Chapter 19 #2
He carried me through the labyrinthine corridors with ease, turning down hallways I hadn’t explored before.
His bedroom, when we reached it, was a revelation—spacious and minimalist, dominated by an enormous bed with dark blue linens.
One wall was entirely glass, looking out into the darkened forest.
Rion set me down gently at the foot of the bed, his hands lingering at my waist. In the dim light, his eyes glowed with an almost primal intensity that sent a thrill through me.
“We can stop anytime,” he said, his voice strained with the effort of restraint.
I reached for the top button of his shirt. “I don’t want to stop.”
His breath hitched as I undid the first button, then the second.
I worked my way down, revealing more of his chest with each one.
The sight of him bare-chested stole my breath.
His torso was a landscape of muscle, covered in short dark fur that was thicker across his powerful chest and shoulders.
A faint scar ran diagonally across one pectoral, silver against the dark fur.
He was magnificent—part raw animal power, part elegant strength, all beautiful.
I traced the line of the scar with one finger. “What happened?”
“Long ago,” he said, his deep voice rough with desire. “Doesn’t matter.”
I looked up at him, at the vulnerable honesty in his eyes. “It matters to me.”
But rather than dwell on it, I leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against the scar, then another against his heart.
I felt the steady, powerful beat beneath my lips, the warmth of him against my cheek.
He shuddered, one hand coming to rest on my back, the contact sending another wave of desire through me.
My exploration continued downward, my fingers tracing the defined muscles of his abdomen, the hard ridges that spoke of incredible strength.
I’d never been particularly drawn to muscular men before, but this was different—this was the form of someone who built things, who moved with purpose and precision, who carried not just physical strength but the weight of centuries.
His breathing grew heavier as my touch became more intimate, the careful control he maintained beginning to fray at the edges. I could feel the tension coiled in his massive frame, the restraint he was exercising even now, with me in his arms.
“Your turn,” he growled, his large hands moving to the straps of my sundress.
I nodded, and he slid them carefully down over my shoulders. The dress pooled at my feet, leaving me in just my bra and underwear—the matching set that suddenly seemed like a very good decision.
His gaze traveled over me, appreciative and hungry. “You’re beautiful.”
The sincerity in his voice made me bold. I stepped closer, and his hands came up to cradle my head, gentle despite their size.
“Clara,” he whispered, tilting my face up to his. “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”
The vulnerability in his admission touched something deep within me. I rose on tiptoe to kiss him again, pouring everything I felt into it.
We tumbled onto the bed together, my smaller form enveloped by his larger one. His hands explored me with reverent care, as though I might break if he pressed too hard. I arched into his touch, wanting more.
“You won’t hurt me,” I assured him, guiding his hand to my breast.
“I’m always afraid I might,” he confessed, but his touch grew more confident, cupping my breast through my bra before reaching behind me to unfasten it.
When it fell away, he made a sound low in his throat that sent heat pooling between my legs. His mouth replaced his hand, tongue circling my nipple while his thumb brushed over the other one. I gasped, threading my fingers through the fur at his neck, holding him to me.
His jeans rubbed against my legs, the rough fabric a contrast to the softness of his fur. I reached between us, fumbling with his belt buckle.
“Let me,” he murmured, sitting back on his knees to unfasten it.
I watched, breathless, as he removed his jeans, leaving him in just boxer briefs that did little to conceal his arousal. I’d known he would be proportional to his size, but the reality was both intimidating and thrilling.
He noticed my expression and hesitated. “Is this too much?”
I shook my head, reaching for him. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”
Relief softened his features as he settled beside me again, his large hand spanning my ribcage. “So are you.”
His fingers skimmed down my stomach, making the muscles there jump in anticipation. When he reached the edge of my underwear, he paused, seeking confirmation. I nodded, lifting my hips to help as he slid them down my legs.
I lay bare before him, vulnerable yet unafraid. His gaze was reverent, almost worshipful as he looked at me.
“I never thought…” he began, then shook his head. “I never dared hope for this.”
My heart squeezed. I sat up to kiss him, my hands moving to the waistband of his boxers. “I want to see all of you too.”
He obliged, removing the last barrier between us. I couldn’t help but stare—he was impressive in every way, his arousal heavy and hard. Any apprehension I might have felt was outweighed by desire.
“We’ll go slow,” he promised, reading my thoughts.
“I trust you,” I told him, and I meant it with my whole heart.
He lowered me back to the bed, his body a protective canopy over mine. His mouth found my neck, my collarbone, my breasts, traveling downward with unhurried determination. When his lips reached my stomach, my breathing quickened.
“May I?” he asked, his breath warm against my inner thigh.
I nodded, not trusting my voice. His large hands gently parted my legs, and then his mouth was on me, intimate and insistent. I gasped, clutching at the sheets as pleasure coursed through me. His tongue moved with deliberate precision, finding the spots that made me arch and moan.
My release built quickly under his attentions, tension coiling tighter until it broke in a wave that left me trembling. He stayed with me through it, easing me down with gentle licks before moving back up my body.
“You’re magnificent,” he murmured against my neck.
I kissed him deeply, tasting myself on his lips. My hand slid between us, wrapping around his hardness. He groaned, hips bucking involuntarily.
“I want you,” I whispered. “Inside me.”
He reached over to the bedside table, retrieving a condom from the drawer. I took it from him, tearing the wrapper and rolling it on him with hands that shook slightly from anticipation.
Rion positioned himself between my legs, propping himself up on his forearms to keep his weight off me. The tip of him pressed against my entrance, hot and insistent.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, his voice strained with the effort of control.
I nodded, wrapping my legs around his waist. He pushed forward slowly, inch by careful inch.
There was pressure, a stretching fullness that bordered on discomfort before shifting into pleasure.
I breathed through it, focusing on his face above me—the intensity in his eyes, the furrow of concentration between his brows, the parted lips revealing the hint of sharp teeth.
When he was fully seated within me, we both stilled, adjusting to the sensation. He was trembling slightly with the effort of restraint.
“You feel incredible,” he said, his voice rough.
“So do you.” I rolled my hips experimentally, drawing a groan from both of us. “Move, Rion. Please.”
He began to thrust, slow and measured at first, watching my face for any sign of discomfort. But there was only pleasure, building with each stroke. I moved with him, finding our rhythm together.
His control began to slip as our pace increased, his thrusts growing more urgent. The sound of our breathing, punctuated by moans and whispered names, filled the room. His hand slipped between us, thumb circling where we were joined, and the added sensation pushed me towards a second peak.
“Rion,” I gasped, feeling it approaching. “I’m close.”
“Yes,” he growled, the sound primal and possessive. “Let go, Clara.”
I did, shattering around him with an intensity that stole my breath. He followed moments later, his powerful body tensing as he found his own release.
After, he held me close, my head resting on his chest where I could hear the steady thump of his heart. His large hand traced lazy patterns on my back, and I felt more content than I could remember feeling in years, maybe ever.
“I never thought I could have this,” he said quietly into the darkness.
I propped myself up on his chest to look at him. “Have what?”
His eyes, so often guarded, were open and vulnerable. “Someone who sees past what I am to who I am. Someone who wants me not in spite of my differences, but alongside them.”
I leaned down to kiss him softly. “You deserve to be wanted exactly as you are.”
He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch impossibly gentle for someone so strong. “So do you, Clara. So do you.”
We lay like that for a long time, talking in soft voices about everything and nothing—my childhood adventures in the library, his grandmother’s stories of the old world, our favorite books and films. In the safety of darkness, we shared the parts of ourselves we usually kept hidden.
Later, when we made love again, it was with the unhurried confidence of people who had all the time in the world. And as I finally drifted to sleep in his arms, I realized that for the first time in my life, I felt like I truly belonged somewhere.
Or rather, with someone.