Page 112 of Veil of Dust

“Yours,” he murmurs against my lips, voice rough, his hands gripping my hips, hard, bruising, pulling me against him, skin to skin. I feel him, hard again, pressing against my thigh, a heat that makes me ache, makes me burn. I shove him back, just enough to take control, straddling him, my thighs bracketing his, hands pinning his chest, nails biting into flesh.

“This is my fight,” I say, voice a snarl, eyes locked on his, gray burning into dark. “My bar, my life. You don’t choose.”

He watches, eyes blazing with want, with trust, letting me lead. “Take it, Vespera,” he says, voice low, steady, his hands sliding to my waist, fingers tracing the curve of my ribs, sparking fire with every touch. “Take everything.”

I lean down, biting his neck, hard, tasting salt, feeling his pulse jump under my teeth, drawing a groan, low and primal. “Feel that,” I say, lips curling against his skin, breath hot, teasing. “Feel what you do to me.”

“Every second,” he replies, voice rough, his hands tightening, urging me closer, his body responding, alive under mine.

The candles flicker, painting us in gold and shadow, warriors in a war we’ve chosen, bound by fury and something deeper, something I’m not ready to name. Thunder crashes, shaking the walls, the storm screaming with us, urging us to break the world. I shift, guiding him to me, my hand wrapping around him, stroking slow, deliberate, feeling him pulse, watching his mouth close, his eyes darken.

“Tell me you want this,” I say, voice sharp, demanding, needing his surrender.

“You,” he says, voice breaking, hands gripping my hips, pulling me closer. “Only you, Vespera.”

I position myself, taking him in, slow, inch by inch, feeling the stretch, the heat, the fullness that makes me gasp, makes me whole. The jazz wails, a mournful cry weaving through our breaths, our movements, binding us in its chaos. I move, rocking my hips, setting a rhythm that’s deliberate, torturous, drawing moans from him, from me, a dance of power and need.

“You think you can take this?” I say, pace quickening, riding him harder, claiming every shudder, every groan. “Then take it, Tiziano.”

“Everything you’ve got,” he growls, thrusting up, meeting me, his strength a challenge, driving deeper, making me cry out, raw, unrestrained. The bed creaks, protesting under our weight, our fury, but we don’t stop, caught in a storm of our own making.

I lean forward, nails raking his chest, leaving red trails that gleam in the candlelight, marking him again, always. “More,” I growl, demanding, my body trembling with need. He obeys, thrusting harder, faster, one hand guiding my hips, the othersliding to my breast, thumb circling my nipple, sending shocks through me, making me arch.

The storm roars, wind howling, rain drumming the windows, thunder urging us on. I feel it building, a pressure low in my belly, but I’m not ready to let go. I slow, teasing, rolling my hips, drawing it out, making him groan, his eyes begging. “Don’t stop,” he says, voice desperate, hands pulling me down, needing me.

“You think you can handle this?” I say, lips curling, body trembling with control. “Prove it.”

“Always,” he replies, voice raw, thrusting up, matching my rhythm, making me shake, making me soar.

I flip us, sudden, fierce, pinning him beneath me, hands gripping his wrists, hips driving down, relentless. “This is mine,” I say, moans loud, echoing with the thunder, claiming him, this moment. He thrusts up, his strength a mirror, making me cry out, raw, untamed.

“Vespera,” he groans, my name a prayer, hands breaking free, sliding to my back, pulling me closer, skin to skin, heart to heart. I kiss him, deep, bruising, tasting him, needing this to be real. The jazz screams, urging us higher. I grind harder, faster, feeling him tense, his groans matching mine, pushing us to the edge.

“Don’t you dare leave me,” I say, voice fierce, eyes locked on his, a vow, a plea.

“Never,” he says, hands gripping my hips, thrusting deep, holding me like he’ll never let go.

He flips us again, pinning me beneath him, his weight a delicious pressure, thrusts hard, deep, driving me higher. His hand slides between us, fingers finding my clit, rubbing fast, precise, sending sparks through me, making me scream. The candles flare, shadows leaping, painting us in light and dark, lovers, warriors, one.

I arch into him, meeting every thrust, nails digging into his back, drawing blood, marking him as mine. The jazz wails, the storm screams, and we move, wild, untamed, a collision of fury and love. I shatter first, my climax hitting like a bolt, tearing through me, cries raw, echoing, body clenching around him, pulling him deeper. He follows, a roar tearing from his throat, thrusts erratic, spilling inside me, hot, fierce, binding us.

We collapse, tangled, slick with sweat, blood, and storm, breaths ragged, hearts pounding, the bed creaking, spent but alive. The candles flicker, softening, the jazz fading to a low moan, the storm easing to a whisper.

I lie against him, head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat, strong, steady, a rhythm I trust. “You’re still here,” I say, fingers tracing the marks I left, the scars we share.

“Always,” he murmurs, arm heavy, protective, breath warm against my hair, my name a vow lingering, a promise we’re still fighting for.

The room holds us, warm, quiet, the storm fading, candles burning low, their glow gentle. The fury’s spent, but the fire smolders, ready for what’s next. This is us, I say silently, body pressed to his, our marks, our heat, our war. Fury, love, nothing less.

The night stretches, jazz silent, rain a soft patter, and we lie, bound, unbroken, ready to face the world, together, always.

Chapter 26 – Tiziano

The body slumps against the dumpster where I left it, throat cut, blood soaking the pavement in a dark, spreading stain. My old clothes—stolen from me days ago—hang loose on the stranger’s cooling body, making him look like me, Tiziano Valtieri, at least enough to fool anyone who finds him. The streetlamp’s dim light glints off the blood, turning it a deep, glossy red. I know the hunters will come soon, sniffing for me, and this scene is my ticket out.

“You’re taking my place tonight,” I mutter to the corpse, my hands steady, my breathing controlled. Every move I make is deliberate, part of a plan I’ve rehearsed in my head a hundred times. “You’re my escape.”

I kneel beside the body, dipping my fingers into the warm, sticky blood. It’s still fresh, dripping onto the cracked pavement, pooling around my boots. I smear it along the collar of my old jacket, streaking the sleeves, crafting a story the hunters will believe. The stains need to look desperate, like I fought for my life and lost. I press harder, making sure the blood soaks into the fabric, my fingers trembling slightly from the pressure, not fear.

---