Page 107 of Veil of Secrets
Our lips crash together, urgent and messy, tongues tangling in a frantic dance. My breaths come in jagged bursts, mingling with his, warm and unsteady, each one a spark in the charged air between us.
My jeans cling to my hips, a frustrating barrier. Nico’s fingers, rough from years of wielding tools and weapons, fumble with the button, his urgency betraying the calm I usually see in him. The denim slides down my thighs, pooling at my ankles, and I kick it away with a quick flick of my foot.
Nico’s lips find my stomach, trailing slow, deliberate kisses that send shivers racing across my skin. His teeth graze the soft flesh just above my navel, a teasing nip that pulls a soft moan from my throat.
My hands tangle in his hair, dark and slightly damp, urging him closer, though I’m not sure if I’m leading or surrendering. The wall at my back anchors me, its solidity a counterpoint to the liquid heat pooling in my core.
With a low growl, Nico shifts, his arms sliding under me as he carries me across the room. The table is old, its wooden surface scarred and worn, and he sets me on its edge with a gentleness that contrasts the fire in his eyes. I pull him toward me, my hands finding the sharp jut of his hips, fingers digging into the muscle as I guide him closer.
He enters me slowly, standing between my parted thighs, the angle deep and overwhelming. My legs hook around his waist, pulling him closer, and a sharp gasp tears from my lips, loud and raw. The sensation is exquisite, a slow burn that spreads through every nerve, making my toes curl and my fingers clutch at his shoulders.
The table creaks beneath us, protesting the steady rhythm he sets, each movement precise, controlled. His eyes hold mine, dark and searching, drinking in every flicker of my expression. My lips part, moans spilling out, unfiltered and unguarded, as my body arches to meet him.
“Fuck, Elara,” he groans, his voice rough, laced with something like reverence.
His hands grip my thighs, fingers pressing into the soft flesh as his pace quickens, each thrust harder, more demanding. The heat between us builds, a wildfire threatening to consume everything in its path.
I lean back, bracing my hands on the table’s edge, the wood cool against my palms. My body moves with his, meeting each thrust with desperate urgency, chasing the spark that glimmers just out of reach.
The chain sways with our rhythm, catching the faint light, and the veil slips further, a gossamer trail pooling at my waist. The world narrows to this—the creak of the table, the rasp of his breath, the electric pulse of our connection.
Nico’s hands tighten on my hips, and in a swift motion, he pulls me off the table, turning me to face it. My palms slap against the wood as I bend forward, the edge biting into my fingers as I grip it for balance.
The chain swings freely, cool against my heated skin, and the veil trails across the table like a forgotten vow. He enters me again, from behind, the angle deeper, more consuming, and a cry breaks from my throat, high and fractured. His hands anchor my hips, steady and unrelenting, as he sets a rhythm that feels like it could break me. I push back against him, matching his intensity, driven by a need that’s both primal and achingly human.
“You close?” he asks, his voice strained, rough with effort. He leans over me, his chest warm against my back, lips brushing the shell of my ear.
The intimacy of it—the heat of his breath, the press of his body—sends a fresh wave of sensation through me.
“Yeah,” I gasp, my voice trembling as I teeter on the edge, every muscle tensing, poised for release.
He slows, a deliberate shift that draws a whimper from me, and then he’s pulling me up, turning me to face him. Our movements are clumsy now, driven by need rather than grace, and we stumble toward the couch, a tangle of limbs and shared breath. The veil catches under my feet, tearing slightly as we collapse onto the worn cushions. I straddle him, knees sinking into the fabric, and take control, setting a fast, relentless rhythm.
My hands splay across his chest, nails biting into his skin, leaving faint red trails. Nico thrusts upward, meeting my movements, his hands gripping my waist with a force that grounds me even as I spiral. His groans mingle with my moans, a raw symphony, and I lean down to kiss him, hard and desperate, teeth catching his lower lip.
The world dissolves into sensation—the slide of his skin against mine, the ache building low in my belly, the frantic rhythm of our bodies. My moans turn to cries, loud and unfiltered, as I reach the precipice, my body shuddering, tightening around him in a wave of blinding pleasure. My nails rake across his shoulders, anchoring me as I unravel, every nerve alight.
He’s right behind me, his thrusts deepening, a low groan tearing from his throat as he finds his release.
His hands hold me tight, fingers digging into my hips as he shakes beneath me, the intensity binding us together in this fleeting moment. We collapse, breathless, my forehead resting against his chest, his heartbeat a wild drum beneath my cheek. His arms encircle me, warm and solid, as the couch creaks under our weight. The veil lies crumpled beside us, a fragile relic of the day now forgotten.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks. The silence is heavy but not uncomfortable, filled with the soft cadence of our slowing breaths. I lift my head, meeting his eyes—dark, steady, unguarded.
There’s no regret there, only a quiet certainty that feels like a lifeline. His hand traces the curve of my spine, fingers moving in slow, idle patterns that send faint shivers through me.
“No going back,” I whisper, my voice soft but resolute, the words carrying the weight of everything we’ve just shared.
“Never wanted to,” he says, his voice low, unwavering. He pulls me closer, his body solid and real against mine, an anchor in the storm of my thoughts.
The knot in my chest, tight and unyielding for years, loosens, if only slightly. It’s not gone, but its grip is less suffocating, softened by the warmth of Nico’s touch. His fingers continue their slow journey across my back, mapping my skin as though committing it to memory.
The room is quiet now, save for the faint creak of the couch and the distant hum of the world beyond these walls. We linger in this fragile stillness, two souls caught in the aftermath of something raw and irrevocable, content to let the moment stretch.
I shift slightly, turning my head to rest my chin against his chest. My gaze travels upward, finding his eyes already focused on me, their intensity softening with an emotion he rarely shows openly.
“What?” I ask softly, unable to help the gentle smile that curves my lips.
“You,” he says quietly, brushing my hair back from my face. His thumb moves gently along my cheekbone, the touch more tender than I’m used to from him. “Us. How we ended up here.”
