Page 100 of Veil of Secrets

Her eyes burn. “Don’t stop.”

I pull her underwear down, tossing it aside, and kiss her inner thigh again, closer now. Her breath hitches, hips shifting toward me. I take my time, lips and tongue exploring, tasting her, feeling her tense and shudder. Her moans grow sharper, hands gripping the cot’s edge, and I keep going, steady, until she’s trembling, gasping my name.

I stand, unbuttoning my jeans, kicking them off. She sits up, hands reaching for me, pulling me closer. Her fingers trace my skin, nails scraping my hips, and I groan, feeling the heat of her touch. She kisses my chest, teeth grazing my collarbone. I lift her chin, kissing her hard, tasting her need.

I push her back onto the cot, cape spreading beneath her. She pulls me down, legs wrapping around my hips, urging me closer. I enter her slow, feeling her tighten around me, her breath catching. The cot groans under us, but I don’t care. I move steady, deep, watching her face—eyes half-closed, lips parted, moans spilling out.

“You good?” I ask, voice low, pausing to check.

“Better than good,” she says, hands gripping my shoulders, nails digging in.

I pick up the pace, harder now, feeling her match me, hips rising to meet each thrust. Her moans turn to gasps, loud, raw, and I feel the heat building, sharp and urgent. I pull back, shifting her to her side, lifting one leg over my shoulder. The angle’s deeper, and she cries out, hands clutching the cape, knuckles white. I keep moving, steady, feeling her pulse around me, her body trembling.

She pushes up, rolling us until she’s on top, cape draped over her shoulders. Her hands brace on my chest, nails biting skin, and she moves, slow at first, then faster, setting the rhythm. I grip her hips, guiding but not controlling, letting her take what she needs. Her head tilts back, moans filling the room, and I watch her, the way she moves, the way she claims this.

“Fuck, Nico,” she gasps, voice breaking, leaning down to kiss me, hard and messy.

I thrust up, meeting her, feeling the edge closing in. She’s close too, her breaths sharp, body tensing. I flip us again, pinning her beneath me, one hand gripping her thigh, the other tangled in the cape. I move fast, relentless, her moans turning to cries, loud and unrestrained. She tightens around me, shuddering, and I feel her release, her nails raking my back as she gasps my name.

I’m not far behind, thrusting deep, the heat overwhelming. I groan, low, burying my face in her neck as I finish, body shaking against hers. The cot creaks, threatening to break, but it holds.

We stay like that, breathing hard, her hands still on me, mine on her hips. The cape’s tangled between us, velvet warm against our skin. I pull back, looking at her—flushed, eyes bright, lips swollen. She’s steady, even now, no regret in her gaze.

“You okay?” I ask, voice rough.

She nods, fingers brushing my chest. “More than okay.”

I kiss her, slow this time, tasting the salt on her lips. The lantern’s flicker catches her face, and I see it—trust, raw and real. This wasn’t escape. It was us, grounding each other.

I’m about to kiss her again, deeper this time, when a crash splits the silence from the upper stairwell, loud and wrong.

Footsteps pound down, fast, clumsy. The door slams open, and a thug bursts in, gun raised, eyes wild, mouth already moving. “Drago!”

I don’t flinch. “Wrong fucking time,” I say, voice low, blade already flashing from my belt.

He’s got no chance. I’m off the cot, crossing the room in one step, my knife slicing across his gut before he can aim. The cut’s deep, steel tearing through muscle and fat. Blood sprays, hot and thick, hitting the concrete with a wet slap. His gun clatters to the floor, useless, as he collapses, clutching his stomach. His insides steam in the damp air, the smell sharp, metallic, mixing with the basement’s heat. He twitches once, then goes still.

Elara’s already moving, knife in hand, covering the door. She glances at me, quick, checking. Her eyes are steady, no panic, just focus. I nod. I’m fine. She’s fine. We’re fine.

The silence creeps back, layered now with the scent of blood, sharp against the sweat and want still clinging to the room. I step toward her. She’s by the door, cape draped loose over her shoulders, knife low but ready.

“You good?” she asks, voice calm, eyes flicking to the body, then back to me.

I close the distance, hand brushing her arm. “Better when you’re closer.”

Her lips curve, sharp and real. She slides the cape back on, letting it fall over her bare shoulders, chain glinting at her hip. “Then catch me again.”

We’ll keep playing this game. Not because it’s pretend—but because it gives us room to breathe in a world that won’t.

I grab her waist, pulling her back to the cot, my lips finding hers before she can say more. The kiss is hard, urgent, tasting of salt and heat. My fingers slide under the cape, finding her bare waist, warm and rough from scars. She presses closer, chest against mine, her breath hitching as my hands roam higher, thumbs brushing the curve of her breasts.

“You sure about this?” I ask, voice rough, pausing to meet her eyes.

“No interruptions this time,” she says. “Just us.”

I nod and lift her onto the cot. She pulls me down, legs parting, cape pooling beneath her. My lips move to her neck, slow, teeth grazing her pulse, feeling it race. Her hands are in my hair, tugging, urging me lower. I kiss her collarbone, then her chest, taking my time, tasting her skin, feeling her arch into me. She moans, soft but raw, and it hits me like a shot.

My hands slide to her thighs, spreading them gently, fingers tracing the inside, slow and deliberate. She shifts, hips lifting, and I feel her heat, her need matching mine. I kiss her stomach, lips brushing scars, then lower, teasing the edge of her hip. Her breath catches, hands gripping the cot, knuckles tight.

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