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Truth be told, you're not quite sure how you found yourself in this position. Well, you kind of are. The Hunters' Association's intel forwarded to you indicated a large shipment of stolen protocores was going to be trafficked through the N109 Zone, and Captain Jenna decided to send you to disrupt the convoy alongside a few other Hunters. After the mission, you decide to pay a visit to your favourite N109 resident, but halfway there you end up being "accosted" by the man himself on his jet-black motorcycle.
A few well-chosen words and the promise of a sumptuous dinner later, you were whisked away to his base. And now you're here, perched on the edge of Sylus's bed, wearing nothing but your bra and your leather gloves while he proceeds to eat you out like he'll never get the chance again. Your mind feels sluggish, your thoughts condensing into syrupy pleasure, and your attention is no longer held by anything except the man buried between your thighs. You don't even remember to be annoyed about the fact that he used his Evol to swiftly shred your uniform before he started devouring you.
"Oh fuck," you gasp, fingers digging deep into Sylus' silvery hair as he licks a long, slow stripe up your wet, wet folds. "Oh my God, that's—"
Sylus raises his head briefly to shoot a wolfish grin at you. "No need to call for God, kitten. I'm right here."
"You—" you start, even more flustered, but trail off into another bitten-out grunt as he dives back in, large hands gripping your thighs firmly. He's gazing at you the whole time: Sylus' sharp, catlike eyes, normally pools of blood-red ink, are swathed in the deep blacks of his desire as they're trained onto your face. His nose rests snug on top of your mound as his tongue flicks in and out of your hole in a practiced, steady manner. "Sylus... nngh!" His mouth greedily drinks in your wetness, and he does something with his tongue that has you seeing stars.
"Don't hold back on my account," Sylus purrs as he momentarily lifts his mouth from you, the rough tips of his fingers digging deeper into your thighs. "Louder."
As embarrassed as you are about the idea of crying out so loudly the entire mansion can hear you, you're completely helpless to the indulgent torture the man in front of you is inflicting. His hot breath and plush lips are both a balm and a bane, and the swirls of his tongue push you to bite the leather strap of glove so hard you can feel your teeth shudder in protest. But it feels so good. So good you can barely think and feel past the ecstasy swirling in your core. The brush of his teeth against your clit send jolts throughout your body, like a live wire.
You give up, and release your glove to let out a drawn-out wail. To hell with Luke and Kieran, because if you don't moan out loud to release the tension in your body you're going to spontaneously combust. "Oh, fuck—"
"That's it," He growls into your folds, and relentlessly swirls his tongue into your clit, moving at a steady rhythm. The sounds he's making... Just listening to him greedily drink from your cunt pushes you even closer to the edge. "Feels good, doesn't it? Are you, ah—close, sweetie? You coming on my tongue?" You're so close to the edge you don't catch the harried breaths he's letting out, because if you decided to look down right now you’d see that Sylus is so painfully hard his cock is straining at the very seams of his slacks.
"Yes, yes, ah–!" You howl, and like a lightning strike you come. The world fades out into a blinding white heat, and you clutch on Sylus' hair so hard you think it's going to rip out his scalp. You distantly feel your thighs trembling as Sylus gently extricates himself from between your legs, his massive shadow eclipsing your figure from the light of his chandelier. You look up at him, fighting your lungs as they try to wrangle in more air.
"Did you enjoy yourself, sweetie?" His cocksure grin's made slightly less irritating by the fact that the lower half of his face is very, very wet. Because of you. You nod, but even just tipping your chin makes your head spin. You're not even sure if you have enough breath to talk yet.
"Good." His lips glisten with your slick, and the sight is enough to draw out a rattling breath from your lungs. "I hope you're ready for more," he says, as he roughly pushes you down onto the bed. He pulls down a pillow, lifts your head and shoulders to place them back on it. "Because I'm not done with you yet."
"No," you whine, gripping his biceps petulantly. He's still fully clothed in his expensive button-up and slacks, and you want to protest his state of dress. "I'm ready, Sylus, please."
"You are most certainly not," he replies, but not unkindly. "Not until I stretch you out on my fingers. Be a good girl and I'll give it to you."
"But I want—"
"It's not about what you want, kitten." Sylus croons, his hand coming up to grip your jaw between his fingers. It forces your head to still, and your eyes lock onto his own. "It's about what you need right now." He dips his head in a kiss, almost chaste in its gentleness, followed by a sharp nip to your lip that has you keening. "And what you need," —he kisses your brow bone— "you can only get from me."
The tenderness sends you reeling, but is quickly diffused when his hand puts pressure on your throat. Rough fingertips press on your pulse but only for a brief moment, and you miss the weight almost instantly when it leaves. "Do you understand?"
You have no choice but to give in. You nod again, and the chuckle that leaves his mouth ripples its way to your cunt. Fuck. It almost hurts, how much you're craving his cock inside you. You don't remember being this needy last time. Is it because it's been a while since you last saw him? The ozone and gunpowder smell of his Evol, mixed with the ambery, spun-sugar of the cologne he won't tell you the name of is an aphrodisiac. It’s become a familiar scent in the last few months you’ve been seeing each other, and right now it pulls you like a siren song: deeper and deeper into the abyss, until the only thing your senses care to see is Sylus. Just Sylus.
"I'm glad you understand," he drawls. "So be good, pet." Coming from any other man, that would have annoyed the shit out of you, but it just feels... natural with him. Distantly, you realize that many things are starting to become natural when you’re with him. You don’t know what to do with that information right now, especially not when Sylus looks like he’s ready to consume you from the inside out.
Moving to kneel on the bed, he takes the time to kiss his way down your throat, nipping at your pulse, mouthing a reverent path down your body like he's hypnotized by the smell of your sweat-slick skin. The juxtaposition of pain and pleasure—he sucks and bites cruel bruises into your throat and collarbones, but always follows it up with a gentle lick and kiss of apology—is driving you to madness. You moan when his mouth traces indescribable patterns at your left breast while his hand kneads at the other, and the combination of his teeth nibbling and his calloused fingers rolling your nipples is enough to pull another cry out of you.
Sylus' touch is not rough, but it's not gentle either: it's passionate, insistent, and you've never felt this kind of sensuality with any of the scant few men you'd ever been involved with. Later, you will think back on this night as the moment your interest in other people withered away completely. How could it not, when the man in front of you treats you so well? Makes you feel so good? Cherished? Worshipped?
"Feels so good," you breathe, and he lifts his head from the curves of your chest to smirk mischievously at you. He looks so unfairly handsome, and it takes a significant amount of effort from you to not attempt to roll him over so you can have your way with him on your own terms. Sylus' blood-red gaze is as dark and hungry as ever, his lashes casting deep shadows on the planes of his cheeks. His pale hair, normally put-together, falls in damp locks across his forehead. Right now, he wants this just as much as you do. The look in his eyes is almost too intense—raw with lust, but with an equal amount of adoration. It's overwhelming. It's driving you crazy, and mixed with your thoughts from earlier…
Without breaking his gaze on you, his right hand snakes its way down to your core. You both groan as his fingers move up and down in your slickness, the absurd, obscene loudness of how wet you are echoing throughout the otherwise silent room. Embarrassment and pride war in your chest, but you decide that you’re past the point of bashfulness. He kisses you hungrily, and you return it with just as much fervor.
"You're so wet, kitten," Sylus purrs against your lips, baritone rumbling in his chest. "So wet for me. So desperate. Aren't you? Wanted me to fuck you so badly before you were ready?" He rubs over your clit in steady circles, and you cry out as the rough pad of his thumb wrings nothing but delectable pleasure. Your hands claw at his sheets and at the arm whose hand is still attached to your hair, in an attempt to diffuse the tension building inside.
"Sylus—" you start to whine, but get cut off when he dips two fingers into your cunt. "Aah! Fuck!" He strokes you expertly, his thumb never letting up on your clit, and he silences your next cry with a rough kiss. You can feel his other hand work its way under your head to grip your hair tight. The insistent pressure in your core is building and building to a fever-high, and as he inserts a third finger, you stutter out broken moans of pleasure. "Ah—ah—ah!"
"I can feel you fluttering around me," he says, awe in his voice. His fingers piston in and out of you, constantly putting pressure on the spot that has you keening and thrashing. "You're so close… aren't you, kitten? Do you want to come?"
At your frantic nod, he hums, thumbing over your clit once, twice. "I don't think you do."
"H-Huh?" A gasp breaks free of you once his words sink in. "Sylus, please..."
"I don't think you want to come yet," he says, an infuriating smile on his face. You’d try and smack it off if you weren’t so desperate for your release. "You don't seem to want it enough. You’re not saying anything." His fingers move towards a maddeningly slow pace, and it makes you want to cry. Why is he stopping? Isn't it enough that you're bared to him, nothing but putty in his hands as he puts you through the sweetest torture you’ve ever felt? Not even the scissoring of his fingers opening you up bit by bit is enough to quench your thirst for him. It’s not enough. You need more. You just need to find the energy to say so.
"A-Ah... I want it," you whine. Tears prick behind your eyelids.
"Want what?" Another circle over your clit. Fingers slowly moving in, out. In, out. "Do you want me to stop? I can," he murmurs, and when his fingers start to still, you dig your nails into his arm so hard you think it might bleed. You cry out at the possibility of him pulling his hand out from you.
“No, don’t…”
“Then what do you want me to do?”
“Please?”
“Please what? Keep going? Please stop?” His smile is sharp, but there’s a more vulnerable edge to it underneath. Almost like he’s so terribly eager to hear the response he’s trying to wring out of you. “Be more specific, kitten.”
“I want,” you start, but bite off a groan as his thumb ghosts against your clit. “Fuck, don’t make me beg.” Your lip finds its way against your teeth.
Sylus chuckles, and it fans the flames of your desire even more. “But you sound so delicious when you do, kitten.” He doesn’t move, and you whine when his hand comes to a full stop at your silence.
To hell with your pride. "Sylus, please—" You choke as a tingle zaps its way throughout your bones, the heat in your core almost ready to burst. "Oh—aah, please—"
He bends forward towards your lips, a slow kiss between you. “I’ll always give you what you ask,” he says sweetly, not even a breath away. “But you have to tell me what you need right now.”
A whine builds dangerously in your chest as he flicks once at the sensitive nub at the apex of your thighs. “You know what I–ah! Sylus!”
He only laughs in response, lips tracing a short path against your cheek. Oh, he is enjoying torturing you so much. You’re going to make him pay once this is all over. “Use your words.”
In an attempt to keep him moving, you use your grip on his forearm as leverage to keep grinding your cunt against the palm of his hand, not caring about how wanton it makes you look because you need to come, and you need to come now . A tense fight between your shame and your need for gratification wars inside of you, but the battle is thankfully short-lived. Your cunt makes the decision for you. "Please, please, please let me c-come, Sylus, h-haah—"
"Mmm." It seems to have satisfied him for now, because he pulls back to sit on his haunches moving again. "My name sounds so pretty in your mouth, pet. Begging me to let you come? I don’t think I ever want to stop hearing you say it." You breathe out a sigh of relief. His fingers feel so good, rubbing at your g-spot like this. You can feel yourself climbing so close to the peak again, and when you squeeze your eyes shut he growls and pulls back your head.
Startled, your eyes open to see his sharply trained onto yours. He tuts. "Look at me, sweetie." His voice dips dangerously. "Open your eyes so who can see who's making you come."
His words send you over the edge, and your back jackknifes off the bed as a cry shaped like his name is ripped from your lips. Now that you've found your release your eyes squeeze shut, because the world is too bright, too intense. Whatever light is in the room feels like a supernova in the wake of your release. Your breaths are shaky, and your grip on Sylus' arms is the only thing grounding you from drifting away in a blissed-out daze.
When you finally have the energy to open your eyes, Sylus is in the middle of swiftly shucking away his clothes. His chest bares itself, and you can't help the flush of arousal that spikes as his buttons fly open. You've seen that chest multiple times—why does it still stoke such an eager fire in your stomach? His belt buckle jingles loudly as it’s thrown to the side of the bed. Eager for his cock, you boost yourself up on your elbows in an attempt to help him disrobe, but he's done before you can fully rise.
His cock springs free from its confines, and you suddenly forget that you want it inside of your cunt because you want to choke on it so badly. There’s very few ways to describe his cock outside of big and veiny . Precum beads at its angrily red tip, and without thinking you bend forward to grasp it in your hands. That, however, nets you with a gentle shove towards the head of the bed, and you land in the mess of his pillows.
"You've lost the plot," Sylus hums. "Next time, pet, I promise. I'll feed you my cock until your throat’s flooded in my cum. But tonight, you'll feel it inside, like you asked me to. Isn’t that right?”
You nod furiously and watch as he strokes himself, settling back onto the bed. Without warning, he flips you over so that your stomach hits the sheets, but he quickly grabs a smaller pillow from above you to place it below your hips. Turning your head back, your mouth waters as he slowly rubs the head of his cock against your folds. He lets out a quiet groan as your pussy offers no resistance, and in no time he’s slicked up his entire cock.
“Ready?”
“Yes, please, Sylus.” You bite your lip in anticipation, and it spurs him to fold himself over you, slowly starting to push his cock in.
Now you’re silently thankful for his infuriating insistence on readying you beforehand. You let out a hiss of pleasure at the intrusion, because although it’s welcome, it’s still a lot . Fuck, it feels like he’s pushing at everything else inside, he’s so big. His breaths fan your ear as his arm wraps securely around you, pressing his muscled chest flush to your back. He’s so warm, and his weight is a comforting, heavy presence that presses you firmly against the bed and the pillow under you. Above you, Sylus. Inside you, Sylus. Around you, Sylus.
As he bottoms out, you both grunt at the feeling. He’s slow at first: careful, measured strokes that pull him out until only the tip of his cock remains, then back inside again. It’s a delicious and torturous glide, but it’s not enough. It’s not what you were promised, and you intend to claim your prize now.
“More,” you groan, grinding back into his hips. “Fuck, Sylus, fill me up.”
This seems to be the go signal for Sylus, because he laughs ominously into your ear. “As you wish.” He purrs, voice rumbling from his chest to your own, and moves.
You don’t even have time to catch your breath before he’s pounding you into the sheets like a madman. Slow thrusts are left behind in the past as he sets a punishing pace, every slam into your cunt ripping out choked out gasps from you. This. This is what you wanted. You feel yourself wrap around him so snugly you think he’ll leave the imprint of his cock behind. This position gets him so deep. Broken cries slip from your lips against your will, and you lose all ability for higher-order thought. He fucks into you the same way he fights: resolutely and ruthlessly, with no hesitation. It’d be savage to others, but to you it’s frighteningly precise. He knows where to hold you, he knows all the places that make you scream, and he knows just how far to pull back so that he can push back in.
“Aah–nghh, fuck!” You moan into the sheets, and gasp when one of his hands levers your throat up. Turning your head, he drags you into a frantic, messy kiss that’s more of an open, hungry gasp, sharp canines grazing your reddened lips. The dark bedroom is filled with sounds of the wet slap of your bodies pushing against each other, echoing against the walls. No amount of private fantasy, no amount of pleasuring yourself at home could ever compare to the way he’s making you feel right now. How could you ever go back when he always makes you feel this good? When he cares more for your own satisfaction than his own, always makes sure you come multiple times before he takes his pleasure from you?
“You’re taking me so well,” Sylus grits out, hips pistoning in and out at a drum-roll rhythm. He no longer sounds as put-together, voice growing hoarse with every thrust. “So perfect. All of this is mine, right?” His voice rumbles, reverberations sending you reeling. Sylus sounds like he’s smiling, ever so slightly as he rasps into your ear: “Just for me, right, kitten?”
“Yes!” You whimper as he thrusts particularly hard, another thousand flashes of light bursting to life in your vision. “Yes, all for you, Sylus!”
“That’s good. Good girl,” he growls as he noses his way to your throat, and you gasp as he nips sharply at the sensitive skin. “I’m glad… because—ah, because I’m yours. All yours, sweetie.”
Suddenly, you feel one of his hands against the one you’re using to claw at his silk sheets, and you open it to grasp desperately at him. Having your fingers intertwined so closely seems to spur him into going faster, and his thrusts become more and more frantic. You’re so close to your own release, and what was a climb only minutes before is now a full gallop towards the finish line. Desperate for release, you grind your hips furiously against his, your fingers squeezing his hand like a vise.
“I’m close,” you say breathlessly. Your throat is dry from how your mouth has been fixed open by the feeling of his cock slamming against your cervix over and over. “I’m… oh, fuck I’m so close–”
His reply is to slide a hand under you, and suddenly his hand is at your clit. “Come. Come for me.”
He’s barely finished his sentence when his touch undoes you. Your throat hurts as you scream, crumbling inwards as you come with the force of a speeding train. It’s as if your body melts in the wake of your orgasm, pleasure thrumming and pulsing under your skin, deeper than even bone. You can’t stop spasming: it feels like you’re going to be drowning in pleasure forever. The thumping of your heart deafens you momentarily in its intensity: you feel it everywhere, in your mouth, in your eyes, in the tips of your fingers and toes.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he growls. “Sweetie, I’m going to–” is all that he lets out before he pounds into you once, twice, then you feel his teeth sink almost painfully into your shoulder as his warm spend floods your cunt.
You both do nothing but catch your breath for a few moments, and after a while you expect him to get off… but he doesn’t. He buries his nose in your hair, murmuring your name amongst other sweet nothings. Sylus is gripping you even more tightly against his chest, and the weight that should be uncomfortable is the exact opposite. You feel so good, so spent. Honestly, you could fall asleep like this…
You jolt to awareness when he trails a slow, gentle path against your side. “Are you okay, kitten?” His voice is slightly concerned, and you sigh inwardly as his thumb traces slow circles against your hip.
“I am,” you croak, and try to moisten your throat so you don’t sound like a frog. “More than okay. That was…”
Sylus’ laugh is comforting. He sounds more put-together now, and you mourn the loss of contact as he finally lifts himself from you. You look back as he pulls his cock out, and bite your lip once you spot the trail of come that spills out. There’s… a lot. “Are you satisfied?”
“Yes,” you say, smiling tiredly up at him. You close your eyes as he gently brushes away damp locks of hair away from your face. You’re sure you look like an absolute mess right now, but when you open your eyes there’s nothing but contentment and adoration in his crimson gaze. His expression is kind of overwhelming, honestly. You don’t think you’ve ever seen that look from anyone. At least, not directed at you.
“I’m glad,” He stands, but momentarily bends down to press a gentle kiss to the space between your brows. “Get comfortable, kitten, I’ll just get a washcloth.”
Sylus disappears into his bathroom, and you sigh into his expensive pillows. There’s a gnawing feeling of… something in your chest. A brief flash of sadness sparked alive for a moment as you watched him walk away. Why did you feel like this? It’s not like he’s really going anywhere. The way that he bit out your name like a promise, in the throes of his pleasure, the razor-sharp focus he’s put into making sure you feel good… they’re all pointing to something you know the name of but don’t want to say out loud. Is it… but isn’t it too soon to…?
That emotion deepens and gains definition as the events of the last few months flow through your mind: mysterious packages of hard-to-find candy appearing at your doorway under the watchful eyes of a crow. Invitations of dinner at home, both his and yours. Near-constant messaging, even across different time zones when he’s away on Onychinus business. Calls where you’re in bed at night, phone clutched to your chest as you fight the urge to pout at whatever teasing he’s throwing at you at the moment. Your irritation melted away with just a deep chuckle and a playful smile. Blood-red eyes that have seen terrible things, bubbling with affection whenever you’re together. It’s…
Your train of thought is derailed by him returning with a damp washcloth and a fresh change of clothes, once again swathed in his usual sleeping robe. You sit up as he dutifully cleans your body, taking care to gently swipe away traces of your lovemaking, and you change into the underwear and negligee he brings you: it’s in his signature black and scarlet, but it’s tasteful in its coverage. It feels pricey, like a whisper against your skin. This is princess treatment, you think almost hysterically. He’s treating you like you’re his.
Wait.
But didn’t you tell him so earlier?
“What’s on your mind?” Sylus says suddenly, as if catching wind of your current train of thought. “You still hungry?”
“What?” you say. “No, no, I’m fine. Dinner was great, thank you. More than enough.” It definitely was. He’d prepared all your favourites once you had returned back to the base, and you’d eaten at one of the smaller sitting rooms instead of the usual dinner room he’d taken you to during your first time here.
“Hmm.” He doesn’t sound satisfied by your answer, and when he climbs into bed, he gathers you up in his arms to reposition you. You’re both lying on your side, and tucks your hair behind your ear. “Somehow, I don’t think that’s the whole truth.”
“Fine,” you huff, and after a moment, tentatively place a hand to his chest. “I’m… not sure how to phrase this.”
At this, Sylus quirks his mouth sideways in a half smile. “This must be important. You usually know exactly what to say.”
“You know that’s not true,” you grumble, flicking his chest in protest. “You wouldn’t be bullying me so much otherwise.”
“A fair observation.” He brings a hand to gently clasp the one that’s touching him. “What’s bothering you, kitten?”
You hum. “‘Bothering’ isn’t the right word.” You lick your lips, not missing the way his gaze swings down to follow your tongue. “Um.” It’s taking you a while to figure out what to tell him, but Sylus is silent: he blinks, slow like a fat, happy cat, thumb brushing the top of your own. “What are we…?”
Sylus hums, and levers a small smile at you. It’s not entirely happy, and you’re not sure if he knows that you can see past whatever mask he’s put on. He’s been getting easier and easier to read. His emotions, previously mysterious and nigh-indecipherable, have opened up to you: whatever curtain he’s kept on how he feels has been laid exposed. His resignation speaks to you in his eyes and in the frown you know is threatening to appear underneath it. “We’re whatever you want us to be.”
“But what do you want this to be?” You press, gently digging a nail into his chest.
“Does it really matter what I want?” He says after a while, his other hand coming up to trace the tail of your brow.
“Why wouldn’t it?” Your frustration flickers. “I… I just want to know if we’re on the same page.”
He exhales: a sharp, short breath that tickles your chest. “I’m not sure if you’re ready to hear what I feel.”
A prickly, ice-cold dread begins to take root in your chest. Surely he’s not… surely you’re not reading this situation right. The ugly part of your mind, the negative, pessimistic part of yourself that you try to keep hidden, jumps to the worst conclusion: this is just a distraction for him, something to indulge in to satisfy his basest desires. Temporary. Casual. Disposable. “Why? Why wouldn’t I be ready? Do you want this to end?”
Without thinking, the hand you’ve plastered to his chest tightens into a fist, and he reacts by gently prying it open.
“...Quite the opposite,” he murmurs quietly. His eyes are bright with a deep sincerity, but there’s a sharp, fragile edge to the corners.
“What?”
“Do you want the truth, kitten?” he says, and guides your wrist to the place where his heart beats–it’s… faster than his usual resting rate. “I don’t want this to end. I…” he exhales, “I desperately want this to be something more.”
At your stunned silence, he continues on. “Whatever I told you earlier is the unassailable truth. I am yours, unfailingly.”
You’re good at weaseling out the truth. Good at looking underneath the underneath when it comes to the people you care about, as a measure to protect yourself from hurt and betrayal and bad intentions. It’s served you well in your social dealings growing up, to protect yourself from people who’d want to deceive you for their own means, and it’s been used enough in your work as a Deepspace Hunter. Wanderers might not care much for socialization when they’re too busy trying to rip you apart, but the people that farm and use their Protocores certainly have something to hide, more often than not.
So you use this sense of yours now, but what you find terrifies you: there’s no lie to be found in his face. Everything points to the truth, his reality , like a compass to the North—no matter how you turn, it points in one direction. One conclusion. One undeniable, resolute truth. And no amount of delusion, no sleight of hand, no façade could ever hope to disguise it again. Not when it’s been revealed to you so willingly.
You can’t help the wobbly laugh that escapes your chest. Thank God. Without thinking, you fling yourself into him, and his arms embrace you like they were made for you, made to hold you close. Tears spring unbidden from your eyes, and begin streaming down your face in earnest when he presses a gentle, firm kiss to the crown of your head. Thank God. Whatever I feel, he feels.
“Why are you crying, sweetie?” He says into your hair, his fingers carefully combing your locks away from the dampness on your cheeks. Sylus pulls back, worried gaze warring with the hope in his eyes. “Were you trying to figure out how to break up with me? I’m here all night. Take your time.”
You choke out a bark of laughter, and unsuccessfully try to pinch his side. He chuckles as he angles his body away for half a second. “No, you absolute idiot. I feel… I feel the same. Hell. I might actually love you, even if you’re so annoying sometimes.”
The realization and hope blossoms into something so painfully earnest it hurts to look at. For once, Sylus is the one who’s been rendered speechless. Seeing someone so confident and in-control crumble into something so vulnerable is… you don’t have words for it. All you know is that you never want him to look at anyone else like that. Not now. Not ever.
“Love,” he remarks drily, but his eyes betray everything you need to know. “Yes. That’s the right word, but it’s not enough, I think. Not for me.”
You gasp as he suddenly dips forward to capture your mouth, whatever words you want to say next disappearing in the depth of his touch. It’s languid, slow, sweet and sticky like honey and milk, and you’re pulled in like a black hole: his presence is overwhelming and absolute in its grasp, his adoration laid bare in the delicate way he curls a hand in your hair. He tastes like the tawny port wine you both drank because he knows you hate the bitterness of pinot noir. He smells of the perfume he’s taken to wearing more often because he knows you can’t get enough of it. He feels like… like warmth, like a passion that burns as intensely as his Evol consumes; like the steady certainty of the earth underneath your feet.
Your toes curl as you sigh against him, and the smile he’s got on when he pulls away is absolutely stunning. “I adore you,” he murmurs. “I’m all yours, Miss Hunter. And I’m happy you feel the same,” he pronounces with a kiss to your forehead, “because I’m a possessive man. I don’t intend on letting you go. Ever. My apologies to your employers.”
Everything inside you knows that it’s not a joke, and you have no qualms whatsoever. “I’m fine with that,” you sigh happily as you both burrow under the covers.
The night’s events lull you into drowsiness, made all the more sweeter by his declaration.
Before you know it, you’re fast asleep in the embrace of the man who holds you above all else.