When the last of the aftershocks have subsided, I pull back enough to look at her, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face. She's mine now, in every way that matters, and as I carry her to the bed, I know this is only the beginning.
Protection? Yeah, but it's so much more. It's possession, it's passion, and it's the kind of bond that doesn't break.
Grace
For a long moment, all I can hear is our breathing. His chest still rises and falls against mine, steady now, slower. The world beyond the window has gone completely silent.
He reaches up first. Fingers find the edge of my mask, tracing the outline of it, the rough edge of my hasty stitching. When he unties it, it’s careful, almost reverent. The ribbon slides free and the cool air hits my flushed skin.
His gaze lingers on my face for what feels like forever, taking in everything the disguise had hidden, the exhaustion around my eyes, the freckles and blemishes. The truth of me.
He doesn’t flinch.
If anything, he looks… steadier. Like seeing me without the armor only confirmed something he already knew.
Then his hand slides up, slow, deliberate, to the mask that still covers his own face. His eyes meet mine as he loosens the ties.
The mask comes away.
It’s the same face I’d imagined behind it, and nothing like I’d imagined at all. Hard lines. A mouth made for commands. Eyes dark grey, almost silver where the light hits them. He looks powerful, yes, but also human. More human than I was prepared for.
“Liam,” I say softly, testing his name on my tongue now that I can see the man behind it.
He watches me like he’s waiting for regret. But there isn’t any.
The heat between us shifts. Less fire, more gravity. He leans in and presses a kiss to my forehead, gentle this time, almost undoing me more than everything that came before it. I feel the shift inside me like it’s a physical thing. The moment a part of me connects to him on a level I’ve never experienced before.
When he finally pulls back, I breathe in slow, shaky air and glance down at the mask on the floor.
I don’t know the woman who wore it.
My body still hums, the aftershocks lingering like echoes under my skin. I’ve never had sex like that before. So raw, so reckless, so… alive. It wasn’t about control or performance or the power games I used to play in polished offices and quiet hotel bars. It was hunger and chaos. And it wasmine.
I should be horrified by what I’ve done, but instead I feel this lightness. A strange, dangerous kind of freedom.
The old Grace would’ve catalogued every consequence by now, every possible fallout. She would’ve been horrified by her own impulsiveness. But that version of me burned away somewhere between his kiss and the sound of my name on his lips.
The new me? Sheisreckless. She’s furious. She’s still trembling from the memory of his hands and thinking,maybe this is who I was supposed to be all along.
Liam moves beside me, silent, watchful. He doesn’t reach for the mask or for the words we should probably be saying.
Neither do I.
I lie beside him, the sheets warming beneath us, my skin still tingling from where his body pressed against mine. The room feels heavier now, the air thick with the scent of us, and I turn my head to look at him.
Liam's eyes meet mine, dark and unreadable, but there's a softness in them that wasn't there before, a quiet intensity that draws me in. He reaches out slowly, his fingers tracing the curve of my shoulder, light as a whisper, sending shivers racing down my arm. I don’t pull away; instead, I shift closer, my breath catching as his hand slides lower, following the dip of my waist, memorizing every inch like he has all the time in the world.
His touch is deliberate, unhurried, and it ignites something deep inside me, a slow burn that builds with each sweep of his fingertips. I watch his face as he leans in, his lips brushing mine in a kiss that's gentle at first, exploring, tasting the remnants of our earlier urgency.
I part my lips for him, and he deepens it gradually, his tongue stroking mine with a rhythm that makes my pulse quicken. My hands find his chest, fingers splaying over the hard planes of muscle, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath my palm. He groans softly into my mouth, the sound vibrating through me, and I arch into him, needing more of that connection.
He pulls back just enough to trail kisses along my jaw, down my neck, each one lingering, his breath warm against my skin. I tilt my head back, giving him access, and his hand moves to cup my breast, thumb circling my nipple in slow, teasing strokes that make me gasp.
The sensation pools heat between my thighs, and I press my legs together, but he notices, his hand sliding down my thigh, parting them gently. His fingers trace lazy patterns on my inner thigh, inching higher, but never rushing, building the anticipation until I am trembling beneath him.
"Grace," he murmurs against my collarbone, his voice rough with desire, and hearing my name like that sends a fresh wave of need crashing through me.
I reach for him, my hand wrapping around his length, feeling him harden further under my touch. He hisses in a breath, his hips shifting slightly as I stroke him slowly, matching the pace he's set, savoring the way he throbs in my grip.
