Page 74 of A Touch of Darkness

He moves me to the center of the bed with ease, never once taking his eyes off me. His gaze is piercing, burning through myskin, but instead of wilting, I feel alive. Like my entire body is on fire, a livewire moving inside of me. His presence has always been like this—intense, magnetic, suffocating, but in the best way. I feel seen in ways that are terrifying and beautiful. From the moment I first saw him, even when I didn’t know what to do with the feelings I was having, it was always him.

“You’re sure about this, Sylvie?” he asks, his voice low as he looms above me, like the growl of a tempest waiting to break. His words hold the kind of gravity that pulls at something deep inside me, something that’s been dormant for too long.

“Yes,” I whisper, my voice trembling but resolute. “I’m sure.”

It’s not just the words—it’s the way he looks at me, as if I’m the only thing keeping him tethered to this world. It’s the way his touch feels like fire and comfort all at once. It’s the way my entire being screams that this is where I’m meant to be, with him, in this moment.

I look at him, looking at me, and I see a thousand lifetimes in his eyes, and I want to be part of every single one. Being this close to him, sharing what we have, it only intensifies the hunger that’s growing for this man every second of every day I spend with him.

When he edges closer, I feel the heat radiating from his body, the sheer presence of him overwhelming in the small space between us. His hand lifts, hesitant, before he brushes his knuckles along my cheek. The gesture is so gentle, so reverent, that I feel my throat tighten.

“You are so breathtaking,” he murmurs, the words rough and raw, like they’ve been torn from some hidden part of him. “You are art, Sylvie. So rare. So exceptional.” His hair falls perfectly against his forehead, and I can’t help but think he looks like some kind of angel, and what a paradox it is.

I swallow hard, trying to find words, but they fail me. Instead, I let my hand move on its own, reaching for him, myfingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw, my eyes following, memorizing him. His skin is cool, but it sparks something warm inside me, something that builds and builds until I can’t take it anymore.

When I press my lips to his, it’s like the world tilts. The kiss is soft at first, tentative, testing the boundaries of this fragile, building thing between us. But then it deepens, and I lose myself in it, in him. His hands find my waist, pulling me closer, anchoring me as everything else falls away.

Time becomes irrelevant. There’s only Lucian, the way he holds me, the way his lips move against mine, the way his hands explore my body with a care that feels like worship.

I shift on the bed, the pillow too far down. He notices and lifts me effortlessly, his strength a constant reminder of the chasm between us, of all the ways he’s different. Yet, in this moment, it doesn’t matter. Nothing does.

As he better positions me, the world narrows to the press of his body against mine, the feel of his hands skimming over my skin, the way his breath mingles with my own. My heart races, but I don’t feel fear. Only anticipation. Because in this moment, with this monster of a man who is the most kind and gentle being I’ve ever come across, I want nothing more than to let go. To feel. To forget.

“Tell me to stop,” he says, his voice strained, his forehead resting against mine as I feel the unmistakable bulge in his pants. “If you want me to stop, tell me now, Sylvie. Because if this continues…I don’t know that I’ll be able to stop. No matter how controlled I am.”

I shake my head, my fingers tangling in his hair. “Don’t,” I tell him. “Don’t stop.”

The words are barely a whisper, but they carry every ounce of longing, of need, that I’ve been holding back. And when his lips find mine again, it’s like a dam breaking.

I sit up and allow him to peel the white fabric from my body, exposing every inch of my skin, my nipples pebbled as I press my body against his, longing to feel my skin against his. His hands map the top half of my body like I’m a mystery he’s desperate to solve, and I find myself arching into his touch, craving him, needing more. He runs his palms along my breasts, studying every inch, finding my nipples and taking them between his thumbs and forefingers, tugging in the most delicious way that makes me moan on instinct.

He presses his mouth to each one as he lets out his own feral noise in response, his tongue tracing each delicate part of me and causing goosebumps to break out along my skin. I shiver, losing control and throwing my head backward as he gently sucks and twirls, paying mindful attention to each of my breasts as he hums his satisfaction with my body.

“Gods, you are exquisite,” he says as he shifts, resting backward on his haunches as he examines me from head to toe. No one has ever seen me like this—naked and vulnerable—but I’m not nervous like I thought. I feel absolutely no shame in my body, or in this moment.

The only thing surging through my veins is a desperate ache for the man in front of me. The one who makes everything else fade into nothing when he looks at me.

I unbutton his pants, my movements certain and precise as I slide them, along with his briefs, down his thighs and he moves to kick them off. My heart races as I take him in. He is everything. Absolutely everything. He spoke of art but his body is like a statue chiseled to perfection. My eyes trail down to his large, thick cock that seems to swell in size the longer I fixate on it. As my gaze roams over it, a fire ignites in my core, and all I can think about it how he’s about to tear me open and somehow heal me at the same exact time.

“Lucian,” I whisper, unable to take my eyes from his cock. “You are…”

He lets out a deep chuckle, and I know he understands my amazement over his size. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever even imagined. A perfect length and thickness, and I’ve never felt like a particularly sexual person, but in this moment all I can think about it wrapping my lips around him and letting him have his way with my mouth.

“There will be time for that,” he says, as though he’s reading my thoughts, but I know he would never cross that line. It must be written all over my face—how I’m already a fiend for his cock and it hasn’t even been inside of me. “Right now,” he says, looking at me with mischief glimmering in his eyes, “I need nothing other than to devour you. You are a temple, Sylvie. Mind, body, and soul. Let me worship every sacred inch.”

He looks to me for reassurance, which I give willingly, spreading my legs so I’m on full display. He takes me in, ravenous, and when his mouth meets my center, I see nothing but stars.

“God, Lucian. Oh, my?—”

Words fail me as he does as promised and worships every inch of my pussy. Licking and sucking and circling my bud with his tongue, then his finger, alternating between the two and giving me the most intoxicating high I have ever experienced.

“I’ve been a starving man every moment without you,” he says, coming up for air only to immediately continue working my cunt with his tongue. “I’ve dreamed about the way you taste in this lifetime.”

His words are like erotic poetry to my ears, causing the flames licking their way up my spine to burn higher, hotter. The way his five o’clock shadow scratches my thighs in the most delectable way has me on edge, and it’s all I can do to not clench my thighs together. He starts to suckle my clit, andI arch upward, my moaning turning into something entirely else, something animalistic, a noise that I’ve never heard myself make.

He begins stroking his cock, and I start to lose myself, feel myself tumbling over the edge of complete and total bliss, my core tightening as I buck my hips upward.

“Such a pretty pink pussy. It’s just for me, isn’t it, Sylvie?” he asks, and I love how dirty his mouth has become, it only heightens every sensation. I bite down on my lip, trying to pair pain with pleasure and stave off my impending orgasm, not wanting to end before we’ve barely began.

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