22 #2
And he took it off. Put it aside. Chose to be vulnerable with me instead of hiding behind armor.
I reach up. Cup his face. Force him to look at me instead of wherever his mind just went.
"You with me?" I ask quietly.
"Yes." His voice is rough. "I'm here. I'm—" He stops. Swallows hard. "I'm terrified."
The admission breaks my heart. "Of what?"
"Fucking this up." He leans his forehead against mine. "Of hurting you. Of being too rough or too demanding or too much like the monster who trapped you."
"Then let me take the lead." I slide my hands down his chest. Feel the rapid beat of his heart under my palm. "Let me show you what I want."
He goes very still. "You want control."
"I want us to figure this out together." I press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "No ownership. No games. Just... us. Trying to be good for each other."
His eyes close. When he opens them again, there's something raw and vulnerable looking back at me.
"Okay," he breathes. "Show me."
I grip his shoulders. Use the leverage to flip us.
He goes willingly. Lets me push him onto his back, lets me straddle his hips, lets me take exactly what I want without fighting for control.
The surrender is more erotic than any dominance play could be. Because this is Evander Laurent—the Crown Prince, the untouchable, the man who controls everything—letting me call the shots.
I lean down. Press my mouth to his throat. Feel his pulse hammering against my lips.
"Tell me what you want," I murmur against his skin. Echoing his earlier question back at him.
"You." The answer is immediate. "Any way I can have you."
I bite down on his pulse point. Not hard enough to leave a mark but hard enough to make him groan.
His hands come up to grip my hips. Bruising. Desperate.
I reach between us. Position him. And slowly—so fucking slowly—sink down onto him.
The stretch is intense. Bordering on painful. He's big and I'm tight and it's been a while since I've done this and never with someone built like him.
But I don't stop. Just keep taking him inch by inch until he's fully seated inside me.
We both freeze. Breathing hard. Adjusting.
"Fuck," he groans. His head drops back against the pillow, neck arched, jaw clenched. "Aurora—you feel—"
"Good?" I'm trying to keep my voice steady. Failing. "Because you feel—god, you feel—"
I can't finish the sentence. Can't find words for how full I feel. How right this is despite how wrong everything leading up to it was.
I start to move. Slow at first. Just rolling my hips, finding a rhythm that works.
His hands on my hips tighten. Guiding. Not controlling—just helping me find the angle that makes us both gasp.
"There," I breathe when he hits something inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyes. "Right there."
He thrusts up to meet me. Harder. "Like that?"
"Yes—fuck—yes, exactly like that."
We find a rhythm together. Not gentle. Not slow. Fast and desperate and absolutely consuming.
His hands are everywhere. My hips. My breasts. My throat. Touching. Claiming. Memorizing.
I lean down. Capture his mouth in a kiss that's more teeth than lips. Bite his lower lip hard enough to taste copper.
He groans into my mouth. Thrusts up harder. Changes the angle so every stroke hits that perfect spot inside me.
"Tell me you want this," he growls against my mouth. One hand sliding around to grip my ass, the other wrapping around my throat. Not squeezing. Just holding. "Tell me you want me to ruin you."
"Yes." I bite down on his shoulder. Hard enough to leave a mark. "God, yes, Evander. Please."
He flips us. Fast. Sudden. Pinning me beneath him without ever pulling out.
And then he's setting the pace. Hard. Brutal. Every thrust making the bed frame slam against the wall, making me cry out with pleasure that borders on pain.
"You're mine," he growls. "Say it."
"I'm yours." The words come out broken. Gasping. "Yours, Evander. Yours."
His hand tightens on my throat. Just enough pressure to make me lightheaded. To make every sensation more intense.
"And I'm yours," he says against my ear. "Completely. Irrevocably. Yours."
The admission makes something crack open in my chest. Because Evander Laurent doesn't give himself to anyone. Doesn't allow himself to be vulnerable. Doesn't admit to needing anything except control.
But he's admitting it now. To me.
"Touch yourself," he commands. "I want to feel you come around my cock."
I slide my hand between us. Find my clit. Start circling with fingers that are shaking from pleasure and exertion.
"That's it." His thrusts get harder. Faster. "Let me feel it. Let me—fuck—"
I come. Hard. My entire body locking up, thighs clamping around his hips, nails raking down his back hard enough to draw blood.
He follows right after. Buried deep. Groaning my name like a prayer as he spills inside me.
We collapse together. Tangled in sheets that are damp with sweat. Breathing hard. Hearts pounding in sync.
Neither of us moves. Can't move. Just lie there in the aftermath, processing what just happened.
"Aurora," he finally says. His voice is wrecked. "That was—"
"Yeah." I press a kiss to his shoulder. Right over the bite mark I left. "It was."
He pulls out slowly. We both wince at the sensitivity. He disappears into the bathroom for a moment, comes back with a warm washcloth.
And then—in a gesture that nearly breaks me—he cleans me up. Gentle. Careful. Taking care of me in a way that suggests he's done this before but never really meant it until now.
When he's done, he tosses the cloth toward the bathroom and pulls me against his chest. Arms wrapped around me like he's afraid I might disappear.
"Stay," he whispers. "Please."
"I'm not going anywhere." I tilt my head back to look at him. "I already told you. You're stuck with me."
Something in his expression softens. Cracks wide open.
And then he's kissing me again. Slower this time. Sweeter. Like we have all the time in the world to figure this out.
Hours later, the storm outside has died down. Rain has stopped. The campus is quiet.
We're still tangled in the sheets. Exhausted. Covered in sweat and other fluids. Marks on each other's skin that will take days to fade.
I'm drifting in that space between awake and asleep when I feel Evander shift. Lean over me. His fingers tracing something on my neck.
The bite mark. The one he left weeks ago. It's faded now—just a shadow of purple and yellow. But he traces it like it's still fresh.
"I marked you," he says quietly. "Claimed you in front of everyone."
"I know."
"I'm going to do it again." Not a question. A statement. "Every time it fades. I'm going to replace it."
"Possessive much?"
"You have no idea." He reaches over to the nightstand. Picks up something silver.
The cross necklace. The one he took off before the shower.
He sits up slightly. Pulls me up with him so we're both sitting against the headboard.
And then he fastens the necklace around my neck. His fingers are gentle. Careful. Making sure the clasp is secure.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"Giving you the only thing I have that actually matters." His eyes meet mine. Serious. Raw. "This necklace is the reminder that I failed Matthias. That I was too afraid to save him."
He pauses.
"But today I wasn't afraid. Today I saved Liam. And that's because of you."
"Evander—"
"Wear it." His hand comes up to rest over the cross where it sits against my skin. "So everyone knows you're mine. And so I never forget that caring about you made me strong enough to face my worst fear."
The weight of the necklace is substantial. Heavy silver that probably costs more than my entire scholarship.
But it's not about the money. It's about what it represents. His failure. His fear. His absolute terror of attachment.
And he's giving it to me. Choosing to be vulnerable. Choosing to care despite knowing it might destroy him.
"Never take it off," he whispers. "Please."
I reach up. Touch the cross. Feel the cool metal against my fingers.
"Okay," I whisper back. "I won't."
He pulls me down into another kiss. Softer this time. Tender.
And when we finally drift off to sleep—tangled together in sheets that smell like sex and us—I'm wearing his necklace and his marks and his admission that he's mine as much as I'm his.
It's fucked up. Toxic. Probably the most unhealthy relationship dynamic that's ever existed.
But it's ours.
And for now, that's enough.