I pressed against the solid warmth of his chest, my hands on his shoulders.
He lifted my chin, tilting my face up. Our gazes locked. Need and desire seared through his eyes, dark and consuming and utterly focused on me.
“Bloom,” he said, my name a rough prayer.
We probably shouldn’t do this. He was injured, freshly stitched, in pain. But we both needed this with desperate urgency. We needed to feel alive. To confirm we had survived. To claim each other. We no longer had to hide.
I leaned in and kissed him. Softly, then deeper. His mouth opened for me, and I invaded him with my tongue. He growled with pure male need.
His hands slid up my thighs, gathering my black Victorian gown. Heat flared between us instantly, as it always did.
“Don’t move,” I whispered against his lips. “You’re hurt. Let me.”
His eyes flared with unbridled lust. Control had always been his. Our last time had been rough, desperate, a clash of tormented souls who needed the edge of pain to remember themselves.
This would be different.
“Little flower?—”
“Let me take care of you.” I settled more firmly over him, my hands pressing to the thunder of his heart. “Just sit tight. I’ll make it all better for you.”
A rough sound escaped his throat, half laugh, half groan. “You’ll be the death of me.”
“And you me,” I said. And then I was kissing him again and there was no more room for words.
I heaved my hips up, my fingers freeing his hard shaft from his trousers, my thumb smearing the precum on his crown. I didn’t need to prepare myself, as I was already ready for him. Holding his cock against my sleek entrance, I sank down onto him, and we both groaned. The sensation of his hardness filling me was delicious. He thrust upward, and I inserted my hand into his hair and twisted it.
“Stop moving,” I commanded.
He cursed softly but obeyed, his hands remaining tight on my hips, guiding without taking control. His jaw clenched as I began to move up and down his length, slow and measured.
I set the pace. A slow, rolling rhythm as I took him deep, then rising until he nearly slipped free before gliding down again. His breath came in harsh pants. His eyes never left mine, burning with possessive devotion, so fierce and savage it should have terrified me.
Perhaps it did, a little.
But I was just as obsessed.
Heat built between us with each movement as I glided along his hard cock. My hands braced on his shoulders, careful not to jar his back. His fingers dug into my hips, sure to leave marks I’d wear proudly.
“Bloom,” he hissed. “Fuck me harder.”
I leaned in, biting his lower lip before soothing it with my tongue. “Not yet. I want to savor this first.”
“You love to torture me.” He let out a ragged groan, his head falling back against the chair.
The tendons in his neck pulled taut, his entire body a study in restrained power. He was allowing me to take control even as every coiled muscle flexed, ready to flip our positions and fuck me the way he wanted.
He held still. For me.
I quickened my pace, showing him mercy, my hips rolling before I slammed down to his base, harder and faster. He hissed in pleasure. Heat within me tightened, a bright coil winding closer to its end with every lustful slide and lift.
I was close, so close now.
And then, without warning, the memory struck like lightning.
A lush garden of impossible botany. Flowers glowed with their own inner fire. The air tasted of wild spring and snow.
And there he was.
