Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
The moment the door to the penthouse closes behind us, the last thread of restraint in me gives way. I put her down only once we’re past the foyer, then guide her deeper into the apartment. My arm stays around her waist, steadying her.
Once inside my bedroom, I close the door, shutting out the world, then face her fully. Her cheeks are pale, her lips trembling, but her eyes shine with a quiet strength and desperate longing that matches my own.
I lift my hands to her face, cupping her cheeks, my thumbs brushing the dampness of tears from her skin. She leans into my palms as if they anchor her, and I lower my forehead to hers.
“You’re safe,” I whisper. “You’re home.”
Her arms wind around my waist, and she clings to me.
For a long moment, we simply hold each other, murmuring broken reassurances, letting our bodies relearn the shape of us together. The tension begins to ease, and something deeper rises in its place. Not the frantic relief of survival, but the raw, aching need to remind ourselves what it means to be alive, to belong to each other.
I kiss her then, softly at first, lips brushing hers in reverence. The kiss deepens as she answers me, her mouth opening beneath mine, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt. I taste salt and heat, fear and triumph, love so sharp it makes me dizzy. I kiss her harder, letting the truth of it pour out, and she meets me with equal fire.
I tug her closer until our bodies are pressed together from chest to thigh. My hands slide down her back, memorizing the delicate lines of her ribs, the curve of her waist. She shivers, not from fear but from the same intensity that floods through me. I lift her again easily, setting her on the edge of the bed, my mouth never leaving hers. She gasps softly as my hands push the hem of her shirt upward, fingers brushing over the warm skin of her belly.
She pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, her lips parted, her breath unsteady.
“Damien,” she whispers, and the way she says my name nearly undoes me.
“I need you,” I murmur against her mouth. “I need to love you. I need to show you you’re mine, that nothing and no one can take you from me.”
Her answer is to pull my shirt over my head with trembling hands, baring me to her touch. She runs her palms over my chest, across my scars, down to my stomach, as if relearning me. I strip away her clothing piece by piece, slow enough that she knows it is not lust alone driving me, but reverence. Every inch of her revealed skin feels like a miracle. I kiss the red marks on her forearms where the straps bit too deeply, then trail my lips down her arms, across her collarbone, lower still, until she gasps my name again.
By the time she is bare before me, I can hardly breathe. She lies back on the sheets, her hair spilling like ink across the pillow, her eyes on mine with a vulnerability that breaks me open. I strip away the rest of my clothes and climb onto the bed, covering her with my body but keeping my weight on my arms so I don’t crush her.
I kiss her slowly, reverently, as my hand slides down her side, cupping the curve of her hip, the softness of her thigh. She parts her legs for me, welcoming me closer, and the heat of her body nearly drives me mad. I stroke her gently, learning the pace her body wants tonight, not demanding, not rushing. Her eyes flutter closed, her lips part, and she lets out a sound so sweet I feel it in my bones.
I keep my pace tender, coaxing her higher, until she is trembling beneath me, her hands gripping my shoulders. I lower my mouth to her chest, worshiping her with my lips and tongue, whispering against her skin how beautiful she is, how strong, how brave. She writhes beneath me, soft cries spilling from her throat, and I don’t stop until she shatters in my arms, her body clenching, her breath catching on my name.
Only then do I move over her, guiding myself to her warmth. I enter her slowly, carefully, savoring the moment her body opens to mine. Her nails dig into my back and her eyes lock on mine, wide and shining. I sink into her fully, burying myself in her, and the sensation is almost too much. I press my forehead to hers, groaning against her lips. “God, Lyra. You’re everything to me.”
We move together in a rhythm that feels less like sex and more like prayer. I hold her face in my hands as I thrust slowly, deeply, each motion a vow. She clings to me, her legs wrapped around my waist, her body arching to meet mine. Our mouths never stop meeting, kissing again and again, as if we need the reassurance of constant connection.