He smiles, but it’s sad. "You don’t have to thank me," he says. "You don’t owe me anything."
I want to argue, but he shakes his head, as if he’s reading my mind. He looks away, out over the water, and for a minute, the only sound is the slow churn of the creek and the low hiss of the fire. I follow his gaze, my mind drifting, knowing there’s something he wants to say but not wanting to push him.
Finally, he turns back to me, and there’s a strange light in his eyes, something hopeful and scared at the same time.
"I know what this looks like," he says, his voice is so quiet that I have to lean in to hear. "That we’re together because it makes sense. Because it’s safer, or easier, or because it keeps the peace. But that’s not it. Not for me.
"You’ve had so many choices ripped from you, Sophia. Had your voice stolen. Your worth questioned. Even this—us—started with chains. I never wanted to be another man who decided things for you. Not your fate. Not your future. Not your heart.
"So here I am. No guns. No guards. Just me. A man who would burn the world to the ground if it meant you could rise from the ashes untouched. I want to marry you, not because it makes political sense. But because when I wake up next to you, I feel like I finally made it home."
He rises so he is on one knee.
"Sophia ... will you marry me—not as a duty, but as the greatest privilege I’ve ever been given?"
He opens the box, and the ring catches the firelight. It's huge, elegant, and more beautiful than anything I everimagined. Tears stream down my face before I even realize I’m crying. I try to speak, but my voice fails me.
So I nod.
Over and over again.
And then I fall forward and throw my arms around him.
"Yes," I whisper against his neck, my voice trembling. "Yes, yes, yes."
He holds me, strong and solid, and I know that even in this world of fire and blood, somehow… I’ve found love.
The kiss that follows is hot and sweet, filled with feelings that we're both unable to say. It's so much deeper, so much heavier, so much more. He's the part of me I've been searching for all my life. The part I reached for in my darkest hours, and he's here. Now. I clutch his shirt, feel his hard muscles underneath my fingers, and press myself so close that I can feel the hard beat of his heart. His breath is hot on my face, his lips press against me, but it’s not enough. Never enough.
Before I know what I'm doing, my hands rip open his shirt, but when I feel his naked skin, it’s worth the sacrifice. Just as frantic, his hands work on my sweater. The chilly air pebbles my skin, but my blood is so hot that I swear I can see steam rising off my body.
His kisses turn hotter, moving from my lips to my throat, and I lean my head back to give him better access. He nibbles and bites, and a desire that liquifies my entire being shoots through me. My nails rake over the hardgrooves and valleys of his back, leaving marks, I'm sure of it. This is not a slow bout of making love like we have been doing. This is going to be a hard, rough fuck, and I'm already soaking wet with anticipation.
Impatiently, he rips my bra off, and my nipples harden under the cool air. His mouth moves a path down my collarbone; his hand grabs my breast, holding it, kneading it. His mouth closes around the other breast's nipple, and a deep, guttural groan escapes me. His strong hands move over my flesh, branding it, marking it, while mine are raking over his.
I fall back, and he catches me, his breath coming out in hot foggy tendrils, and in the firelight, he looks like a beast from ancient times. Especially with that scar on his face. My monster. Hell, if that doesn't turn me on even more. I feel like we're timeless, ageless.
His hands drag my pants down and rip my underwear. Just as impatiently and wantonly, I open my legs, greedy for his cock to be inside me.
"Fuck, you're the hottest sight I've ever seen," he grunts, freeing his beautiful cock from the restraint of his pants. The head glistens in the flickering light, already leaking precum. He's staring at my offered pussy, and instead of shame, all I feel is power and desire. He wants me. This magnificent man wantsme!
"Look at you. So wet already." His right hand reaches forward, his left strokes his heavy dick, and a shudder ofdesire moves through me. He touches my folds. "So slick, so hot!" He groans.
His palm on my pussy is rough, giving just the right friction, and I can't help but rub myself shamelessly against him to ease some of the ache inside me.
"Raffael," I moan.
"So wet, so beautiful. Mine!" he rasps, switching hands to rub my juices over his cock. The hollow ache in my pussy intensifies to nearly unbearable degrees.
"Raffael, please."
His eyes are hooded, his pupils large. He's still stroking himself with my juices. "You're so sweet when you want me. Say it again."
"Please."
"Fuck," he groans, his head falls back like he's fighting his own desires.
Intentionally, I spread my legs further and arch my back. My hands grab my breasts, rubbing them, and he freezes to stare at me.
