Chapter 19 Shelby #2
I step back and lower her again. Slowly, carefully, I remove the gold plug. Serena whimpers at the loss, her body clenching around nothing. I set it aside and reach for the bottle of lubricant I placed on the nearby table earlier. Preparation is everything in our world.
“Eyes on me,” I command as I slick myself. “Don’t look away.”
She obeys; her gaze locked on mine as I position myself at her entrance. The swing makes the angle perfect, gives me complete control while keeping her suspended, vulnerable, at my mercy.
I push forward, and the tight ring of muscle resists for a moment before yielding. Serena gasps, her hands gripping the straps of the swing, but she doesn’t look away. Neither do I.
“Breathe,” I murmur, pausing to let her adjust. “Red yet?”
“No, sir. Please don’t stop.” Her voice is strained but determined.
I push deeper, watching her face for any sign of distress. What I see instead is wonder. Desire. Need. Her lips part on a moan as I finally seat myself completely inside her.
For a moment, neither of us moves. The sensation is overwhelming. She’s so tight, so hot, gripping me like she never wants to let go. My vision blurs at the edges as I fight for control.
“You okay?” I manage to ask.
“Yes.” She rolls her hips experimentally, and we both groan. “God, yes. Please, sir. Fuck me properly. I want your beast tonight. I need you to own me.”
Her plea shatters what remains of my restraint.
I grip the straps of the swing and begin to move, using the apparatus to pull her onto me with each thrust. The room fills with the sound of skin against skin, her moans, my growls. The city lights beyond the windows blur into streaks of color as I lose myself in the rhythm.
“Mine,” I grunt, driving deeper, marking each word with a thrust. “Every. Part. Of. You. Mine.”
“Yours,” she agrees, her voice breaking on a cry. “Only yours. Always yours.”
I reach between us to find her clit, rubbing circles. Her body arches in the swing, straining against the straps as pleasure builds.
“Come for me, álainn,” I plead, tossing the role of Dom aside. “I need to feel you. I need to smell your sweet pleasure.”
She shatters with a scream that echoes off the windows, her body clenching around me so tightly I see stars. The sensation triggers my own release, and I empty myself inside her with a guttural, possessive roar.
We stay connected for long moments, both of us trembling, catching our breath. The swing sways gently, suspended in the aftermath of what we’ve shared. I claim her lips in a hot yet soothing kiss.
Carefully, I ease out of her and help her down from the apparatus. Her legs are shaky, so I scoop her into my arms and carry her to the bed.
“Wait here,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
In the en-suite bathroom, I wet a towel with warm water.
When I return to the bed, Serena watches me with those whiskey-colored eyes.
I clean her gently, methodically. Aftercare isn’t optional in our dynamic.
She needs this, and so do I. Every stroke of the warm towel across her skin is a promise: I will always take care of you.
When I’m finished, I pull the covers over us and gather her close. She curls into me, her head finding its familiar place in the hollow of my shoulder.
“Shelby?” Her voice is drowsy, satisfied.
“Yeah, álainn?”
“Thank you.” She presses closer, her breath warm against my sensitive skin. “For realizing another of my fantasies. Thanks for... Everything, actually.”
My throat tightens. This fierce, brilliant, beautiful woman is thanking me, when the truth is she’s the one who’s making all my fantasies come true. She’s also the one who’s saved me.
When I returned from Russia, I was a ghost wearing a dead man’s skin. Nikolai’s words come back to me: Go home. Fix whatever’s broken. And then maybe you’ll be human again.
I didn’t think it was possible. I was convinced that the darkness inside me was permanent, that the ghosts of Syria would haunt me forever, that I would never deserve someone as pure as Serena.
But she didn’t care about my ghosts. She saw them and chose to stay anyway. Not because she thought she could fix me, but because she understood that we’re all a little broken, and sometimes broken pieces fit together to make something whole.
Still, I can’t tell her all this, or she’ll run for the hills screaming. Hell, I can barely admit these things to myself.
Too soon. I convince myself.
“You also make my kinky heart so happy when you submit to me,” I say quietly, running my fingers through her hair, and offering the partial truth I can speak out. “You are such a good girl. Now, let’s get some sleep, woman.”
She lifts her head to stare at me, and her eyes glint with self-awareness and acute intelligence.
“You’re so full of shit sometimes, Boyle,” she whispers, a wicked smile playing on her swollen lips. “Keep telling yourself that’s all we’ve got here. I’m too exhausted to argue with your stubbornness right now.”
Her words hang between us, heavy with implications. Our marriage started as a desperate escape from her father’s machinations. It evolved into a partnership, then a passion. And now...
Now I can’t imagine my life without her in it.
And despite my lying to myself, Serena saw right through my bullshit.
I cup her face in my hands. I kiss her slow and deep and full of the promises I can’t voice. Outside, Boston sleeps, unaware that in this penthouse, two broken people have found their way back to each other.
Tomorrow, we’ll face the darkness. We’ll dig deeper into Giovanni’s operation, plan our next move against Cesare, and whoever else is part of that trafficking ring.
But tonight, in this bed, wrapped around the woman who makes me want to be a better man, I allow myself to believe in something I’d given up on long ago.
Hope.
And a future worth fighting for.