Kyrell’s hands make quick work of the laces on my gown.
His calloused and rough fingers from years of swordplay fumbling only slightly in his haste. Then the emerald silk slips off my shoulders like a whisper, pooling at my feet in a shimmering heap.
I’m left standing in nothing but my chemise, the thin fabric clinging to my curves, barely hiding the peaks of my breasts already hardening under his gaze.
I should feel exposed, vulnerable, mortified maybe. But instead, I feel invincible.
His eyes burn into me, and I know he’s seeing me, all of me.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, like gravel.
His lips skim over my collarbone, leaving a trail of fire that makes me shiver. His hands span my waist, trembling despite the raw hunger in his touch.
“So damn beautiful, Sybil. I’ve wanted this… wanted you for so long.”
I don’t wait anymore, tugging at his shirt, my fingers shaking as I pull it over his head. His chest is bare now, all hard muscle and smooth skin, the kind of body that’s built for breaking rules and bending wills.
I run my hands over him, feeling the ridges of his abs, the expanse of his shoulders.
He’s solid, real, and I need him closer, closer…
Kyrell lifts me effortlessly, my back pressing against the cool wall as my legs wrap around his waist. We’re eye level now, his face inches from mine, and I see it all in his gaze—his desire, his restraint, his reverence for me. It’s intoxicating.
"Be sure." The words scrape out of him like they're being dragged over gravel. "Because I won't survive touching you and then watching you walk away from me. I won't survive it, Sybil. I need you to know that."
“I’m sure,” I breathe, my hands cupping his face, forcing him to see the truth in my eyes. “I want this. I want you. I want to feel alive again.”
Something in him snaps. His mouth crashes against mine, all restraint gone, replaced by raw, desperate need. I kiss him back just as fiercely, my tongue sliding against his, my hands tangling in his dark hair.
His body is pressed against mine, and I can feel him—hard and thick—through the thin fabric of his breeches. I grind against him, needing more, needing everything.
His hands slide under my chemise, his calloused palms rough against my soft skin. Everywhere he touches burns, igniting nerves I thought were long dead. I gasp into his mouth when his fingers find my breast, thumb circling my peaks until I’m trembling with want.
Then he's lifting me, hands gripping the backs of my thighs, and my legs lock around his waist on instinct. The wall hits my back. Cool stone against overheated skin, and the contrast rips a gasp from my throat.
My head falls back against the stone. "Oh gods…"
"Look at me." His hand fists in my hair, tilting my face down. His eyes are almost black, the hazel swallowed whole by dilated pupils, and the look on his face, reverent and savage simultaneously, makes something deep inside me clench.
His free hand slides between us. Down my stomach, over my hip, between my thighs where I'm already slick and aching. When his fingers part me, finding the swollen bundle of nerves at my center, my entire body bows against him like I've been struck by lightning.
His fingers move in slow, deliberate circles—too slow, maddening, devastating. "All this for me?"
"Don't you dare tease me right now." I dig my nails into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. "Not tonight, not after everything—"
He pushes two fingers inside me and the words evaporate from my mouth.
The stretch is exquisite—his fingers thick and calloused and curving upward to find that spot inside me that sends sparks cascading behind my eyelids.
When I think I’m gonna shatter, he strips away the last barriers between us with a low growl.
My chemise falls to the floor, his breeches follow, and then there’s nothing but skin and heat and the desperate need to get closer. He's thick, pulsing against my thigh, and I ache for him.
He lifts me higher, positioning himself at my entrance, and then he’s inside me, filling me in one slow, burning thrust. I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders. It’s been so long since I’ve been filled like this, and the stretch is almost too much, almost unbearable—but I need it. I need him.
“Are you…” He stops, his jaw clenched tight, every muscle in his body taut with the effort of holding still. “Are you okay? Do I need to—”
“Don’t stop,” I beg, my legs tightening around his waist, pulling him deeper. “Please don’t stop.”
He moves then, his hips rocking against mine, driving into me with slow, deliberate strokes. Each thrust sends sparks shooting through me, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter until I’m trembling with it.
His forehead drops to my shoulder, his breath hot against my skin, and I bury my face in his neck to stifle my moans.
This isn’t like anything I’ve felt before. It’s raw, primal, overwhelming. His dick stretches me, filling me in ways I didn’t know I needed, and every stroke hits that spot deep inside me that makes me see stars.
“Sybil,” he groans, my name a desperate prayer on his lips. “You feel… gods, you feel perfect. Like you were made for me. Like we were meant—”
I cut him off with a kiss, my hips rocking against his, taking him deeper. I don’t want words right now. I just want this—this moment where nothing exists except the two of us and the pleasure building between us.
He shifts, changing the angle, and suddenly it’s all I can do not to scream. His dick hits that spot inside me, and the pleasure is blinding, overwhelming. I’m so close, so вфьт close, and I can’t hold back anymore.
“Let go,” he whispers against my ear, his voice rough with his own need. “I’ve got you. Let go, Sybil.”
And I do. I shatter in his arms, coming apart completely while biting down on his shoulder to keep from crying out. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me, so intense it’s almost painful, and through it all, he holds me steady, murmuring words I can’t hear over the roaring in my ears.
He follows moments later, his body going taut, my name torn from his throat in a low, guttural groan. His arms tighten around me, crushing me against his chest as he spills inside me, his dick pulsing with each wave of his release.
We stay like that for long moments, pressed together, breathing hard, hearts racing in tandem. Neither of us seems willing to let go, to break this connection.
When he finally lowers me to my feet, my legs are unsteady. He holds me upright, his hands gentle now, smoothing my hair back from my face with such tenderness it makes my throat tight.
“Come to bed,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Let me do this properly. Let me take my time with you.”
He lifts me again, carrying me across the room to the bed. The sheets are cool against my heated skin as he lays me down, following me immediately, covering my body with his.
This time is slower, more deliberate. He maps every inch of my skin with his hands, his mouth, learning what makes me gasp, what makes me arch, what makes me whisper his name like a prayer.
He’s patient where I’m desperate, gentle where I want rough, drawing out the pleasure until I’m begging.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs against my breast, his tongue circling my nipple until I’m writhing beneath him. “So beautiful, and mine. Say it, Sybil. Tell me you’re mine.”
“Yours,” I breathe, the word escaping without thought.
He rewards me by moving lower, his mouth trailing fire down my stomach, my hips, lower still until he’s between my thighs, his breath hot against my wetness.
He licks me slowly, deliberately, his tongue circling the most sensitive until I’m gasping his name and fisting my hands in his hair. He takes his time, bringing me to the edge again and again until I’m trembling and desperate and completely undone.
When he finally moves back up my body and enters me again—slower, deeper, more intimate—I’m already on the edge. Our eyes lock, our breaths mingle, and our bodies move in perfect synchronization.
“I love you,” he says, the words soft but certain. “I know it’s too soon, I know you’re not ready to say it back, but I need you to know. I love you, Sybil. Every broken piece of you, every scar. Everything.”
Tears blur my vision, emotion overwhelming me as much as the physical pleasure. I pull him down, kissing him with everything I can’t say yet, everything I’m too afraid to name.