Chapter 23 #2
He set me down gently at the foot of his massive bed, the moonlight streaming through the wall of windows illuminating the room. His eyes never left mine as he reached for the hem of my shirt, lifting it over my head with a slow deliberation that made me shiver with anticipation.
“You know,” I said as he unfastened my bra, “for someone so worried about public appearances, you’re surprisingly confident in private.”
His hands stilled at my waist. “Is that surprising?”
“A little,” I admitted. “You’re so… careful. So restrained. Then we get here, and…” I gestured vaguely between us.
A slow smile spread across his face. “Clara, I’ve spent fifteen years learning to hold back.
To measure every movement, to constantly monitor my strength.
In private…” He trailed off, leaning down to press a kiss to my collarbone.
“I don’t have to hold back. I can be myself.
And right now, myself wants to show you exactly how much I love you. ”
The last words were whispered against my skin, sending another wave of heat through me.
He stripped off his clothes, then sat down on the end of the bed, pulling me closer so he could close his mouth around an already stiff peak.
I tangled my fingers into the fur of his scalp, arching against him as my body responded to the stimulation.
When he switched to the other side, I took the opportunity to run my hands over the impressive breadth of his shoulders, down the defined muscles of his back. He was so solid, so real under my touch—a living contradiction of power and gentleness that never failed to amaze me.
“Bed,” I managed to gasp when he began kissing a path down my stomach. “Please.”
He obliged, pulling me onto the mattress and positioning himself over me without breaking contact. The room was dark except for the moonlight, which cast him in silver and shadow, highlighting the magnificent curve of his horns and the powerful lines of his body.
“I love watching you,” he murmured, one large hand tracing the curve of my hip. “The way your face changes when I touch you. The sounds you make.”
I blushed, which was ridiculous given our current level of intimacy, but his open appreciation still made me feel exposed in the most wonderful way.
“Only fair,” I replied, reaching up to trace the base of one of his horns. “I love watching you too. The way you let go when you’re with me.”
His breath hitched as my fingers found that sensitive spot at the base of his horn. He leaned into my touch like a cat seeking scratches, a low rumble building in his chest.
“You destroy me, Clara,” he said, the admission raw and vulnerable. “All those years of control, and you… you just walk in and…”
I guided him down for a kiss, silencing him with lips and tongue. Words were nice—wonderful, even—but right now, I needed to show him how I felt, to communicate without the limitations of language.
He settled between my legs, the heat of him pressing against me, intoxicating. I arched against him, wordlessly asking for more, and he answered with a slow, deliberate thrust that sent pleasure spiraling through me.
“Rion,” I gasped as he filled me completely, stretching me in that exquisite way that was almost too much and not nearly enough all at once.
He stilled, giving me a moment to adjust, his dark eyes locked on mine. The moonlight caught in them, turning them from warm brown to something almost silver. He looked wild and magnificent, the ancient predator made modern, yet his touch remained gentle, reverent.
“You feel…” he began, then shook his head as if words failed him.
“I know,” I whispered, lifting my hips to encourage him to move. “Me too.”
He began to move then, slow and measured at first, watching my face as if memorizing my reactions.
His careful control, the restraint he always maintained, was still there—but now it was focused on bringing me pleasure rather than holding himself back.
One of his large hands slid down my body, thumb finding the sensitive bundle of nerves where we were joined.
I cried out at the contact, my back arching off the bed. The dual sensations—his steady thrusts and the expert circles of his thumb—were almost overwhelming. I clutched at his shoulders, my fingers tangling in the soft fur there, anchoring myself to him as waves of pleasure built within me.
“Let go, Clara,” he murmured, his deep voice vibrating through me. “I want to watch you.”
His command, combined with another deliberate thrust that hit just right, sent me over the edge.
I shattered around him, waves of pleasure so intense they stole my breath and my thoughts, leaving me completely immersed in sensation.
Through the haze of my release, I felt him find his own peak, a deep groan rumbling from his chest as he buried his face in my neck.
We lay tangled together in the aftermath, our breathing slowly returning to normal.
We would still have to face the challenges of our relationship—the public scrutiny, Mrs. Wilson’s well-meaning but frustrating intervention, the deeper prejudices lurking in our community—but tonight was just for us.