Page 121 of Bound By Darkness

"It's beautiful," she murmurs, her voice barely louder than the wind.

I press my lips to the curve of her shoulder, tasting salt and warmth."It is," I whisper.

But I’m not looking at the sunset.I’m looking at her.

She turns in my arms, tilting her chin up, and I see it—the moment she lets go.The moment the walls drop, the fear falls away, and only feeling remains.

And then she kisses me.

It’s slow at first, desperate and searching, but then it deepens, her fingers tangling in my hair, her body pressing into mine, heat blooming between us.

I lift her, carrying her inside the cabin and lowering her onto the bed.

I don’t rush.Tonight’s not about control or power or proving a point.

It’s about her—about us.

I take my time, dragging my hands over every inch of her, memorizing the way her body reacts to my touch.My fingers skim along the delicate curve of her waist, the dip of her spine, the soft swell of her breasts.

She’s tense at first, every muscle tight, fighting the slow unraveling I’m asking of her.Her breath catches—a sharp, fractured inhale she can’t quite hide.For a moment, she holds herself rigid, caught between instinct and fear.

Then, slowly, her body begins to yield.

The tension bleeds out of her muscles, her weight shifting, barely, but enough, leaning into me without meaning to, as if instinct is dragging her somewhere her mind hasn’t given permission to follow.

I let my fingers slide lower, toying with the hem of her dress.“Let me see you.”

“You want it off?Then do something about it,” she taunts, eyes dark with challenge.She wants this, but she wants to make me work for it.

Slowly, I drag the straps of her dress over her shoulders, my fingers grazing the sensitive skin there.Slipping my fingers beneath the lace of her bra, I push the cups down, allowing her breasts to spill free.

My hands find her, slow and sure, but not patient.There’s no patience left in me when it comes to Aoife, only hunger and the aching need to know her in ways no one else ever will.

I cup her breasts, the weight of them perfect in my palms, my thumbs teasing over her nipples until they harden beneath my touch.A gasp slips from her lips, sharp and helpless, and she arches into me, silently demanding more.

Dragging my mouth lower, I trace the curve of her breast with the edge of my tongue, savoring the way she trembles when I close my lips around her peak.I suck—slow, deliberate, just hard enough to pull another broken sound from her throat.

As I peel the dress from her body, my knuckles graze her ribs, the flat plane of her stomach, the sharp line of her hips.For a moment, all I can do is look at the way she sprawls across the bed, bare, wild, burning, like a flame no one has ever dared to touch until now.

"Beautiful," I murmur against her skin, the word tasting like a prayer I don't deserve to say.

I trail kisses lower, each one slow and claiming, mapping every inch of her like she’s mine to learn and memorize and worship.Her stomach quivers under my mouth, her breath fracturing into uneven gasps as I move lower, lower still.

When I reach the curve of her inner thigh, I slip my fingers beneath the lace clinging to her hips, dragging it down, baring her completely to me.I press a kiss just above the place she aches for me, feeling her tense, feeling her fight the instinct to beg.

Not yet.

I want her undone.

I want her wrecked.

I want her ruined in ways no one else will ever be able to put back together.

"Stop teasing me," she breathes, her voice cracked open, threaded with frustration and need.

Her body is strung tight beneath my hands, every muscle trembling on the edge of surrender.I groan against her, dragging her thighs wider, anchoring her to the bed as my mouth claims her without mercy.I lick, tease, devour until she’s gasping, rocking against me, her hands tangled in the sheets as she fights not to fall apart too soon.

"Eamon," she cries, my name falling from her lips like a prayer she doesn't even know she's saying.

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