8. Osias
EIGHT
OSIAS
Osias stared at Celina as the flames from the fireplace cast her face in a golden glow, his entire world narrowing to only her. He’d told her the truth—the full, impossible truth about what he was and what she was to him—and she hadn’t run. She had stayed.
Her green eyes, dark now with something far more potent than fear, held his, and a smile touched her lips, the kind that wasn’t rehearsed for cameras but born from a genuine courage he admired.
“Maybe it’s a bit fast,” Celina said, her voice husky from their kiss. “But I know I want you right now.”
The words were a flame to dry tinder. Under any other circumstance, with any other woman, he would have dismissed such impulsiveness.
He was a man who built empires with careful strategy, who measured risk and reward with cold precision.
He didn’t take lovers to his home, and certainly not to his bed.
That space had always been sacred, reserved for a future he’d stopped believing would arrive.
But this was his fated mate. And she was choosing him.
“Fast doesn’t matter when it’s right,” he said, the words gravel in his throat.
In one fluid motion, he stood and scooped her into his arms. She gasped, a sound of pure surprise, and her arms wound around his neck, her body a warm weight against his chest. He carried her from the living room, the firelight casting their joined shadow against the wall as they passed.
His steps were silent on the polished wood of the grand staircase that he took two at a time, his pulse hammering in rhythm with the need thrumming through their mate bond.
Her desire, bright and sharp, mingled with his own primal urgency and her anticipation was a heady cocktail that made his head swim.
He hadn’t felt this alive, this pure excitement, in fifteen years of impossible duty and endless responsibilities.
He shouldered open the door to his master bedroom and then kicked it shut behind them without breaking stride.
The four-poster bed, a massive carved piece of dark wood, waited against the far wall like a promise finally fulfilled.
He carried her to it and laid her down gently on the charcoal duvet, her dark hair fanning out like a halo.
She looked up at him, and her expression was completely stripped of every performance. There was no celebrity here, no Oscar-winning actress. There was only a woman, wanting and trusting, her gaze fixed on him with a burning intensity that made his lion roar with satisfaction.
Mine.
He leaned over her and lowered his mouth to the elegant column of her throat.
He kissed the frantic pulse there, then dragged his lips lower, following the path of his fingers as he found the zipper of her torn green sundress.
The sound of it parting was obscenely loud in the quiet room.
Then he pushed the fabric from her shoulders, down her arms, letting it pool around her hips before he drew it completely away and tossed it to the floor.
She lay before him in white lace, a contrast of innocence and invitation that stole the air from his lungs.
His bed had never held a woman. His previous entanglements had been conducted in hotel suites, efficient and transient, a physical release with no strings attached to his real life.
But this space was different. It was his sanctuary. And now it was hers.
He reached behind her with practiced ease, releasing the clasp of her bra, and the lace fell away, revealing breasts that were fuller, more real, and more perfect than any camera had ever captured.
Her skin was warm tan, and her nipples were already peaked and begging for his attention.
He lowered his mouth, taking one into the heat of his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tight bud until she gasped.
“Osias…”
Her hands tangled in his hair, not pushing him away but holding him closer as he lavished the same attention on her other breast, learning the sounds she made and the little shudder that ran through her when he sucked just a little harder.
When her fingers tightened in his hair and she guided his head downward with a gentle, insistent pressure, he went willingly.
He kissed a trail down the flat plane of her stomach, dipping his tongue into the shallow well of her navel, feeling the muscles quiver beneath his lips.
He hooked his fingers into the sides of her lace panties and drew them down her legs, tossing them aside to join the growing pile of clothing on the floor.
Then she was bare before him, sprawled across his duvet like a feast laid out for a king.
She was so beautiful it was almost painful.
More beautiful than any screen, any magazine cover, or any red carpet photograph.
This was the true Celina—warm skin, inviting curves, and eyes that watched him with a mixture of awe and hunger.
The scent of her arousal hit him like a tidal wave, and his cock hardened almost painfully against the confines of his pants, a demanding, primal ache. But this moment wasn’t about his need. It was about hers.
He settled between her thighs, his hands spreading her open for him, and then he leaned in with a slow, deliberate lick along her sensitive folds.
She cried out immediately, and her hips lifted off the bed.
For minutes, he learned her like a complex contract, with focused attention to every detail.
The flick of his tongue that made her moan, the gentle suction that had her fists clenching in the sheets, and the rhythm that had her gasping for air.
He soon slid two fingers inside her, finding her hot and impossibly wet for him, and her inner muscles clenched around him.
He worked her with his fingers, curling them to find that spot deep inside that made her entire body jolt, while his tongue circled her clit with relentless precision.
He savored every gasp, every broken plea, and every shudder that passed from her body into his through their bond.
Her pleasure became his, a rising tide he felt in his own blood.
Minutes later, he could feel the coil of it tightening, the approaching peak radiating from her like heat lightning.
He redoubled his efforts, focusing on that perfect, sensitive bundle of nerves, and thrusting his fingers in time with the rhythm of his tongue.
“I’m…”
“Let go,” he growled against her, the vibration sending another shockwave through her.
Her orgasm broke over her with a force that made her back bow off the bed, and a raw, shattered cry tore from her throat.
Her thighs tightened around his head, and her inner walls pulsed around his fingers in rhythmic waves.
But he didn’t stop until the last tremor subsided and she collapsed back onto the mattress, breathless and boneless.
Only then did he finally pull back, lifting his head to look at her. She was sprawled in glorious disarray with her skin flushed and her chest heaving in the aftermath. She looked thoroughly ravished, completely sated, and yet her gaze dropped to the prominent bulge straining against his pants.
“You’re still dressed,” she murmured. “That needs to change.”
Osias looked down at the expensive, restrictive suit that suddenly felt like a cage. Every thread of it was a symbol of the controlled, polished existence he’d built—an existence that, until this moment, had felt complete. Now it was just an obstacle.
His hands moved with a speed and efficiency that matched the roaring need inside him.
The tailored jacket hit the floor with a soft thud.
Then his fingers made quick work of the buttons on his dress shirt, popping them free without finesse, and tore the shirt off his shoulders.
Next came the belt, the rasp of leather loud in the silent room, followed by the whisper of his slacks and briefs sliding down his legs.
He stepped out of them, kicked his shoes aside, and stood before her completely bare.
The cool air of the bedroom brushed his skin, but he only felt the heat of her gaze as it traveled the length of him.
He saw the exact moment her eyes landed on his erect cock, thick and heavy with need.
Her lips parted on a soft breath, and her eyes widened, not with doubt but with an appreciative hunger that made his lion preen with masculine pride.
She likes what she sees.
He didn’t speak. Words were useless now.
He simply climbed onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, and lowered himself over her.
He supported his weight on his arms, caging her in, and watched her face as she guided his cock to her entrance.
She was so wet, so ready for him, and his body shuddered with need.
With a control that cost him everything, he pushed forward slowly and watched her eyes flutter shut. He filled her, inch by devastating inch until he was fully seated inside her. She was unbelievably tight, a silken, welcoming vise that threatened to shatter his composure completely.
When he was buried to the hilt, a loud moan escaped her, a sound of perfect fullness, and her hands flew to his shoulders while her legs wrapped around his waist, her heels locking at the small of his back, pulling him deeper.
The angle was exquisite, and he felt her inner muscles flutter around him in approval.
He began to move, withdrawing almost completely before sinking back into her with a slow, deep roll of his hips. Each thrust was a vow, a promise, and a claiming. She met him stroke for stroke, her hips rising to meet his, and her breaths came in sharp, rhythmic pants.
But he needed more. He needed all of her.
Without breaking his rhythm, he hooked his hands under her knees, lifting them and pressing them back until her ankles rested on his shoulders. The new angle was deeper, more intense, and her cry this time was one of pure bliss.
“Yes,” she begged, her voice a ragged whisper. “Just like that.”
But he gave her more. His thrusts lost their measured pace, shifting into something primal and driving, and the slick friction was perfection.
The sounds of their joining, her pleas, and his groans filled the room.
The mate bond between them wasn’t just singing now; it was a symphonic roar, vibrating with shared pleasure, with her blooming trust, and with his own staggering realization that this was home.
He could feel her pleasure coiling tighter, a brilliant pressure building in his own gut, and her inner walls began to rhythmically squeeze him. Her eyes flew open, locking with his.
“I’m close,” she gasped.
“I know.” He could feel it, a radiant sun about to burst. “Come for me.”
The command was her undoing. Her orgasm tore through her with a violent force that made her cry out, a raw, beautiful sound he knew he would crave forever. Then her body convulsed beneath him, her inner walls milking his cock with relentless pulses that shattered his own control.
With a final, deep thrust, his release erupted, claiming her in the most primal way he could without the finality of his mark.
A guttural groan was torn from his throat as he spilled himself inside her, his hips jerking through the waves of pleasure.
He buried his face in the curve of her neck, breathing in her scent—lavender, rain, and now, him.
For long moments, they stayed locked together, their hearts hammering a frantic, synchronized rhythm.
Slowly, carefully, he withdrew and rolled onto his side, gathering her sated body against him.
He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into the shelter of his chest, and knew with absolute certainty he would never willingly let her go.
His lion was quiet now, purring with contentment.
She nestled her head under his chin and traced idle patterns on his chest. The silence was comfortable, filled with the slowing of their breath and the syncing of their hearts.
After a while, she tilted her head back to look up at him. “Tell me more about the mate bond,” she murmured, her voice thick with satisfaction.
He stroked her hair. “When you decide to complete it—if you decide—I’ll give you my mate mark.
A scratch, here,” he said, his thumb brushing the sensitive curve of her hip.
“After that, the connection opens completely. You’ll feel my emotions as clearly as I feel yours now and we’ll be able to speak telepathically. ”
She didn’t pull away. She didn’t stiffen.
She simply listened, her gaze thoughtful as she absorbed the information.
He saw her mind working, not in fear, but in fascination.
She was imagining it, picturing that future, and the fact that she could even entertain it sent a surge of fierce hope through him.
“I won’t push you,” he said, the words a solemn vow. “No pressure. No timelines. You decide when, or if, you’re ready for that.”
She nodded slowly, then curled deeper into his arms, a soft sigh escaping her. He held her as her breathing evened out into the deep, slow rhythm of sleep. In the quiet dark, just before sleep claimed him too, a profound thought settled in his soul.
She wasn’t frightened by him or his world. She was fascinated by it. She wanted to know him—not the billionaire, not the Alpha, but the man beneath. And that knowledge, more than anything else, made him fall even more helplessly in love with her.