Chapter 53 Azalea
Azalea
“Azalea,” Braxton murmurs against my lips, and Sky’s Divine, I could listen to him say my name like that for centuries to come. His tone is a mixture of a warning, a plea, and a prayer.
I fist my hands into his shirt, and with his arm secured around my waist, he pulls me into his study before shutting the door behind him.
Silence and darkness swallow us once the door is closed. Only the flickering flames from the fireplace and a few candlelit sconces illuminate the room, causing orange and golden hues to dance across our skin.
It feels perfectly intimate as Braxton ushers me over to the armchair.
Gripping the backs of my legs, he smoothly pulls me with him as he settles himself onto the chair with me straddling his lap.
At first, I’m hovering slightly above him, but once I adjust the skirts of my dress, I’m able to fully seat myself on top of him.
I gasp softly when I feel his hard length press firmly into me, only his trousers and a small scrap of fabric acting as a barrier between the two of us.
Not being able to stop myself, I grind my hips against his and let out a breathless moan as dizzying sensations rock through my body.
“Azalea.”
I can hear how close his thread of control is to snapping as he says my name again, and warmth pools in my core. I desperately want to see what happens when he loses his control with me.
I’m not a fool. I know if I don’t stop this from happening, there will be no turning back.
There will be no excuses of rage or hatred fueling my emotions.
There will be no way to spin this into something sinister.
I know I should feel like an awful person for wanting to feel Braxton inside of me again, but I simply can’t.
My body won’t let me feel that guilt. All I feel is my want for Braxton.
Not to punish him. Not to use him. Not to have him be a means to an end.
I just want him. I don’t know what magic he cast to garner this grip on my heart, but I’m certain that the only thing I don’t want is for him to let me go.
“Braxton.” I pull back so that I can look into his eyes. “I know this isn’t the same as before.” Opening myself up to be this vulnerable proves harder than I anticipated. “This isn’t the same as the library,” I clarify.
My eyes flick between his, passion pooling in his dark irises as he studies my amber ones.
“I want this.”
His nostrils flare as he takes me in. I slip the sleeves of my dress down my shoulders, letting the cotton material fall until I’m exposing the top of my breasts to him.
“I won’t regret this in the morning, or the next day, or for months to come. I won’t regret sharing these pieces of ourselves with each other. I want you, Braxton. Only you.”
Whatever semblance of self-control Braxton had been holding onto snaps the moment I say those words.
His lips latch onto mine before traveling along my jaw, down my neck, across my collarbone, and finally to my bare breast. My head drops back as he greedily nibbles and sucks at my sensitive skin, taking my nipple into his mouth.
One of my hands travels up his torso to lace itself in his thick, unruly locks.
With what appears to be great effort, Braxton pulls back. Looking up at me, he drops his hands from my waist before asking, “You’re sure?”
There are so many raging emotions in his eyes, I’m unable to discern which one he’s directing at me.
Longing?
Desire?
Uncertainty?
My lips part and my tongue slides along them as I give Braxton one final nod, shutting out all the thoughts in my brain. I don’t want to think anymore. For the first time in I don’t even know how long, I’m not angry. I’m not filled with a blinding hatred, and I want to bask in these emotions.
My hands drop to his belt, working to unclasp the buckle. Once undone, I make quick work of releasing the button at the top of his sleek pants, and following my lead, he smoothly lifts me before setting me down beside him.
Before I can open my mouth to protest, he stands and pushes his pants and underwear to the ground, allowing his cock to spring free from its confinement.
His shirt soon follows, leaving him standing before me completely naked, all except for the bandage wrapped around his side covering his stab wound.
The wound that is no doubt going to leave him with a scar that will act as a permanent reminder of what he was willing to sacrifice for me.
My mouth goes dry as my eyes rake over his gorgeous body, drinking in the swirls of black ink lining his shoulder and around his neck.
The sudden urge to take him in my mouth, to feel the power of making him shake and come undone by my lips, takes over me.
He watches me with eye-darkening hunger as I swivel my body so that I’m kneeling before him on the couch.
“Tell me what you want?”
I hesitate. This isn’t the same as when he demanded I answer this question in the library. He isn’t trying to break my pride or get me to beg. He’s trying to understand my boundaries.
“I want to feel powerful.”
He hums his approval as he steps toward me. “What else?” he prompts. My skin tingles from the heat of his gaze raking over my body.
“I want you to worship me.”
He drops to his knees in front of me, and I feel my entire body thrum with anticipation.
“I do. Every single day that I’m in your presence.” His words hold a weighty truth that has my thighs growing slick with approval.
“Show me.”