“I want to look at you,” I tell her, stroking my length a few times. Her eyes wander downwards, and when she flicks her gaze up to me, straight fire shines through her pupils. She turns around and sits on the bed, crawling backwards until she’s in the middle. She wiggles out of her undies, and I have to bite my fist to keep myself from exploding everywhere. I growl as I crawl on top of her, the need clawing through every pore of my body. I am tempted to enter her, but she should be warmed up and ready for me.
Properly.
I smirk as I slide down her body, taking her soft flesh into my mouth without warning. She smells like bergamot—the tea she likes so much—and roses. She arches her back and her hands fist the sheets around us.
“Oh,” she says, her voice ragged and breathy.
My tongue devours her slit, and I suck and lick, thrusting two fingers in repeatedly until she’s quaking beneath me.
Pulling off, I move over her, the head of my hard-on ready at her entrance. Her chest is flushed, and she shudders when I run my finger between her heaving breasts.
“Please,” she pleads, her eyes hooded.
I bend down to kiss her as I enter her slowly. Though it’s not the first time being inside of her, I still relish it like it’s the first time—the way she’s so velvety soft and warm, taking me in fully. I hiss as I watch our bodies join completely, my cock inside of her fully to the hilt.
She reaches down and plays with herself, and I squeeze my eyes shut. It’s too much.
“Are you okay?” she asks, whispering. Her hands trail over to my scar, and she brushes it gently. A shiver claws down my spine.
“I’m not paying attention to that,” I grind out, thrusting into her again. I take one leg and prop it over my shoulder. I didn’t think I could go any deeper, but I was wrong. We both cry out as I slowly drive into her, more stars exploding into my vision.
I fall over the edge quicker than I expected, my shaft pulsing inside of her. She must be close, too, because she squeezes her eyes closed and arches her back more, giving me more access to her.
“Open your eyes,” I beg. Her breathing is labored, and she turns her head slightly, her eyes not leaving mine. I reach down and twist one of her soft, pink nipples between my thumb and forefinger, and that act alone sets her off. Ripples of pleasure shoot through me as I watch her come, her swollen warmth contracting tightly around me, setting me off at the same time.
I give her everything, my eyes locked on hers as I pour into her. With every thrust, she meets me with her hips, and the feeling is so exquisite, so tender and sweet, that my body jerks uncontrollably, and I have to bite my fist to keep from roaring like a lion.
I release her leg and collapse on top of her, still spilling into her every time she moves. I shower her face with kisses as she giggles, batting me away as we both laugh.
“I’ll never get enough of you,” I murmur into her ear.
“Thank you for healing me,” she replies, looking at me with such openness, such vulnerability, that something in my chest cleaves in half.
“I love you,” I answer, because I don’t know what else to say. Only those three words can adequately summarize how I feel—how grateful I am to be hers, grateful that she let me in, let me see this part of her. The awe, the respect, the admiration… she has no idea how much I worship her, how I would do anything for her. Those three words sound so silly when I think about them, because truthfully, my feelings for Evelyn Snow have always felt so much deeper.
“I love you, too,” she murmurs, pulling me in for a kiss. “And I love myself, too, for the first time ever. Because of you.”
Her words cause tears to spring to my eyes. I hope that one day she’s able to see herself through my eyes—strong, resilient, brave.
A queen in the making.
That’s all I can hope for.
I tell her that. I tell her how I see her, how I’ve always seen her.
She’s quiet, turning her head to the side as her eyes land on random objects in the room.
“I can prove that you’ve healed me,” she says quietly, sitting up. She doesn’t cover herself—she stares straight ahead at the door, exposed to me. “I’ve been here before,” she murmurs, looking at me over her shoulder. “With a man. I knew the instant we walked up yesterday, when we checked in. And it was this room, too.”
I look at her, rage burning through me. Not directed at her—but at what was done to her.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” I ask quietly, reaching out and stroking her arm.
She lets me, giving me a feline smile as she rests her head on her knee. Before, especially in the beginning right after she was rescued, there were so many instances where I’d touch or reach out for her, and she’d recoil away from me. Now she openly accepts me.
“Because it doesn’t matter. I’m not that woman anymore. She is gone. For so long, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get to this point—of being in a place like this and being okay with it. But I can honestly say, what’s in the past stays in the past. Auguste tried so hard to break me. For so long, my will was frayed around the edges, and I nearly succumbed to that life, because he tried so hard to get me to give up. There were so many times where we pushed the ball back in each other’s court—little wins for me, things like lying that I was on my period. And then little wins for him. It was exhausting. But guess what?” She smiles as she takes my hand. “I fucking won. He’s dead, but I’m alive. I’m free. I fucking won. I always knew I would eventually.”
I kiss her hand, placing it on my chest so that she can feel my racing heart. “You won,” I repeat.
