22
── ? ──
EVANDER
The kiss is desperate. Starving. Like I've been drowning for months and she's the first breath of air.
I back her into the wall of the hallway—heavy mahogany polished to a mirror shine—and the impact makes her gasp against my mouth. The sound goes straight to my cock, already hard and pressing against the confines of my sweatpants.
My hands are in her hair, fisting the strands, angling her head exactly where I want it so I can devour her properly. Taste every inch of her mouth. Map the territory I've been obsessing over since that first day in the courtyard.
She doesn't pull away. Doesn't hesitate. Doesn't show any of the ghost-like compliance that's been killing me for weeks.
She arches into me. Her hands tearing at my shirt with desperate urgency, nails raking across my shoulders hard enough to leave marks.
The pain is perfect. Sharp. Real. Proof that this is actually happening.
That Aurora Lane is here. Choosing this. Choosing me.
Not because I forced her. Not because I manipulated circumstances until she had no other option. But because after everything—after the drowning, after I burned the contracts, after I gave her the freedom to leave—she stayed.
The realization makes something crack open in my chest. Something that's been locked away since I was eight years old and learned that caring about people only gets them killed.
I've spent my entire life maintaining absolute control because I believed fear was the only thing that kept you alive. That attachment made you vulnerable. That the moment you let someone matter, they become a weapon someone else could use against you.
But Aurora isn't a weapon. Isn't a liability. Isn't another Matthias waiting to drown while I stand frozen at the edge.
She's here. Alive. Choosing me despite knowing exactly what kind of monster I am.
And I'm going to fucking worship her for it.
I break the kiss long enough to grab her thighs, lift her higher against the wall. She wraps her legs tighter around my waist in response, her arms going around my neck, pulling me closer even though there's no space left between us.
"Bedroom," she breathes against my mouth. "Now."
I don't argue. Just carry her down the hallway, my hands gripping her ass, her weight perfect against me despite my ribcage screaming in opposition.
The bedroom door is open. I kick it wider, cross the threshold, and throw her onto the bed with a slight grunt from the sharp pain lancing up my side.
She bounces once on the dark sheets—expensive Egyptian cotton that I've barely slept in since she moved into the penthouse because every night I spent alone in this bed was torture knowing she was just down the hall.
She looks fucking perfect sprawled across my sheets. Hair fanned out around her head. Lips swollen from kissing. Eyes dark with lust and something else—something that looks like trust even though I haven't earned it.
I should slow down. Should make this gentle. Should treat her like something precious instead of something I want to consume whole.
I can't.
I drop to my knees at the edge of the bed. My hands go to her jeans, fingers working the button, dragging the zipper down.
She lifts her hips to help me. Lets me strip the denim down her legs, taking her worn sneakers with it, leaving her in nothing but an oversized sweater and simple cotton underwear.
Not expensive. Not lace or silk or any of the things I could buy her. Just plain white cotton that somehow makes her look more vulnerable than any lingerie ever could.
I run my hands up her calves. Over her knees. Along her thighs. Feeling the softness of her skin, the way she trembles slightly under my touch.
"Tell me what you want," I rasp. My voice is rough. Barely controlled. "Tell me, Aurora. I need to hear you say it."
She props herself up on her elbows. Looks down at me with those warm brown eyes that have haunted me for months.
"I want you to stop asking permission for everything." Her voice is steady. Sure. "I want you to touch me like you own me. Like you've been thinking about this since the moment you saw me."
My cock twitches hard at her words. "I have been thinking about this. Every fucking day."
"Then stop thinking." She reaches down, pulls on my hair. "And do something about it."
I surge up. Capture her mouth in another bruising kiss while my hands slide under her sweater, finding warm skin and—
No bra. She's not wearing a fucking bra.
I groan into her mouth. Break the kiss long enough to yank the sweater over her head, leaving her in nothing but those plain cotton panties.
And she's perfect. Absolutely perfect. Freckles scattered across her collarbone, down between her breasts. Nipples already hard from arousal or cold or both.
I want to map every freckle with my tongue. Want to find out how many she has and where they all lead.
But first—
I hook my fingers in the waistband of her panties. Look up at her. One last check. One last chance for her to change her mind.
She lifts her hips in answer. Silent permission.
I strip them off. Slowly this time. Taking my time. Revealing inch after inch of skin I've been fantasizing about for months.
When she's finally naked in front of me, I have to stop. Have to just... look.
Because Aurora Lane naked is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. And I've seen a lot—expensive art, rare antiquities, things that cost millions and are supposed to be breathtaking.
None of it compares to this. To her. Flushed and breathing hard and looking at me like she wants to be devoured.
"You're staring," she says. There's a slight tremor in her voice. Uncertainty.
"I'm memorizing." I run my hands up her thighs again. Spreading them wider. "Every fucking detail."
I lean in. Press my mouth to the inside of her knee. Start kissing my way up.
She makes a sound—half gasp, half moan—that makes my cock throb so hard it's painful.
I keep going. Kissing. Licking. Biting just hard enough to make her squirm.
By the time I reach the apex of her thighs, she's trembling. Her hands are fisted in the sheets, her breathing shallow and rapid.
I look up at her. Meet her eyes. "Tell me you want this."
"Evander—" Her voice breaks on my name. "Please."
"Say it." I press a kiss to her inner thigh. So close to where she needs me but not close enough. "I need to hear you say it."
"I want this." The words come out rushed. Desperate. "I want you. God, I want you so fucking much it's insane."
That's all I need to hear.
I bury my face between her thighs and taste her properly for the first time.
She cries out. Her hips buck against my mouth. Her hands fly to my hair, fisting the strands, pulling hard enough to sting.
The pain is perfect. The taste of her is better. Sweet and musky and entirely Aurora.
I use my tongue. My fingers. Everything I have to make her fall apart.
She's responsive. So fucking responsive. Every touch makes her gasp. Every stroke of my tongue makes her moan. Every time I find a spot that makes her thighs tremble, I memorize it. Catalog it for later.
"Evander—" Her voice is wrecked. "I'm going to—I can't—"
"Come for me," I murmur against her. "Let me taste it."
She does. Hard. Her entire body arching off the bed, thighs clamping around my head, hands pulling my hair so hard it should hurt but just makes me groan against her.
I don't stop. Just work her through it, drawing out every shudder, every aftershock, until she's pushing at my shoulders with weak hands.
"Too much," she gasps. "I can't—"
I pull back. Wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. Look up at her flushed, panting form.
Fucking perfect.
── ? ──
AURORA
I can't breathe. Can't think. Can barely move.
Evander just made me come so hard I saw stars. And he's looking up at me from between my thighs like he wants to do it again. Like he could spend hours down there and be perfectly happy.
The thought makes heat coil low in my belly again. Already. My body shouldn't be capable of responding this fast but apparently it didn't get the memo.
"Come here," I manage to say. My voice is hoarse. Wrecked.
He stands. Slowly. His eyes never leaving mine.
And that's when I realize he's still half-dressed. Still wearing those dark sweatpants and nothing else because I ripped his shirt off somewhere in the hallway.
That's not fair. Not when I'm completely naked and he's still covered.
I sit up. Reach for the waistband of his sweatpants. "Off. Now."
He doesn't argue. Just hooks his thumbs in the elastic and pushes them down along with his boxer briefs.
And oh.
Oh fuck.
I knew he'd be big. Everything about Evander Laurent is built to dominate. But seeing him—actually seeing him hard and ready and looking at me like he wants to split me in half—makes my breath catch.
"Second thoughts?" There's an edge to his voice. Uncertainty masked as arrogance.
"No." I reach out. Wrap my hand around him. Feel the weight, the heat, the way he twitches in my grip. "Just... appreciating the view."
He groans. Actually groans. The sound is deep and rough and makes me feel powerful in a way I haven't felt since I walked into his penthouse and surrendered.
I stroke him once. Twice. Learning the shape of him. The way his breath hitches when I twist my wrist just right.
"Aurora." My name comes out strained. "If you keep doing that, this is going to be over before it starts."
"Can't have that." I release him. Scoot back on the bed. "Come here."
He follows. Crawls over me like a predator stalking prey. His body is all lean muscle and controlled power, caging me in without crushing me.
This close, I can see every detail. The sharp line of his jaw. The steel-blue eyes that have stripped me bare more times than I can count. The cross necklace he always wears hanging down between us.
No. Not hanging. Missing. He must have taken it off when he showered after the lake.
The thought makes something twist in my chest. That necklace is the only thing he never removes. The reminder of his failure. His fear. His absolute terror of caring about someone.