Elara’s breath hitched as he followed the path with heated, open-mouthed kisses. He sank onto the settee, drawing her down with him, her body settling astride his lap. His hands closed on her hips, firm, pulling her in until there was no space left between them. The sound that tore from her—a soft, broken moan—was met by his, low and guttural, vibrating against her chest.
She felt him, hard against her stomach, and exhaled into his mouth, her eyes flying open at the sensation. She hadn’t expected it, and the suddenness sent a rush of nerves coursing through her. But there was something else, too—something like pride, or maybe power. She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze.
His eyes were dark, his lips swollen and red, cheeks flushed. He looked at her like no one ever had before—like she was something to be cherished, protected,devoured—and the intensity of it sent a dip through her stomach, her breath catching in her throat. He was watching her, waiting, his hand fisted tightly in her shirt, holding her there but giving her space to decide what came next.
It felt unreal—like her mind couldn’t fully catch up that this was the Hunter beneath her.Ivan. The man who had always been untouchable, unshakable. And now here he was, his hands on her, trembling where they gripped her, his breathing ragged, utterly at her mercy.
His hands drifted down her arms, heat radiating from him, pulsing with the ether that always seemed to simmer just beneath his skin. They were rough, calloused from years of battle, from war, from everything that had shaped him into the man before her. He traced soft arcs with the pads of his fingersover her palms, gliding up to her fingertips before sliding back down to intertwine their hands.
Her heart clenched at the tender gesture, but all she could think about was “nothing personal,” how he had kept those memories from her—the ones of them together. There was a reason he hadn’t told her, something that twisted her insides the longer she dwelled on it.
He wasn’t trying to hurt her; she knew him well enough to believe that. But still, he had kept it from her—maybe not to manipulate, but to protect himself.
The urge to ask again, to demand an explanation now that they had crossed this line, burned on her tongue. But then his hand was on her face, his thumb ghosting over her mouth, and the question died on her lips.
"Can I touch you?" His voice was barely a whisper, and when he breathed in, his stomach pressed against hers, fluttering and tight. She licked her lips, eyes drifting up to meet his, dark and hooded.
“Yes.”
That made him smile, just a little, a soft curve of his lips. Those rough, calloused fingertips trailed down her jaw, over her neck, ghosting along the line of her shirt until they reached her breast. He moved with the curve of her body. “Here?” His voice was so low it sent a shiver through her.
“Yes.”
When he cupped her, she gasped, and he shifted at the sound, hips pressing closer. Whatever restraint he’d been holding fractured, and in one smooth motion his hand slid beneath her shirt, fingers slipping under the lace until skin met skin. His touch was warm, rough enough to make her breath catch, her eyes fluttering shut under the rush of it.
He let out a slow breath as her fingers traced his face, mapping lines and features she’d memorized from a distance forfar too long. His skin was warm beneath her touch, and when she finally dared to skim her thumb over his lips, his breath came hot against her fingertips. His hand drifted lower, sliding over her stomach as he drew her index finger into his mouth. Her stomach flipped, her back arching?—
and then the world tipped when his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her pants, grazing the soft skin at her lower belly.
Her body jolted, and his eyes snapped to hers as he released her finger from his mouth.
“Here?”
She swallowed and nodded. His hand dipped lower, the warmth of his fingers brushing her, stealing her breath.
He traced her slowly, pressing just enough to spark sensation through her body. When he found the place that made her hips jerk against him, she gasped, her breathing turning quick and uneven.
“Gods, yes,” she said—though it was so much more than okay. Too much to name.
His finger circled slowly, pleasure rolling through her in steady waves. Her hands fisted in his shirt, fingers digging into his shoulders as her hips moved on their own, chasing more with every pass of his hand.
His hips jerked back once—but by the time he pressed a finger, then two, inside her, he’d found a rhythm against her leg, grinding into her with a need that matched her own. Elara’s hand slid to the back of his neck, tugging, wordless, pleading for a kiss.
He didn’t move.
She saw it in his eyes—he wanted to watch her. Every breath, every shudder. He wasn’t willing to miss a second of it.
Heat licked up her spine, spreading fast beneath her skin, and before she could stop herself she was moving—fucking hishand in a way that would make her blush later. His breath turned heavy, pupils blown wide, his face flushed.
She was so close—that tight, coiled pull in her belly, ready to snap?—
when he slowed—hovering just shy of pushing her over.
Slow, deliberate strokes drew a whimper from her, her fingers twisting into his shirt. He kept her there, on the edge, drawing her up and pulling back until she was nearly sobbing with need, blood roaring through her veins.
He leaned forward, placing his forehead against hers.
"Fuck, you're so beautiful, Elara. Look at you."
