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Thrust. “Say it again.”
“Yours.”
His forehead slams to mine. “Come on my cock, prince. Let me feel it.”
I do.
It rips through me, my whole body locking around him with a broken cry brought out of me into the dark, and he fucks me through it like he can live in the way I shake.
“That’s it. That’s it. Fuck—Ilya—”
He follows. I feel the heat of him spilling inside me while he holds my face. He buries himself to the hilt and stays there, panting against my mouth.
“Good. So good. You took me so well. Baby.”
I lie under him with my shirt gone and his come in me and no joke left.
The pleasure drains.
What replaces it is quiet.
And I stare at a ceiling I can’t see, still full of him, wondering how I’m supposed to put my armor back on when he just watched me come apart with the lights off.
Ilya
When I wake the next morning, I’m cocooned beneath the blanket, it’s pulled all the way up to my neck. I blink the last of the haze from my eyes and find Kento sitting beside the bed, watching me with those beautiful black eyes. Every muscle in my body locks, whatever drowsiness remained evaporating as my heart lurches into my throat.
The room’s lit now, pale morning light stretching across the bed, over the sheets, over him, over me. Everything feels suddenly too visible. My eyes widen, and a dozen thoughts try to slam into each other at once.
Did he—
Before I can spiral properly, he says, “I haven’t.”
He knows exactly where my mind went and cuts it off before it can get its claws in.
I stare at him. He’s sitting beside me on the edge of the bed, face unfairly composed for someone who spent the night dismantling me in every possible way. His expression is softer than I know what to do with.
I let my eyes travel over his shirtless body, only to stop at the scars. I know those marks. I know exactly how deep the wounds were, because I’m the one who put the knife there.
Slowly, he puts his hand over the blanket where I’m covered, but he’s not yanking it down.
The idea of Kento seeing me naked in full daylight feels absurdly more exposing than anything that happened in the dark.
I swallow, suddenly too aware of my own body under the blanket.
His mouth curves just slightly, and then he leans down and kisses the top of my head.
“Are you alright?” he asks.
I glare at him. “No,” I say. “You’ve ruined my ass.” I am, in fact, very sore. Luckily, he didn’t go for round two.
“I thought I was very careful.”
“You were still… you.” I gesture under the blanket, too embarrassed to be more specific. “And now I feel like I got into a fight with a train.”
He smirks. I squint at him. “Don’t look so smug.”
He brushes his thumb once over my hairline, still looking at me with that warmth that always catches me off guard when it appears this openly. “You look cute when you’re sulking.”
