CHAPTER twenty-Eight #3
He then flips me onto my back gently and continues the tour of my body, kissing and nipping at any skin that he can find. He moves down lower, where he is settled between my thighs, and he pops the button of my jean shorts, eyes burning with desire.
“Tell me to stop,” he rasps.
“Don’t you dare stop,” I say, my voice dripping with the same desire. His eyes darken, and a smirk returns as he slowly draws down the zipper and tugs my shorts off, leaving me in just my lace panties.
He slowly kisses his way up my legs then lowers himself until his mouth is right where I need him to be. He gently kisses the thin fabric, then tugs on it with his teeth.
“I dream of tasting you,” he says, hooking a finger into the lace and pushing it to the side. I squirm in anticipation.
He starts with a slow, gentle trail of his tongue up my inner thigh, repeating the motion on both legs.
He then licks up my center, sending a wave of pleasure through me, pulling a soft moan from my lips. He echoes with a growl before another slow route. And another. Then another.
He lightly flicks his tongue over my most sensitive spot.
“Are you going to make me beg for it?” I shift toward him, my body alight with anticipation, every nerve ending tuned to the slightest movement of his mouth, his hands.
“I like the sound of that,” he says and I feel his smug smile curve against me, the heat of it radiating through every inch of my body.
“Please, Elias,” I breathe.
He slowly removes the last barrier between us and then, finally, gives in.
What follows is nothing short of a slow unraveling.
His touch is devastatingly precise, a practiced spiral that coils tension deep in my belly, winding me tighter with every breath. My hips shift instinctively, seeking more, and he responds with a low, satisfied hum that reverberates against my skin.
One of his hands grips my thigh, firm, while the other anchors me by the waist. The way he moves is hungry, like he’s savoring something he’s been craving far too long.
He pulls back just enough to say, “You taste like fucking paradise.”
I thread my fingers into his hair, unable to do anything but hold on as the sensation crashes over me in waves. And all the while, Elias never looks away, not truly. Even in the dark, I feel the weight of his attention, the silent vow written in the way he touches me, tastes me.
The way his mouth works me, alternating between licks, sucks, and nips leaves me writhing beneath him. The final, precise flicks of his tongue send me over the edge, painting my body in pleasure.
“Fuck,” I moan as the wave continues to crest, but he doesn’t let up, riding each sensation with me.
When I finally start to come down, he soothes me until I’m limp. He crawls up my body, eyes hooded and satisfied as he brushes the hair from my face before his lips find mine again. The taste of my release on his tongue only fuels the heat between us.
I can feel his desire pressing between my legs, and I reach down to start undoing his belt slowly. He pulls away from me and locks his gaze with mine.
The gilded light pours over him like liquid silver, illuminating every curve and contour. It dances across the ink etched into his skin, each tattoo catching the glow like stained glass kissed by moonlight. In that moment, he doesn’t seem real; he looks like something dreamed up by the divine.
“Ramona… we don’t have to,” he says, dark locks falling into his face now bathed in moonlight.
“You… you don’t want to?” I ask softly, teeth grazing my lower lip as uncertainty flickers in my chest.
“Holy hell, of course I want to,” he says immediately, bringing heat to my cheeks. “But I don’t want you to think this is why I brought you here. I want to make sure it’s what you want too.”
I pull him down to me again, and I press my lips to his with urgency. The kiss is deep, full of every unspoken word, every trembling heartbeat between us. My hands cradle his face, thumbs brushing along his cheekbones.
“I want to,” I breathe against his mouth, the confession slipping out like a promise. My chest rises and falls with emotion, not just desire, but trust, connection, the kind of surrender that only happens when the moment feels like more than just lust.
His breath hitches. His eyes search mine, like he needs to be sure. Like he’s holding back a storm and waiting for the all-clear to let it break.
He shifts up, still settled between my legs. I sit up enough to remove his belt and throw it to the side.
As I begin to undo his jeans, I ask, “Condom?”
He reaches into his back pocket and pulls one out.
He watches me as I continue to unbutton him, and push his jeans and briefs down enough to reveal his impressive, tattooed, and pierced length. My eyes widen as I glance back up, a smirk on his lips. My mouth suddenly goes dry as he opens the condom wrapper with his teeth and slides it on.
“Jesus Christ.” I blurt out as my eyes stay fixed on him.
“You can just call me Elias.”
I roll my eyes with a laugh as he guides me back down. He reaches a hand back and removes his shirt. The fresh ink on his side still covered with black tape.
Then he leans down to tease my entrance with the tip. I shift toward him in a silent plea, and he pushes in just a few inches. Even that feels like ecstasy.
His eyes stay locked onto mine as he slowly guides a few more inches in, my body having to adjust to his size as he groans.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yes, I can feel your piercing,” I breathe.
“Oh yeah? How does it feel?” he asks with a smirk and a slow thrust.
“Fucking incredible,” I say, sinking my nails into the bare skin of his back, earning a growl.
I rake them down his back as he finally sinks to the hilt, pulling equal moans from us.
Then he lowers himself down to kiss me again.
The feeling of him inside me as he ravishes my mouth is a sensation I could easily become addicted to.
He pulls out almost all the way and drives back in, hitting that perfect spot, drawing another unfiltered moan from me.
“The melodies coming from your lips are driving me wild,” He breathes against my mouth. I moan again in response earning a delicious growl from him.
My nails sink into his skin, surely leaving behind crescent-shaped evidence of my grip. The thought sends a shiver down my spine—a primal part of me reveling in the idea of marking him, branding him in some small, secret way.
My eyes instinctively close as his rhythm deepens, each movement sending flares through every nerve in my body. I feel like I’m burning from the inside out, a vessel brimming with pleasure, each breath more unsteady than the last.
“Look at me, baby,” he commands. “I want to see you.”
I open them again, and his eyes are already on mine—dark, hungry, only fueling the fire. Without breaking our connection, he slides both my wrists into one of his hands and pins them above my head, his grip firm but not cruel. The shift in control sends a fresh wave of heat coursing through me.
His other hand settles at the base of my throat, not constricting, just holding. The pressure is light but commanding, a possessive assertion that sends a thrill racing down my spine.
My body arches beneath his, coiling tighter with every breath, every movement, every look that passes between us like lightning against a dark sky.
Nobody has ever touched me this deeply, this completely.
It isn’t just bodies colliding. It’s as though the universe conspired to braid our souls together, thread by thread, until I can’t tell where I end and he begins.
Every heartbeat feels like music, every breath a verse in a symphony so devastatingly beautiful it shatters me even as it remakes me.
It’s more than passion, it’s forever burning itself into me, the kind of memory that will echo through my bones long after this moment has passed.
He continues with a devastating rhythm as I edge towards another release.
His eyes hold mine, dark, blazing, beautiful in the pale light.
The look in them mirrors everything crashing through me: raw, overwhelming, impossible to name.
This isn’t just lust, isn’t just desire burning hot between us.
It’s something deeper, heavier, as though we’ve stumbled into a gravity all our own, pulled together by a force neither of us could resist even if we wanted to.
“Come for me,” he says, voice perfectly gravelly.
It carries the weight of longing, every word drenched in how fiercely he wants this, wants me.
And the ache it sparks in me is just as sharp, just as consuming.
I want him with the same desperate hunger, as though we’ve both been starving and finally found what we were meant to taste.
And I know that from this moment forward neither of us will ever be able to get enough.
Unable to respond, all I can do is place my hands on his wrist around my throat.
“Drench me, sweetheart,” he says, pounding harder, blurring my vision as he hits the perfect spot.
With a few more swift thrusts, I am sent barreling over the edge again with his name on my lips, my muscles clenching around him as he finds his release too.
“Ramona,” he says through strained breath as he keeps hold of my neck. His beautifully tattooed hand might be my new favorite accessory.
He finally loosens his grip, breath still uneven as he begins pressing gentle kisses along my cheeks, my jaw, my brow—softening the electricity still humming beneath my skin. With tender care, he brushes the hair from my face.
“You’re perfect,” he says.
Then he readjusts his clothes and crosses the space to retrieve the biker shorts from my bag. Without a word, he kneels, guiding my legs into them like it’s the most natural thing in the world. When I’m dressed, he leans in and presses a kiss on my forehead.
We settle onto the blanket, his body steady beneath mine as he lies back and pulls me into him. One arm folds behind his head, the other drapes over my back, his fingers moving in slow, lazy circles against my spine.
“I wasn’t too rough, was I?” he asks, his voice low, touched with a thread of vulnerability.
“Hell no. I loved it.” My words are a soft laugh, and his smile deepens as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
His gaze lingers on my face like he’s memorizing every inch—eyes tracing the slope of my cheek, the curve of my mouth, the way the light catches in my lashes.
“You have no idea how beautiful you are.”
I arch a brow, lips tugging into a grin.
“Me?” I tease. “Have you looked in a mirror lately, Mr. Gorgeous Punk Rock Tattooed God? And now, I can officially add ‘Sex God’ to the list.”
He lets out a full, genuine laugh, the sound warm and honest as it vibrates between us. His arms tighten around me, pulling me impossibly closer. That smile—his real smile—lights up his face, softening the sharp lines and stormy edges.