The hush of the compound feels heavy now, a blanket of silence before the scream of the coming battle. An hour is gone before I can feel it. Three hours remain before I have to go out there and kill the man who signed her brother’s death warrant. Three hours before the world potentially ends.
Adrenaline isn't what I need. I don't want the frantic, bruising heat we keep mistaking for control. I want sanctuary. I want a space where the echoes of the past can't reach us.
I pick her up, her legs wrapping around my waist, and carry her to the bed. I lay her down on the silk sheets, the dark fabric making her skin glow. I strip off my tactical vest, my holster, my shirt, throwing them onto the floor like the discarded remnants of the man I have to be out there.
When I climb over her, the weight of my body is a tether. She needs to feel me. She needs to know that no matter what happens in the dark, I am the one who comes back to her.
"Stay with me," I whisper, my lips brushing against hers. "Just tonight. Just these hours. Don't go anywhere in your head."
"I'm here, Alessio," she says, her voice steady, her fingers tracing the silver at my temples. "I'm right here."
The kiss isn't a conquest. It’s a vow. It’s slow and deep, a lingering pressure that tastes of salt and desperation. My tongue sweeps against hers, claiming the space, memorizing the rhythm of her breath. She tastes like the only future I’m allowed to have.
I move my hands down her body, feeling the familiar curves through her clothes. I want her bare. I want every inch of her skin against mine, a barrier against the cold reality waiting outside that door. I work the buttons of her shirt with fingers that are steady, my focus narrowing until she is the only thing in the universe.
When I peel the fabric away, my breath hitches. She is beautiful. Not the fragile beauty of a flower, but the resilient beauty of a blade. I trace the line of her collarbone, the swell of her breasts, the soft dip of her waist. My touch steadies as it learns her again.
“Stay with me,” I mutter against her skin, my teeth grazing the sensitive cord of her neck. “Right here. Every breath.”
“Here,” she gasps, her back arching off the bed as I cup her breast, my thumb dragging over the dark, peaked nipple. “I’m here.”
I move lower, my hands sliding under the waistband of her pants, tugging them down over her hips. She kicks them off, her movements fluid and eager. When she is finally naked beneath me, a surge of possessive heat threatens to pull me under. I want her to remember this as something chosen, not stolen by the war.
Tonight is for the slow burn.
I part her legs, settling my weight between her thighs. The heat radiating off her is a drug. I reach down, my fingers finding the wet, slick heat of her, and she lets out a long, low moan that vibrates through my chest.
"Look at me," I command.
She opens her eyes, her gaze dark and hazy with arousal. She clenches around my finger, her internal walls rippling with a need that matches my own.
"I am going to kill him, Amara," I say, my voice a low, dangerous rumble. "I am going to end Vane for what he took from you. And then I am coming back to you. I am always coming back to you."
"Kill him," she whispers, her hands tangling in my hair, pulling my face down to hers. "And come back to me."
I add a second finger, stretching her, filling her, my eyes never leaving hers. I want her to see the fear underneath the need. The clinical distance is gone. There is only the raw, jagged fear of the void she filled.
I stroke her, my thumb finding the hard, sensitive bud of her clit, circling it with a relentless, steady pressure. She startsto move her hips, a slow, rhythmic grind against my hand. Her breath comes in shallow hitches, her head tossing back against the pillows.
"Alessio... please," she whimpers.
"Not yet," I murmur. "Slow, Amara. We have time."
I savor the way her body reacts. I memorize the way her skin flushes pink, the way her pupils dilate until there is no color left in her eyes. I lean down, taking her nipple into my mouth, sucking hard, my tongue swirling around the tip. She cries out, her fingers digging into my shoulders, her nails marking my skin.
I move my hand, replacing my fingers with the head of my cock. I’m leaking, the precum slicking the tip, and when I press against her opening, the friction is almost enough to break my control. I’m thick, heavy with the need to bury myself so deep in her that we forget where I end and she begins.
I push in, just an inch, feeling the initial stretch, the tight, hot welcome of her body. She groans, her eyes fluttering shut, her legs locking around my waist to pull me closer.
"No," I say, pulling back slightly. "Look at me."
She opens her eyes, and the raw, unfiltered love is there, the emotion she struggles to say but shows me in the way she holds on. I push again, slow, deliberate, feeling every millimeter of the slide. I move slowly enough to feel every place she chooses to let me in, her body yielding and clenching in a perfect, agonizing rhythm.
I sink into her until my pubic bone hits hers, a dull thud that echoes in my gut. I stay there for a moment, just breathing her in, feeling the pulse of her heart against mine. For one breath, the coming dark stays outside the room.
"You're so big," she whispers, her voice trembling. "I can feel you everywhere."
“I want you to remember I was here when the world starts screaming,” I tell her.
