She was trembling for me.
And gods help me—I liked it.
I drew back and took her hand, guiding her to the bed.
She sat on the edge, graceful and silent atop the feather-and-herb-stuffed mattress, her eyes never leaving mine. I slid herdressing gown from her shoulders, letting it fall in soft, silent whispers around her waist. Her skin glowed in the candlelight, and I took a moment—too long—to look at her.
I hung the garment neatly on the back of the chair, a strange courtesy amid lust.
Then I returned to her.
My fingers slid through her hair to her neck, and she leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering closed. Her skin was silk beneath my hands, scented with herbs and desire. I lingered at her shoulder, breathing her in.
I growled quietly at the tenderness creeping into my hands and the way she disarmed me.
I didn’t want to be gentle.
I didn’t want to woo her.
I wanted to claim her.
My clothes hit the floor in a flurry of motion. I returned to the bed where she lay, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths, her body warm and waiting.
I had never craved anyone the way I craved Alina.
She was a vision of contrasts—soft curves, angelic features, and the promise of sin lingering in her eyes. Everything about her ignited a deep, primal hunger in me. But it wasn’t just her beauty that stirred me.
It was the thought of taking her completely, possessing every inch of her—mind, body, soul.
She trembled beneath my gaze. The sight only stoked the fire in my veins.
The candlelight flickered across her skin, casting shadows that danced over her breasts, hips, and the delicate hollow of her throat. My eyes drank her in, gleaming with lust, and I saw her shrink slightly beneath the weight of my stare. My tall frame loomed above her, and for a moment, she looked so small. So helpless.
So mine.
I smiled and licked my lips, savoring how flawlessly the game unfolded.
I leaned down, my lips grazing her ear, my breath hot as it swept over her skin. She shivered.
“Do you want to be mine?” I asked, my voice low, rough, and unrelenting.
Alina gave a weak nod.
“How much?”
“With all my heart and soul,” she whispered.
“Then show me.”
I climbed onto the bed, pressing my body against hers—naked, demanding, undeniable. My hands slid around her hips, gripping her firmly as I pulled her closer. My fingers raked down her curves, memorizing every inch, every rise and fall of her chest.
She arched into me, a silent plea for more. I smiled, pleased, and nuzzled against her neck, letting my lips explore the soft line of her throat. I kissed her there—gentle, then harder—until I reached the tender curve where her neck met her shoulder.
And then I bit.
Hard.
She gasped, her body going rigid beneath me. I clamped down, marking her, sucking until I tasted the coppery tang of her blood.
