Chapter 30 Nerina #3
“So I’ll say the only thing I can.” His voice was hoarse, urgent.
“For centuries, I’ve been nothing but teeth and hunger, a shadow bound to the sea, to this ship.
And then you—” He looked away. “You laugh, and it cuts through the dark. You fight me, and I remember what it feels like to want more than survival. You make me feel alive in a way I thought was gone forever. And if I lose that—lose you—”
He shook his head, the thought appeared to hurt. “You undo me. Every glance, every word—you make it impossible to think of anything else. I don’t care what it costs, what it takes—I’d crawl through the depths, bleed the whole damn sea dry, if it meant I’d still have you at the end of it.”
The crescent mark burned—not with pain, but with awareness. A slow, steady pressure beneath my skin, like it was listening.
“I wasn’t thinking about the Eye,” I said, my voice low but certain. “Not about Morgra, or Vesper, or what it might cost me. I was thinking about you. Saving you. From the position I put you in,” The admission felt like stepping into open water, no ground beneath me.
His eyes caught mine, and for a moment, the tension cracked. What showed beneath was raw and unsteady, like something fragile trying not to break.
“I’d do it again,” I added, the words barely more than a whisper.
The space between us closed until all I could feel was the heat radiating off him. And Stars help me, I wanted to close that last sliver of distance. I wanted to touch him, taste him, anchor him to me.
“You make it very hard to hate you,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, each word like a confession torn from him. His eyes burned—not with possession, but with the desperate, aching need of a man who had been dead for centuries and had only just started to feel alive again.
My pulse hammered. I tilted my chin up, refusing to look away. "Guess I’ll have to try harder."
The corner of his mouth curved—dangerous, humorless. “Don’t.”
“What?” I asked, tilting my head, letting the challenge drip from my voice.
His eyes flicked over my face like he was memorizing it against his will. “Don’t make me forget why I should keep my distance.”
“You’re doing a terrible job of that,” I said, smiling just enough to be a provocation.
Something dark and dangerous flashed across his expression. “That’s because you—” He stopped, teeth grinding. “You linger where I cannot afford you to.”
His hand rose, hesitating just long enough to make my pulse stumble, then slid a stray strand of hair from my face. The calluses on his fingertips rasped against my skin, slow, deliberate, like he wanted to feel every inch.
We didn’t move.
His forehead lowered to mine, his lips hovering just shy of my own. “Say something,” he whispered, his voice both demand and plea. “Tell me this is madness. Tell me you don’t feel the same.”
I didn’t. Instead, I closed the last inch between us, letting my lips graze his—soft, hesitant, charged enough to weaken my knees.
His hands found my waist, fingers digging in just enough to leave me reeling. Mine pressed to the solid planes of his chest, feeling the heavy, steady thrum of his heart beneath my palm.
His mouth moved over mine like a man starved. I matched him, fingers twisting into the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. He tasted like salt and iron, like the sea at midnight. I felt the fine tremor in his arms, centuries of restraint dissolving under my touch.
He walked me backward until the hard edge of the desk met my spine, the cold, unyielding wood a stark contrast to the heat flooding my body. He broke the kiss, the warmth of him lingering against my lips, his forehead resting against mine, eyes closed.
“You drive me mad,” he rasped.
“Good,” I smiled, a little unsteady.
His mouth dragged down my throat, teeth grazing skin—dangerous, inhuman, intoxicating.
A low sound rumbled in his chest as his hands slid from my face, down my neck and shoulders, finding the buttons of my tunic.
He didn’t fumble. He pulled. The buttons gave way with soft, decisive snaps.
Cool cabin air washed over my skin as the fabric parted, raising goosebumps.
His eyes followed his hands, dark and full of intent.
He pushed the tunic from my shoulders and let it fall, his calloused palms smoothing over my collarbones, down my arms. The touch was reverent, his hunger a palpable force in the room.
He bent his head, mouth finding the hollow of my throat.
The shock was sudden and sweet, drawing a gasp from me as I arched against him.
“Alaric…”
He answered without words. His hands went to my waist, lifting me easily onto the edge of the desk. The wood was hard beneath me. He stepped between my legs, his body fitting against mine, and the feel of him—hard and thick through the thin barrier of my trousers—made my head spin.
His mouth returned to mine, swallowing my moan. One hand splayed against my lower back, holding me to him, while the other worked at my fastenings. When his fingers slipped inside, sensation crashed through me and I jerked against his hand.
He broke the kiss, eyes locking with mine. “Look at me,” he commanded, his voice gravelly.
I met his eyes as he pushed my trousers and underthings down my hips, baring me to the warm, flickering light. The air prickled against my exposed skin. His attention lingered on every inch of me, a silent caress that left heat in its wake. Then he knelt, hands on my thighs, spreading them wider.
The first touch of his mouth was a lightning strike.
I cried out, fingers tangling in his hair.
He didn’t tease. He devoured. His tongue was relentless—hot, wet, focused—circling, pressing, learning the rhythm that made my thighs shake and my back bow.
The desk creaked beneath me. The ship groaned around us.
His hands held me open, thumbs pressing into the soft skin of my inner thighs.
Pleasure coiled tight and blazing in my core. It was too much. I tried to pull away, but he held me firm, his mouth working a magic I’d never known. My hips moved on their own, rocking against his face, seeking more. Broken sounds spilled from me—pleas, his name, wordless cries.
“I’m—Alaric, I can’t—”
“You will,” he demanded, his voice rough, vibrating against my skin.
The command shattered what control I had left. Pleasure detonated, white-hot and blinding. I shattered around his mouth, my body convulsing as a long, ragged moan tore free. He didn’t stop, drawing out the waves until they faded into trembling aftershocks.
Boneless and panting, I barely registered him rising. He was still clothed—a frustrating contrast to my nakedness—eyes black with need, lips glistening. He freed himself, and the sight of him—thick, hard, veined—made my mouth go dry.
He guided himself to me, broad head nudging against my entrance, slick with my arousal. He paused, trembling with restraint. “Nerina,” he rasped, my name like a prayer. “If this is too much—”
“Don’t you dare stop.”
He pushed forward, slow and relentless, stretching me, filling me completely. The sensation bordered on pain before tipping into something so deep it left me reeling. He seated himself fully, and we went still, joined, bodies pressed close.
Then he moved—deliberate at first, each thrust bolder than the last, learning what my body could take and finding the answer in every shiver.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he murmured.
“And you’re going to enjoy every second of it,” I whispered.
His control shattered.
He withdrew and thrust back in hard, setting a punishing rhythm that drove me against the desk’s edge. The discomfort was nothing against the pleasure—each stroke brushing that sensitive place inside me, building a new, urgent fire. I wrapped my legs around him, meeting him thrust for thrust.
My body responded, every nerve alight, every inch craving more. My climax coiled again, tight and waiting. His rhythm broke, turning wild and desperate. He buried his face against my neck, breath hot and uneven.
Then I felt it—the sting of his fangs grazing my throat, claiming me in a way both primal and visceral.
A groan tore from him as he pierced my skin, pain melting into searing pleasure that fed the fire between us.
His thrusts grew deeper, more urgent, as if my blood ignited something feral inside him.
I caught his face between my hands, forcing him to meet my eyes. Shadows clung to him, veins darkening beneath his skin, pupils blown wide and bright like spilled moonlight.
There was a tension in him that felt earned, not effortless—like he was holding himself together by force.
But I only leaned closer. Every part of me wanted the darkness in him—wanted him.
I arched into him, fingers digging into his shoulders. “Alaric…” His name left me as a prayer, a plea I couldn’t shape into words.
He didn’t answer. His body did—every thrust, every groan, every trembling movement speaking devotion and desperation as I surrendered with him, letting the storm rise unchecked.
His hands gripped my hips, lifting me from the desk as if I weighed nothing. My palms flattened against the surface, the wood grain biting into my skin as he turned me over. Lantern light cast our shadows in frantic motion across the wall.
Anticipation shot through me—this was new, exposed, electric. Cool air kissed my bare back as his chest pressed against me.
His hands slid down my spine, possessive, settling at my hips. He nudged against me, slick and seeking. My body opened, remembering the exquisite stretch as he entered in one smooth, deep thrust.
A choked cry tore from me. The angle drove stars behind my eyes, filling me completely, a claiming so total it felt etched into my bones. He stilled, buried deep, letting the reality of it sink in.
Then he moved.
Slow retreat. Hard drive forward. The force pushed me against the desk, pleasure and pressure colliding with every thrust. The sound of skin on skin filled the cabin, loud and rhythmic against the groan of the ship.
One hand slid from my hip to my belly, then lower, finding me again. His fingers circled with devastating precision.
“I want to hear you,” he demanded. “I want to hear what I do to you.”
“Alaric—gods.”
His fingers and thrusts fell into a merciless rhythm. Pleasure spiraled, tighter and hotter than before. He was everywhere—inside me, around me, the scent of sea and him filling my lungs. Pain, fullness, skill—it blurred into one overwhelming sensation of being utterly taken.
The coil snapped.
Pleasure ripped through me in a blinding wave, a scream tearing free as my body clenched around him, shuddering apart. He followed with a ragged shout, thrusts turning frantic as he spilled deep inside me, his arm locking tight around my waist.
For a long moment, there was only sound—the wind, the ship, the quiet rhythm of us. Slowly, the world steadied.
He pressed a kiss to my shoulder, lingering.
The scent of us—salt, sweat, skin, and something wild—hung heavy in the air, wrapping around us like incense in a shrine.
The lantern flame flickered, casting golden shadows across the wood-paneled walls, dancing over the curve of his shoulder, the lines of his jaw, the curve of my thigh draped across his hip.
Somewhere beyond the hull, the sea groaned and whispered, a low rhythm syncing with the heartbeat beneath my hand.
I traced the ink with my finger, the same way I’d traced it with my eyes a hundred times before—every curve and shadow committed to memory, yet still capable of leaving me still.
I turned my face toward his, lips brushing his jaw, voice barely above a whisper. "You're not as bad as people think you are."
His arm tightened around me slightly. "No.. I'm much worse."
I smiled into his skin.