Page 92 of Their Reckless Thief
I scoffed, dragging a hand through my tangled hair. “So, you’re a creep now? Watching me sleep?”
He let out a low, rich rumble of a chuckle, the sound wrapping around me like a warm blanket. “Guilty as charged. I had to make sure that everything’s okay between us.”
I sat up, drawing my knees to my chest like a shield. His presence seemed to fill the room, pressing in on me from every angle. “What do you mean?” My voice softened despite myself. “I’ve been clear from the start, Dorian. I’m not committing to anyone. I can’t give my heart away like that.”
I hated saying it. Hated how brittle and defensive the words sounded. They were meant to protect me but only cut deeper. It was necessary to say them, though. A reminder—for him, for me.
He inched closer, the heat of his body brushing against mine. His expression darkened, frustration flickering across his face before it gave way to something raw, almost desperate.
“You think I care about rules?” he growled. “You think I give a fuck about lines you’ve drawn in the sand? As long as I don’t lose you, Celeste, I’ll take whatever you’ll give me, but I need to know I havesomething.”
My throat tightened. His words were a dagger carving through my defenses, but it wasn’t the killing blow. No, that came from the way he touched me—so gentle, so reverent—as if he was afraid I might shatter beneath his hands. He brushed a stray lock of hair from my face, his calloused thumb grazing my cheek in a gesture so tender it made my chest ache.
“I’ve told you before,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “If I gave my heart to you—any of you—it would break. You’d break it.”
His jaw clenched, nostrils flaring, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he tilted my chin with maddening patience, forcing me to meet his gaze. His eyes burned with longing and restraint, andhis breath was hot against my lips, teasing but never crossing the line. He knew better. He knew what was off-limits.
“No one has a claim on me,” I said, though it felt more like I was trying to convince myself instead of him.
His lips brushed my ear, his voice a low growl that sent shivers racing down my spine. “Then I’ll be satisfied just knowing you’re here. You’re still mine in the ways that matter.”
His words unraveled me. My resolve, already threadbare, frayed further as his warmth pressed against me, his need palpable, his restraint almost painful to watch. And gods, the worst part? I didn’t want him to stop. I wanted to give in and allow myself to feel all the things I’d been so determined to lock away.
Before I could overthink it, his lips were on my neck, his breath warm and ragged against my skin. He kissed me there, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. His hands trailed down my body, mapping every curve, every inch, with a touch that was both possessive and tender.
“I need to taste you, Celeste,” he murmured, his voice raw with longing. “It’s all I can fucking think about.”
A gasp escaped me as his lips traveled lower, lingering on my collarbone before moving to the hollow just above it. His teeth grazed my skin, sending a jolt of electricity through me. Without meaning to, I arched into him. My body betrayed me, responding to him in ways I couldn’t control.
“Dorian…” It was a plea, though I wasn’t sure if I was asking him to stop or to keep going. Maybe both. Maybe neither.
His mouth reached my hips, his hands sliding under the hem of my shirt, pushing it up slowly, reverently. He kissed the skin he exposed, his lips warm and soft, his breath fanning over me like fire. And when he finally looked up, I saw something in his eyes that made my heart stutter. It wasn’t merely lust. It wascare. Devotion. As if he was worshipping not just my body, but every broken, guarded piece of me.
“Let me take care of you,” he murmured.
I nodded, the fight in me evaporating under his touch. He smiled—a rare, genuine smile that made my chest tighten—then kissed his way lower, his hands parting my thighs with a gentleness that almost brought tears to my eyes.
He looked up at me, those amber eyes filled with lust and satisfaction, and I realized—whether I liked it or not—he’d found a way to get under my skin in a way no one else ever had.
In that moment, I didn’t care. Not one bit.
I pulled him up close, pressing my breasts to his chest. I couldn’t get close enough to him. My breath hitched as his lips brushed against my earlobe.
“Your skin tastes so fucking good,” he murmured, his hot breath sending shivers down my spine.
He pulled back slightly, only to trace his tongue over the swollen flesh of my lower lip, sliding his tongue down the front of my neck, nipping gently at the sensitive skin, this time pressing his body flush against mine from chest to thigh. Our hips gyrated together in a rhythm that felt almost primal, writhing together like two snakes entwined in an erotic dance. The roughness of his stubble scraped against my soft skin, igniting a fire deep within me that seemed impossible to quench.
His hands roamed over my body in deliberate strokes as if he was memorizing every inch of me. His touch left sparks rippling over my body. When his fingers trailed up my sides, skimming the curve of my waist before dipping lower, my breath hitched. The anticipation was maddening. Slowly, almost teasingly, he dragged the fabric upward, grazing it over my nipples before slipping it over my head and tossing it aside.
I should’ve felt exposed, vulnerable. I didn’t. Dorian looked at me in reverence, not like I was something to conquer, butsomething to cherish—and that scared the ever-loving fuck out of me.
His fingers brushed against my skin, light as a feather, tracing patterns that had goosebumps erupting all over my body. His other hand cupped my breast, his thumb teasing my nipple until it hardened under his touch. A soft gasp escaped me, and I hated how easily my body responded to him, how easily he broke down my walls without even trying.
The room seemed to spin around us, the air thick with the heady scent of sweat and desire. Somewhere in the distance, faint music played, the rhythm syncing with the pounding of my heart. Every nerve-ending in my body was alive, every touch igniting a fire I couldn’t control. I clung to him like he was my only tether in a storm I wasn’t sure I wanted to survive.
Suddenly, he pulled away. The absence of his touch was a shock, cold and cruel, and I nearly whimpered.
“Don’t worry, love,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “I’m not going anywhere.”
