first, then Cillian, to ask about the situation and how he was doing."
His chest rises against my back. "How he was doing?" Each word is precise.
"Yes. He took a bullet protecting me. I care about people who risk their lives for me."
His next words hit the air like a blade. Clean. Final. "That changes now."
I twist in his hold until I'm facing him. "What changes?"
"You don't call other men anymore, Solnishko."
My mouth falls open. "Since when?"
The gray of his eyes has gone storm-dark, but his voice stays that dangerous kind of gentle. "Since you became mine."
Heat flashes through me, part indignation, part something else that makes my pulse stumble. "Anton, I've talked to my guards my entire life."
His jaw flexes, but instead of doubling down, he lowers his head a little so his forehead almost touches mine, voice dropping into a quiet rumble. "Fee, I'm not casually dating you. I don't do casual."
I blink up at him. "But we haven't actually dated. We've never been on a proper date."
Something flickers across his face—surprise, maybe. For a heartbeat, there's silence.
"Then let me fix that," he murmurs. "Properly."
"You need to trust me, Anton," I whisper. "If you don't, this won't work."
His thumb slowly brushes my cheek. His eyes don't lose that storm-dark color, but his mouth softens just enough to make my stomach flip.
"I do trust you, Fee," he says at last, voice low and steady. "It's everyone else I don't trust. You're strong, intelligent, smart. There's so much good in you that it would attract the devil himself. And the devil doesn't come wearing horns; he comes dressed as an angel of light."
He shifts, guiding me with his firm grip around my waist. His steady pressure moves me until my back meets the wall just beside the dining table.
One arm braces against the wall above my head, caging me in, while his other hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing across my lips before sliding lower.
His fingers trace the line of my jaw, down the curve of my throat, and continue their slow path along my arm in a touch that's more possession than caress.
The plaster at my back is cool, but it's nothing against the heat rolling off him, nothing against the way he bends the air around us until I can't think of anyone but him.
His body doesn't trap me. It claims me.
"You want to know what scares me most?" His thumb traces my lower lip, and I can't help the tiny shiver that runs through me.
I wait, barely breathing.
"It's how much I need you." The confession rumbles out of him like he's fighting every word. "How completely you've taken over every thought in my head. How I'd burn the world down to keep you safe."
My heart pounds so hard I'm sure he can hear it.
"Six months I watched you, Fee." His forehead touches mine now, sharing breath, sharing space. "But every time you smiled, every time you laughed, every time you did something brilliant, which was constantly, you carved yourself deeper into me."
His hand slides from my cheek to my throat, fingers splaying against my pulse point. Not threatening, just claiming.
"You think I'm worried about Cillian? About your guards?" His voice drops to that dangerous whisper that makes my knees weak. "I'm worried about every man who sees what I see when I look at you."
"And what do you see?"
"Everything." The word comes out broken, honest. "Intelligence that could rule empires.
Beauty that could start wars. Strength that could survive anything.
" His thumb strokes across my throat. "And innocence that makes me want to be a better man while simultaneously making me want to corrupt you completely. "
Heat floods my cheeks, but I don't look away. "Maybe I want to be corrupted."
Something dark and hungry flashes in his eyes. His grip on my throat tightens just slightly, enough to make my pulse skip.
"Careful, Solnishko." His lips brush my ear, sending shivers down my spine. "I'm still learning how to be gentle with precious things."
Precious. The word shouldn't undo me, but it does. Part of me wants to believe he means it, that he's really here, with me, not halfway gone somewhere I can't reach. I tell myself not to fall any deeper, that I can't survive a man who still belongs more to his past than to me.
But then his mouth finds mine, hard, hungry, and every rational thought drowns beneath the taste of him. Maybe I'm bracing for the inevitable. Maybe I'm choosing the fall anyway.
He breaks the kiss just when I want more of him. His hand slides down my arm, thumb tracing my lip until my head spins. Then he turns, guiding me toward the table.
The roses are still there, white and perfect, but he doesn't spare them a glance. He takes the vase and sets it down out of sight. The sound of crystal against the floor is soft but absolute.
When his attention returns, it's all me. His grip tightens at my waist as he lifts me onto the table, placing me exactly where the roses once ruled.
His gaze pins me. His mouth hovers an inch from mine. "Katya had her place. But this is yours, Solnishko."
The words hit deeper than any kiss. My hands find his shoulders, fingers digging into the solid muscle beneath his jacket.
"You're mine now. And I worship what's mine."
His fingers find the bottom hem of my blouse, soft lavender silk that suddenly feels like armor I need to shed. The fabric whispers against my skin as he lifts it slowly, reverently.
Cool air kisses my shoulders, my stomach, but his eyes burn hotter than flame as they trace every inch he reveals. The blouse drops somewhere behind him, forgotten.
"Beautiful." The word rumbles from deep in his chest. His palms skim my ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts through the fine lace of my bra. "So fucking beautiful."
I arch into his touch, craving more contact, more everything. But Anton's hands are patient, methodical, mapping every curve.
His mouth finds the hollow of my throat, lips pressing soft kisses that make my pulse flutter wildly. He trails lower, across my collarbone, down to the swell of my breast just above the lace edge.
"I've imagined this all day," he murmurs against my skin, breath hot and humid. "I've imagined having you here like this."
His confession causes heat to seep low in my stomach. My fingers grab his hair, dark strands sliding like silk between my fingers. "What else did you imagine?"
A soft growl vibrates against my chest before he looks up, gray eyes molten with want. "Everything, Fee. I imagined everything."
His hands span my waist, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin just below my ribs. Each touch sends electricity racing through my veins, making my breath come in short gasps.
The dining table's surface is cool against my back as Anton lays me down with the same care he'd use handling priceless art.
"You're still sore," he murmurs, fingers trailing down to rest at the waistband of my jeans. It's not a question.
I nod. The tenderness between my thighs is a constant reminder of how much I want him.
"Then I'll be careful." His voice drops to a thick whisper that makes my stomach drop. "But I'm not done worshipping you, Solnishko."
His hands work the button of my jeans, the zipper sliding down with a soft hiss. He peels the denim away slowly, his palms skimming my legs, leaving trails of fire in their wake.
The cool air strokes my skin, but his gaze burns hotter than any flame. He stands between my parted thighs, hands resting on my knees, drinking in the sight of me spread before him.
"Perfect," he breathes, voice rough with desire. "Absolutely perfect."
His thumbs trace small circles on the inside of my knees, gradually moving higher.
"Do you know what you do to me?" His hands slide up my thighs, fingers dancing along the edge of my lace panties. "How hard it is to think about anything but this? About you?"
I can't form words. My entire world has narrowed to his touch, his voice, the heat radiating from his body.
His fingers hook into the lace at my hips, drawing the fabric down my legs with agonizing slowness. The panties join my jeans somewhere on the floor.
"And this." His hands move to my back, fingertips tracing the clasp of my bra. The lace falls away, and his sharp intake of breath makes pride bloom in my chest.
"You're exquisite." His palms cup my breasts, thumbs brushing across the sensitive peaks.
His mouth follows his hands, lips pressing soft kisses across my collarbone before trailing lower. When he reaches the swell of my breast, his tongue darts out to taste my skin, and I arch beneath him with a soft gasp.
"I love that sound," he murmurs against my flesh.
His mouth closes over my nipple, tongue working the sensitive bud until I'm trembling beneath him.
"Anton," I breathe, fingers massaging the back of his skull.
"I know, baby." His voice is muffled against my breast. "I'll take care of you."
His hand slides between my thighs, thumb finding that sensitive bundle of nerves with unerring precision. The first touch makes me cry out, back bowing off the table.
"So wet for me," he whispers, thumb moving in slow, purposive circles. "So perfect."
His mouth continues its assault on my breasts, switching between gentle kisses and firm suction that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. Every sensation builds on the last, creating a symphony of pleasure that threatens to overwhelm me.
"You taste like heaven," he murmurs between kisses.
His thumb increases its pressure, circles becoming tighter, more focused. The coil of tension in my stomach winds impossibly tight.
"I'll make you cum with my hands and my mouth until you beg for more."
The promise in his voice, combined with the skilled movement of his thumb and the heat of his mouth on my breast, sends me spiraling over the edge. I shatter beneath him, his name falling from my lips.
He doesn't stop, drawing out every last tremor until I'm boneless and gasping. Only then does he lift his head, gray eyes dark with satisfaction as he watches me come apart.
"You're mine. Mine in this world, and in every one that comes after."
My hands fist in his shirt, and I can't tell if I'm breathing him in or drowning in him. Maybe both.
His hand lingers on my thigh, steady even as my body still trembles. His gaze pins me, storm-dark and unyielding.
"I've touched you like glass, Solnishko.
Careful. Breakable. Next time, I will touch you like fire, and you will burn with me.
This was restraint." His thumb brushes my lower lip, a slow, deliberate tease that unravels me.
"Soon I will give you everything I have been holding back, and you will beg me for it. "