Page 55 of Crimson Curse
I lift her into my arms before she can protest further. She gasps, laughing softly. “Daniil, I can walk.”
“Not tonight,” I answer, my voice firm. “Tonight, you are mine to carry.”
I set her on the bed with care, stepping back only long enough to look at her fully. The silk has slipped from one shoulder, and the candlelight kisses her skin in gold. My hands cradle her belly, reverent and unbelieving. The life she carries feels both fragile and indestructible, and for the first time in years, I feel something like awe.
She covers my hand with hers, squeezing lightly. “You’re looking at me like I might break.”
“You will not break,” I reply, my thumb brushing across her skin. “But I will still be careful. With you. With both of you.”
Her eyes shine, and she draws me down into a kiss. What follows is unlike anything we have shared before. Our other nights were edged with urgency, with the need to claim, to remind ourselves we were alive in the face of war and betrayal. Tonight is different. Tonight is deliberate, slow, and sacred.
Her hands tug at my shirt, sliding it from my shoulders, her fingertips tracing the scars etched across my skin. She presses her lips to the faded burn near my ribs, then to the jagged line carved into my side, with quiet devotion as if each wound were holy rather than a testament to the violence that shaped me.
“You’re beautiful,” she whispers against me, the words sinking deeper than any blade ever could.
A rough sound breaks from my throat, caught between disbelief and surrender, because only she could look at me and mean that. She strips away the rest of my clothes, her hand closing around my cock, already straining, and pulsing hard against her palm.
Her cool fingers curl around my length before her lips follow, soft and wet, wrapping over the head in a way that sends a sharp tremor through me. I thread my hand through her hair, guiding but gently, while her mouth works down my shaft. Her tongue flicks and swirls, teasing me with deliberate torment. When her hand glides lower, cupping my balls, her mouth takes me deeper, swallowing until I feel the tight heat of her throat. The sound I let out is a low growl, torn from somewhere primal.
I pull her up before I lose myself completely, pressing her back against the sheets. My mouth trails across her neck, down her collarbone, until it finds the stiff peaks of her breasts. They’ve changed since she became pregnant. They’re bigger and more round. I suck one nipple into my mouth, savoring the way she arches, then the other, while my hands push the silk from her shoulders, leaving her bare beneath me, perfect and waiting.
When I lower myself over her, I take my time. I map every inch of her with my hands and my mouth, memorizing the taste of her skin, the curve of her hip, and the tremor in her sighs. Shewrithes beneath me, teasing me with her words, her laughter hushed and breathless.
“So slow, Daniil,” she taunts softly. “I thought you were a man who always takes what he wants.”
I lift my head, grinning despite myself, and meet her gaze. “And what I want is to make this last.”
Her laugh breaks into a gasp the instant I touch her again, her body arching upward, answering me as if it has been waiting for this moment its entire life. With slow care, I guide her thighs apart and settle between them. Heat radiates from her slick folds, pulling me in, and I let my tongue glide across her clit so lightly it’s almost a whisper of contact. Naomi’s back bows, a breathless moan slipping from her lips, and when I finally sink my tongue inside her, the sound that tears from her throat drags me under with it.
My hands lock around her hips as I feast on her. I thrust my tongue deep into her pussy, savoring her taste before pulling back to flick across her clit in fast, teasing strokes. Then I trail lower, sliding across her tight rim before moving back up, relentless, tasting every part of her. The tremors in her body build, her breathing fractured and desperate.
I seal my mouth over her clit and suck, not gently now, not with the way she trembles, not with the way she begs in small, broken sounds. My tongue patterns her in relentless strokes until she jerks upward, a cry tearing from her as pleasure races through her body. She quivers and rides it, falling apart in my hands, and I keep her there, keep her climbing, until the last shiver loosens and she melts back into the sheets with a shaky exhale.
I move up her body and kiss her, letting her taste herself on my lips. Her arms wind around my neck and pull me closer, wordless, and needy. I grip the headboard to steady myself and press the head of my cock to her entrance. We hold there for a second, both of us watching each other, eyes open as if neither of us can look away. Then I push in, slow and steady, opening her inch by inch until I am seated deep inside the tight, wet heat that has ruined me for anyone else.
“Yes,” she breathes, head tipping back, throat bared. “Oh God, yes.”
I draw out and thrust again, setting a rhythm that is thorough and consuming. Each stroke pulls a sound from her that lands in my gut and spreads heat through every obedient muscle. I brace on my elbows so I can kiss her while I move, claiming her mouth while her body clenches around me. She lifts her hips to meet me, and the contact is perfect, our bodies learning and relearning the same lesson we can’t stop repeating.
Her hands cup my face and hold me close, our mouths slanting and opening, our tongues tangling. I angle my hips to grind against that sweet spot that makes her go soft and then tense in the same breath, and her eyes fly open, already glossy with the next wave building. We don’t hurry. The urgency lives there, hungry under the skin, but I keep the pace even, giving us both the pleasure of the climb.
I kiss the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, then the tremble at her throat. I pull almost all the way out and drive back in, slow enough to feel every tight glide, deep enough to brush the place that makes her clench and gasp. I set a rhythm that starts patient and grows, pulse by pulse, into something fierce. Her legs lock around my waist, heels pressed to my back. She pulls at me with her body, urging me deeper. I give it, thrusting with purpose,cradling her head in my palm to hold her steady for my mouth. I swallow every sound she makes and gift her my own, those quiet groans that never belong to anyone else.
When her breath breaks into quick, helpless pants, I shift, sliding an arm under her lower back to tilt her hips and rub along her clit with the base of each stroke. The effect is immediate. Her fingers claw at my shoulders, not to push me away, but to anchor herself.
“Right there,” she gasps. “Daniil, please.”
I move harder, keeping the angle, relentless and sure. The bed creaks, the sheets twist, and our bodies find that perfect friction that feels like a homecoming. She tightens around me, each squeeze a plea, each plea a command I am only too willing to obey.
“Come for me,” I tell her, my mouth at her ear. “Give me everything.”
She breaks with a shattered cry, every muscle drawing tight, every part of her giving in at once. The sight and feel of it pulls a raw curse from my chest. I keep moving through her climax, riding the pulsing grip of her body until the pleasure climbs me from the base of my spine and seizes everything. Pressure swells heavy, irresistible, and when she moans my name again, I let go. The release rips through me in deep, driving thrusts that feel like surrender and victory at once.
We breathe there, still joined, both of us finding steadier ground one breath at a time. I ease out of her carefully and kiss her knee, then the inside of her thigh. She is lax and smiling, hair wild around her face. I leave for a moment and return with a towel. I clean her with care, each stroke gentle, and her eyes soften withthat look that always reaches places I once kept locked. Only then do I tend to myself, efficient but unrushed, aware of the way she watches me with the kind of attention that feels like worship and partnership equally.
I stretch out beside her and pull her over me, arranging her so her cheek rests above my heart. I comb my fingers through her hair until her breaths are even. The room smells like us, heat and silk and a sweetness that is only hers. I could lie here until morning, but there is one more selfish need I cannot ignore. I roll her onto her side and fit myself behind her, sliding into her again with a slow, intimate stroke that makes us both groan. This is softer, a deeper kind of possession that feels like a promise. My palm covers her belly, protective by instinct, and she threads her fingers through mine and holds me there.
“Daniil,” she whispers, her voice hazy. “I love you.”
