Chapter 53
DRASKO
She kissed him first…
Demanding—there was no other word for what her kiss was. She ached for him, and no power in the world could make Drasko pretend that he didn’t crave her more than air.
He’d once known a love calm and accepting. What he felt for Grace was turbulent, challenging everything he knew about patience and himself.
This wasn’t a calm love. It was like a stream, little and playful, that grew into a wide river, determined in its course, then rushed to the cliff where it fell off, from high above, and crashed into the whirling mass beyond, then resumed its course, stronger than ever.
If only there was more time…
Drasko had no patience like before. In seconds, the kiss turned ravenous, his body on edge, answering to hers.
She wanted him in her life—the thought was burning him with desire so deep that he swept her into his arms and held her so tightly that she whimpered.
He forgot that she was part of a twisted game, that he was putting her in danger by simply loving her. He lost himself to his feelings. The most powerful man in the city gave in, so brilliantly and to a woman.
Letting himself show all his love was so overwhelming, it made his head spin.
And she matched his passion. Her tongue sought out his, her desire obvious as she tore off her gloves and cupped his face.
It was a confession, and it unhinged him.
Drasko didn’t ask her permission, wasn’t careful like he had been before. He pulled her bodice off and undid her corset. She fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, then tore it off him. He undid her skirt. She tugged down his trousers.
He was burning from the need to attack her like a savage. He wanted to ask her how she would like it this time—rough, sweet, hard, or gentle. But she wouldn’t know. He was supposed to take charge, show her, teach her.
“Tell me what feels good,” he muttered as he tried to kiss her everywhere, her face, her neck, her shoulders.
“I want to hear it, Grace,” he whispered against her skin as his hands cupped her breasts, and she arched into his touch.
“I want to hear you. Just like the music you play. Every tune. Every note.”
“Yes,” she whispered, already naked in his arms, only in her stockings, a heap of clothes at their feet.
And then his patience was gone.
He took her on the bare wooden floor, his arms around her back, holding her off the floor in a feeble attempt to save her from its coldness. His own knees scraped at its roughness as he thrust inside her deeply, pausing as he filled her up, wanting to prolong the pleasure of being inside her.
And then she was against the window, her front and cheek against the cool glass as he took her from behind, the city buried under the smog and dotted lights, watching calmly as their bodies, feverish with need, ground against each other.
In a minute, he whipped her around, hooked his arm under her thigh, opening her, and rubbed his tip against the center of her aching flesh.
She moaned at the contact, her core seeking his invasion. He entered her in one deep thrust. She cried out, and he silenced her with a ravishing kiss, thrusting into her warmth, penetrating her with an increasing urgency.
He kissed her hard, his lips swollen, hers so eager. They were messy and greedy as they took mouthfuls of flesh, with lips and teeth, gripping, pulling, matching each other’s panting.
A gust of wind blew through an open window. The city smoke saturated the air. A distant ship bell rang the time. A train rumbled in the distance.
Yet they were alone in their fever, bonded like never before, two in one, moan against moan.
Rupesh had once told him that lust was desperate but love was patient.
Oh, but Rupesh didn’t know this kind of love. Drasko did, dissolved in it as he held Grace in his arms. It gushed like water through a broken dam.
The feelings that had been locked away for too long suddenly were set free. The words that had been kept silent were silent still but finding their way through the impatient thrusts and careless moans.
Abruptly, he picked her up, and in seconds, she was on the mattress, his giant body kneeling before her as he finally rolled down her stockings.
Then he was on top of her, inside her again.
Love was in her cries when she came hard, trembling under him, her limbs clinging to him as she pleaded for him not to stop though she could barely handle any more.
Love was in his primal grunt that broke out loudly as he thrust in her one last time and came too, proudly sinking into her heat.
It was in the final kiss he gave her, lying on top of her—not on her lips but on her shoulder, a tiny peck. He rested his forehead on the spot he had just kissed, thinking this was madness, smiling as her fingers weaved into his hair.
Love was in the soft panting, two in one, as their hearts beat against each other’s. The city below them was loud, but their feelings were finally the loudest.
Drasko shifted off her, lay on his stomach, arms folded to cushion his head as his gaze slowly traveled along her naked body next to him.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked, wanting to wrap around her right away but giving her room.
Come here , he willed her, and she did as if she’d read his thoughts.
She shifted to her side, facing him, propped her head with her hand, and brought her fingers to his back.
“No,” she said simply and ran her fingers along his back.
Rakshasa purred. It fucking purred, powerless under her touch that could quiet a monster!
Her fingers tapped against his skin.
“Staccato?” Drasko guessed.
Grace laughed a little, the sweet sound trickling into his soul.
“Staccato is articulation. You can’t feel it without a sound,” she explained.
“What do I feel, then?”
You , he answered for her.
“A tempo,” she said. “This one is presto .”
She moved her fingers quickly, like a dozen little mice running across his back, and laughed.
“And then there is allegro .” She did the same, but slower, more rhythmically.
“And then a gentler tempo, calm and thoughtful”—she glided her fingers against his skin in soothing strokes—“ adagio , slow and more sensual. And then there is largo ”—her fingers slowed even more—“a tired one, contemplative.”
“A contemplative tempo, huh?” he mused quietly, didn’t want her to stop.
They lay in silence for some time, her fingers aimlessly touching his scars. He knew the exact spots she stroked—Rakshasa’s claws, then its fangs, then the deepest scars that ran across his back, top to bottom, starting at Rakshasa’s lifted paw as if it was the one that had done the damage.
Drasko trembled at her touch, how close she was to the monster.
He shouldn’t have let her touch him like that, not without her knowing what it all meant. But then he heard her humming. Softly first, absently, then a little louder, her voice calming the storm inside him.
Her fingers joined in, matching the tune in her head, and he inhaled deeply, his back rising, pushing against her fingers that didn’t stop moving.
“What are you playing?”
Her fingertips tapped against his back in the familiar rhythmic practice.
She chuckled through her nose. “A song.”
“About me?” he asked without thinking.
Her fingers stilled, then splayed flat over his back, moving in a soft caress.
“All my songs are about you, Drasko,” she whispered.
He rose on his elbow, cupped her face, and kissed her, claiming what once had seemed impossible.
“Tell me, Grace,” he demanded, pulling her under him, her warm breath colliding with his. “Tell me I am not alone in this madness,” he finished barely audibly, the most courageous thing he’d ever said—asking his woman to stand by his side, wanting to know that she was his.
He could feel her deep breathing, a too-swift brush of her fingers against the scars on his face, her soft whisper, “I am here.”
Her lips came back to his for more kisses as her hands weaved into his hair.
The words sealed the black hole that had been growing in his heart for years.
Three simple words. A promise. An acknowledged feeling.
His were years in the making. Hers only months. But if that was a tiny speck of hope, he would take it, cherish it, tend to it as if it were a seedling, raising that tiny little hope into a beautiful bloom.
He could. Oh, Drasko could! He could do anything—he knew how. With her by his side, he felt invincible. If the woman he loved with all his heart was there for him, there was nothing in this world that could break him.
He kissed her passionately, unwrapped her, like a gift, from the sheet, positioned himself between her legs, and thrust inside her, slowly this time, consummating this confession.
She whispered something else, something about her being “his,” or him being hers, the words broken by gasps and more kisses. He thrust into her as she urged in whispers, “Deeper,” “Faster,” and between those, demanded a promise that he would be by her side.
How could she not know that he’d wanted her all along?
That when he hid behind his spite and feigned coldness, the mocking and the threats, the bargains and the deals, he was trying to stitch together their lives like he did his business?
And he was failing. It wasn’t working. He despised himself for that, for all those years he’d watched her play, hiding in the shadows like a thief, wondering if he could make her one of the precious diamonds in his display.
Until the third letter.
That fucking letter!
A dead man had a say after all, making him and her another business deal. And if there was anything he’d learned from the past, it was that he, Drasko, did not deserve loved ones, because they all became collateral.
And so he took her slowly this time, asking her without words to forgive him, knowing it was too late to build the walls between them.
Afterward, they lay threaded together. Grace nestled in the crook of his arm. Her eyelashes fluttered closed, brushing her cheeks. Her graceful hand rested just beneath his ribs.
Drasko tucked her closer to him, stroked her shoulder, and stared at the dark wooden beams of the ceiling and the skylight window in the center that revealed the starry sky.
The beauty of the stars was often deceiving. He had learned that a long time ago, when he laughed under the starry skies, only to find out much later that the very moment of happiness would one day bring him pain.
Her body molded with his as if sensing and wanting to comfort him.
How easily she fit into him!
How easy it was to just be.
How easy it was to exist in this one moment, not thinking about the auction or two more letters from him and hope, hope, hope that this moment would last and the stars above him weren’t liars.