26. Kaisner
KAISNER
O ur lips collide in a fevered dance, tongues tangling, breaths coming in sharp, desperate gasps.
Clarissa’s hands roam my chest, shoulders, back—each touch branding me, leaving trails of fire.
I grip her waist, pulling her flush against me, reveling in the intoxicating blend of silk and softness, the way she fits against me as if made for this.
But as much as I want to lose myself in her, I know I can’t. Not yet.
With a groan of restraint, I tear my lips from her, resting my forehead against hers as we struggle to catch our breath. My pulse thunders in my ears, my control hanging by a thread.
“Kaisner,” she murmurs, voice husky with need. “Please. I want this. I want you.”
Her words slam into me, a lightning strike straight to my core, and for a moment, I falter. My fingers tighten on her hips, possessiveness and hunger warring with restraint. I close my eyes, exhaling sharply.
“ Liebes ,” I whisper, my voice raw. “You have no idea how much I want that. How much I want to claim you, to make you mine.”
I trail my fingers along the curve of her face, my touch reverent. “I’ll teach you pleasure... and pain,” I murmur against her ear, feeling her shudder. “But you’re not ready for me. Not yet.”
It’s the truth, agonizing as it is. Clarissa is light, pure and untainted by the darkness that haunts my world. To give herself to me, fully... it would change her, irrevocably. And though I long to possess her, body and soul, I can’t bear to dim her radiance.
She looks up, eyes dark with defiance. “I’m not afraid,” she says, steady and sure. “I know what I want, Kaisner. And I want you.”
A wry smile tugs at my lips. “I know you do. Believe me, the feeling is more than mutual.” I brush a strand of hair from her face, letting my fingers linger. “But there are parts of me, parts of my world, you’re not ready to face yet.”
I kiss her, slow and deliberate, savoring her taste, the way she melts into me. When I pull back, I let my lips graze her ear. “When the time is right, when you’re ready to accept all of me —the light and the dark—then, I’ll make you mine.”
I let the words settle, pressing a kiss to her neck. “Fully.” Another to her brow. “Completely.” My lips brush her mouth, a vow sealed in fire. “Irrevocably.”
She shivers, eyes fluttering closed as she leans into me. “Why wait?” she whispers.
I cup her chin, tilting her face to mine, my expression grave with meaning. “Because, baby girl,” I murmur, my thumb brushing over her parted lips. “My desires run deep. Dark.” I pause, watching the flicker of intrigue in her gaze. “And once you step into my world, there’s no going back.”
She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t waver. “I don’t care,” she breathes.
A slow, wicked smile spreads across my lips. “Are you sure?”
Her grip tightens on my hand. “I am.”
And just like that, my restraint shatters.
I claim her lips in a searing kiss, one hand tangling in her hair, the other branding her waist. The world ceases to exist—no music, no prying eyes, just the undeniable pull between us.
But in the distance, I hear the hush of the VIP room.
My business partners—the most powerful men in both mortal and supernatural circles—are watching.
Assessing. Calculating the shifts in alliances and power dynamics.
But none of it matters. Yes, they’re savvy enough to recognize Clarissa as the Draken heiress, to understand the significance of this moment. But they’re also wise enough to know that whatever transpires in this room stays here, sealed by unspoken agreements and the fear of retribution.
With a growl, I break the kiss, my breathing ragged. Clarissa stares up at me, lips swollen, pupils blown wide with desire. And I know—she feels it too. The need for more.
Wordlessly, I take her hand, our fingers interlocking. Then, without a backward glance, I lead her away from the booth, away from the flashing lights and deafening bass, toward the hidden staircase leading to the most secret part of the club.
The journey to my office becomes a trail of barely restrained hunger.
We stumble through dimly lit corridors, my mouth claiming hers against every wall, every doorframe.
Her dress rides higher with each stolen kiss, my hands mapping territory I’m desperate to conquer.
Behind us, I hear the distant crash of something falling—a painting knocked askew by her reaching hands, a decorative vase toppled by my elbow.
The staff will find chaos in our wake, evidence of desire that couldn’t wait for privacy.
By the time we reach my office, we’re both breathing hard, her lipstick smeared, my shirt half-unbuttoned by her eager fingers.
Her body arches under my touch, and I press her harder against the wall, one arm locking around her waist like a vice.
My grip tightens on her hips, dragging her flush against me, and she gasps—a sound so sweet, so desperate, it goes straight to my cock.
“Touch me,” I growl, voice low and lethal, each word scraping across the air like claws. “Feel what you do to me.”
Her fingers fumble, trembling as they drag down my chest, over the ridges of muscle, down to the brutal truth of my desire. She exhales sharply, pupils blown wide. Heat blooms in her cheeks.
“You feel that?” I whisper darkly, leaning in until my mouth brushes her ear. “That ache—that hunger? It’s all yours, Clarissa.”
My fingers find the hem of her dress, jerking it up without finesse, without permission. She gasps, and it thrills me. My touch slips beneath the silk and finds heat—wet, wild, waiting for me.
“Fuck…” I snarl, eyes flashing. “You’re already soaked. So needy for me you’re shaking.”
She nods, barely able to breathe.
“Say it,” I demand, gaze burning into hers. “Say who you’re wet for.”
“You,” she whimpers. “Only you.”
A savage grin splits across my face.
“Good girl.”
I lift her with a growl, her thighs wrapping around my waist, and slam her back against the wall. She moans, nails raking down my spine as I drag my mouth over her throat, tasting the pulse that races just for me.
“You said you wanted everything,” I murmur darkly. “You’re about to find out what that really means.”
I carry her to the desk—don’t clear it, don’t ask. I take. Papers scatter. Something shatters. I don’t care. She gasps as I lift her onto the edge, spreading her legs with practiced ease, laying her out like a sacrifice. My hands grip her thighs like I own them. Like I own her.
“Eyes on me, baby girl,” I command, sinking to my knees. “I want to watch the moment you come undone.”
Her breath hitches, a soft whimper escaping her lips.
My gaze rises to meet hers, lips brushing the inside of her trembling thigh.
“That’s it,” I murmur, voice low, reverent, wicked. “Tonight isn’t about me. Tonight’s about you falling apart on my mouth—again and again—until the only name you remember is mine.”
I nudge her thighs wider, pressing heated kisses up the inside, slow and possessive. She moans, hands shaking as they reach for me. I slap one gently away.
“No touching. Not yet. Be good, and I’ll give you everything.”
Then I bury my face between her legs like a man starved for centuries. When my tongue finally meets her, she cries out—sharp, raw, perfect. I lap her up like I’ve been starved for years. And maybe I have.
I smile against her as I savor her—filthy, reverent, insatiable. “Fuck, you taste like sin,” I growl into her heat.
She bucks, fingers tangling in my hair, but I grab her wrists and pin them at her sides, holding her still.
“You don’t come,” I say, my voice velvet dragged across a blade, “until I fucking say.”
She whimpers, begs, pleads. And I devour. Again. And again. And again.
Her taste is sin and surrender, delightful and intoxicating.
“So fucking sweet,” I rasp between strokes.
She writhes, pleading now, body strung tight with need—but I don’t let her fall over the edge. Not yet. I draw it out, build her up, tear her down, and build her back again. Over and over.
And when she finally begs— really begs—voice broken, form shattered, I let her have it. I pull her to the edge and keep her there, tongue relentless, fingers cruel and tender at once, until she shatters on my tongue like a prayer.
Her thighs quake. Her moans echo off the walls of my office. She collapses back onto the desk, dazed and ruined.
I rise slowly, mouth glistening, pupils dark with satisfaction as I watch her chest rise and fall in the aftermath. She’s beautiful like this—wrecked, trembling, completely undone by my touch.
“Kaisner,” she breathes, voice broken and raw. Her eyes flutter open, finding mine, and what I see there steals my breath. Vulnerability. Need. Something that threatens to destroy us both.
“I need you more than I should,” she whispers, the words tumbling out like a confession torn from her very soul. “More than is safe, more than is smart. But… I can’t help it.”
Her admission scorches through me—no spell, no daemon pact, no blood rite has ever had this kind of power. It cracks through the armor I’ve spent a lifetime forging, and I welcome the ruin.
I lift her, effortlessly, one hand still tangled in her hair, the other gripping her thigh as I carry her across the room. She clings to me, breathless, her nails scraping my shoulders like she wants to carve her name into me.
Good. Let her.
I set her down on the nearest surface—a marble-topped table, cool against her skin. She gasps at the contact, but I don’t give her a second to adjust. I push her thighs apart with my knee and step between them, my hands possessive on her hips.
“Look at you,” I rasp, gaze devouring every inch of her. “Spread open for me like you were made for this. Made for me .”
She moans, low and trembling, and it lights something feral in me.