He did it again—slow, tormenting.
“Too much?”
Her head shook hard, quick, breathless. “No…”
His chest rumbled with a low laugh. “Good.”
He kissed her where she was most sensitive, slow at first—long, unhurried strokes of his tongue that pulled gasps from her throat. She clutched at the sheets, writhing, until he caught her hand and laced their fingers, holding her as if to say:you’re not escaping me.
“I’ve got you, Ami,” he murmured against her, voice hoarse with devotion and hunger. “Don’t hold back. Give me everything.”
Her cry broke free. “Viktor—”
He wrapped his arm under her thigh and pulled her tighter against his mouth, relentless now. He shifted between slow, savoring strokes and sudden fierce flicks—testing, teasing, learning the shape of her pleasure until she broke apart into gasps and moans. Every twitch of her hips, every shiver of her body, he drank in like he was starving.
“That’s it,” he rasped, his voice fraying at the edges.
“That’s my good girl. Let me hear you.”
Her fingers gripped his hand so tight it hurt, but he only held her harder, steadying her through the storm he was building.
Her head fell back, his name spilling into the air. He pushed her higher, dragging it out, refusing to let her fall until she was begging without words, her leg shaking violently beneath his hold.
At last, when she shattered, he did not stop. He held her there, merciless and tender all at once, coaxing wave after wave until she was trembling, undone, sobbing his name like prayer.
Only then did he slow, kissing her softly, as if sealing every tremor into memory. He rested his cheek to her thigh, chest heaving, eyes shut in feral triumph and awe.
She stared at the ceiling, hair wild across the pillows, her body still twitching with aftershocks.
“What—” her voice broke, breathless, “—what was that?”
He rose, climbing over her, his face fierce and tender all at once. He caught her hand, dragged it low to her belly.
“Feel,” he whispered.
Guiding her fingers down, he parted her, urging her to claim what was hers. Her breath fractured, the shock of it breaking through her chest.
For a moment her hand lingered where he placed it—then she abandoned it altogether, reaching for him instead. Her shaking palms rose to cup his face, tears brightening her eyes.
Viktor’s world stopped. His chest hollowed out, stomach dropping like he’d been struck. Not her. Not tears. Dask, had he hurt her?
“Amerei—” His voice cracked, raw, as he seized her, crushing her to his chest. His heart thundered against her cheek. “Tell me—tell me this isn’t pain.”
She shook her head, breathless.
“How,” she whispered, voice breaking, “did I find a husband who touches me like this?”
He held her tighter, near to breaking himself.
“The girls at court,” she choked against his throat. “Their stories, Viktor… the bruises, the fear. I thought it was the way of things. I thought it was all there was.”
Her tears fell hot against his skin.
“Tell me it won’t end—that it can be more than a single night. Tell me it will always be like this.”
Viktor’s chest pounded, his jaw flexing hard. He seized her face between his hands, forcing her eyes to his.
“Look at me, Amerei. It will never end. Not while I draw breath. Not while my body burns for you. I’ll fight every night to keep it this way—tender when you want it, rough when you beg it, but never cruel. Never.”
