Page 94 of Bride By Coronation

It feels like it goes on for ages, and we're in a bubble. As if it's just the two of us, and we've been lovers forever. I can't comprehend it and don't want to. Kirill makes me feel protected, owned, and adored. But it's also like I have as much claim to him as he does to me. It's all new and confusing, but it's also freeing. And the only thing I know is that I never want this to end.

Reality hits me when he lowers his mouth to my ear, murmuring, "I need you to tap out, my queen. If you don't, you die. If you refuse to tap out and don't die from my hand, then that means I die."

Fear consumes me, but he doesn't give me time to think about it. He presses his lips back to mine and moves his hand over my throat, pushing one finger at a time over my clavicle. He retreats from the kiss, his worried expression growing.

I have to tap out.

I push past the fear and blink several times to show him I understand.

More anxiety builds on his face. He gives me one last chaste peck, then speeds up his thrusts.

My body has a mind of its own. I meet his thrusts with eagerness, falling back into the seduction of the high as soon as his grip tightens.

My pussy spasms faster. The desperation to return to the intensity level he had me at earlier floods my brain.

He squeezes so hard that he instantly cuts off my air supply.

My limbs flail on the mattress. My eyes widen, and I try to sit up but can't.

"Tap out," he orders through his teeth.

One more second, and I'll be there,I tell myself.

"Fiona," he frets.

Another high hits me. My vision distorts, my eyes roll back in my head, and I soar from adrenaline.

Tap out!

I force myself to blink, over and over, even though I can't focus on anything.

Kirill's hand flies off my neck.

I choke. My lungs try to take in oxygen, but I keep coughing.

"Move!" Kirill demands.

The knights obey.

Kirill slides to the side of the bed. He tugs me up, pulling me onto his lap. He puts his hands on my cheeks. "Breathe, Fiona. Deep breaths."

I realize I'm hyperventilating.

"Come on, my little bird." He demonstrates how to inhale and exhale deeply.

I can't seem to catch my breath. My heart races. My lungs don't want to cooperate.

"Come on, Fiona," he urges.

I take a normal breath of air.

"That's it," he praises, showing me how to take in oxygen.

Several minutes pass until I'm no longer hyperventilating.

He rubs my back. "Good. Keep breathing."

"I-I'm okay now," I insist.

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