One presses just above where I need him most. Teasing. Testing. Waiting.
"I want to feel you," I gasp.
"Soon. But first I want to see what you look like when you come apart for me."
Then his mouth replaces the shadow—tongue sliding over me with devastating precision. I cry out, back arching, and the shadows hold my thighs open while he worships me with his mouth. He groans when I shudder, like my pleasure feeds something in him.
He doesn't stop. Not when I beg. Not when I come once, sobbing his name. Not even when I tremble and plead for mercy.
"Ruvan—please—"
"You taste like light," he says, voice thick, eyes wild. "I want more."
I drag him up to kiss me, tasting myself on his tongue, desperate to feel him now, all of him. "Now. I need you."
His shadows shift, releasing me just enough for his hands to slide beneath me, lifting me onto his lap. He positions himself, and then—
Oh gods.
He thrusts in with a single motion, and I lose everything. My thoughts. My breath. My name.
I claw at his back, gasp against his mouth. "You're—bigger than I thought."
He laughs into my neck. "You have no idea what I've been holding back."
He starts to move—deep, slow thrusts that steal air from my lungs and replace it with fire. His shadows wrap my wrists again, arching me into him. Every time he moves, it's with control—but the control is cracking.
He buries himself to the hilt, presses his forehead to mine. "You feel like salvation," he whispers. "And I don't believe in that shit."
"Believe in me," I whisper back. "Right now. Just this."
Then he loses it.
He takes me with force that should break things. His shadows snap around us, pinning my hips, pressing against my throat just enough to make me feel it. Never hurting. Always asking.
"Okay?" he rasps.
"More," I gasp.
He gives it to me.
Every thrust hits something deep and perfect. Every growl against my skin sets me alight. His mouth is on my breasts, my shoulder, my jaw. His hands hold me like I'm breakable and unbreakable all at once.
When I come again, it's with a cry that's half sob, half prayer. His name leaves my lips.
He follows with a low, brutal groan—spilling into me, shadows thrashing. Then they collapse around us both.
When I can breathe again, I realize I'm shaking. My wrists are free. His arms are around me. And the shadows are holding my injured arm very gently.
"Fuck," he breathes, forehead pressed to mine. "You'll kill me."
"You first," I whisper, smiling.
He kisses me slow this time. Worshipful.
"I'm not going anywhere," I promise.
"I know," he says, and he sounds like he believes it.
