Page 92 of Aïdes the Unseen
It wasyearsof denial. Lifetimes of silence.
He explored me like he was afraid I would vanish beneath him—soft kisses that melted into open-mouthed worship, the scrape of his stubble leaving trails of heat across my skin. His hands moved over my ribs, my hips, as though he needed to feel every inch of me with aching patience before he dared take more.
Then, just when I thought I couldn’t bear the reverence, he shifted—and the hunger returned, sharp and bright and consuming.
He growled against my skin, low and primal. It vibrated through my chest, made my back arch. One of his hands slid up under my back, pulling me flush to him, and suddenly there wasno space left between us—nothing but heat, skin, and the frantic thrum of blood in my ears.
He thrust into me with a smooth motion that both impaled me on his cock and took possession of me in the same moment. The stretch was perfection. The naked heat of him a brand on my soul. I’d never wanted as I wanted him. I arched my hips, desperate for more. Desperate for him.
My nails raked down his spine, not gently. He gasped, and then laughed—dark and rough and full of something dangerously close to joy.
“Careful,” he murmured, his voice thick. “You’ll wake the part of me that doesn’task.”
I didn’t look away. I didn’t flinch. “I’m not afraid of him.” I touched his cheek. “I’m not afraid ofyou.”
Something splintered in him then—quietly. A soundless quake that loosened whatever restraint he had left.
He kissed me again—slower now, but deeper. His hands were shaking, but his mouth was steady, like he was grounding himself in the shape of me, finding some part of his soul he’d forgotten how to hold.
And gods, I let him.
Igavemyself to him, not out of need, not out of fear, but because it was the most honest thing I’d ever done.
Each movement between us was a conversation—heat and gentleness, friction and stillness, his breath on my skin and mine on his. Every thrust of his body into mine built a rhythm that broke and built again. My nipples ached each time they rubbed against his chest. The strength in his palms shaped against my hips or my ass as he moved me where he wanted me or pushed my leg higher. We were a writhing mass of limbs, tangling together in a story we wrote together in skin and sighs.
Every gasp I released felt likefinallyand then he would capture my mouth again in a rush. Graven was the air Ibreathed. He was the blood pounding through my veins. The heat of him thrust into me with every beat of our hearts.
He pulled back once, just enough to look down at me.
“Irina,” he said, my name raw on his lips.
I reached up and cradled his face, my thumb brushing the hollow beneath his eye. “I’m here,” I breathed. “I’myours.”
Then there were no more words. Just the breaking, and the burning, and the beginning of something neither of us had a name for—only the unshakable truth of it, pressed into every kiss, every heartbeat, every breathless, beautiful second of becoming.
The world had narrowed to this bed, this room, this breathless afterglow. Time didn’t exist here. Not in the way I’d ever known it. There was only the warmth of his body pressed to mine, the sound of our hearts finding a pace together, and the slow unraveling hush of everything we hadn’t said but now understood.
We lay tangled together in the sweat-damp sheets, his hand curled around my hip like he still wasn’t sure I was real. His chest rose and fell beneath my cheek, steady and solid. Anchoring.
I sighed and stretched against him, languid and loose and beautifully sore in all the right ways.
He kissed my temple, his lips brushing my skin like an apology. “Did I hurt you?”
His voice was quieter now, hoarse and tentative, like he was afraid of the answer.
I lifted my head, brushing a curl of hair from my damp cheek and giving him a crooked smile. “No.”
He didn’t seem convinced. His hand slid down to my waist, stroking slow circles across my side, the pads of his fingers reverent, careful. It made me ache in a different way.
“Graven,” I said, soft but firm, “I feel like my body was struck by lightning and left humming in the ruins—and Ilikedit.”
His eyes flicked to mine, still storm-dark, still shadowed with that lingering guilt. I kissed the line between his brows before it could deepen.
“I’m not breakable,” I whispered.
“You are,” he said, almost inaudible. “To me, you are.”
That nearly undid me more than anything else.
