Page 36 of The Dark Elf's Found Family
I pull out at the last second, my release erupting across her stomach and chest in thick, hot streams. The sight of my cum marking her skin, claiming her in the most primitive way possible, makes my cock pulse with aftershocks of pleasure.
She looks perfect like this—flushed and sated, my come painting her skin, her eyes heavy-lidded with satisfaction. The possessive satisfaction that floods through me is almost overwhelming. She's mine now, marked by me, and I never want to let her go.
I collapse beside her on the narrow bed, both of us breathing hard as we come down from the high. When I reach for the cloth beside the washbasin to clean her, she catches my wrist, her fingers still trembling slightly.
"That was..." she starts, then trails off, seeming to search for words.
"Perfect," I finish for her, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. "You were perfect."
I clean her gently, taking care with the sensitive skin, and when I'm done I pull her against my side. She fits perfectly there, her head on my chest, her arm draped across my stomach.
For a moment we just lie there in comfortable silence, and I can feel something shifting between us. The walls she's kept up are cracking, letting me in just a little more. But I can sense her retreating again, that familiar wariness creeping back into her posture.
"Stay," I say quietly, my fingers trailing through her hair. The word hangs between us, loaded with meaning and possibility.
Her eyes widen, and I can see the fear flickering there alongside the lingering desire. She's pulling away again, mentally if not physically, and I know I need to be careful here.
"Just for tonight," I add, keeping my voice gentle despite the desperation clawing at my chest. "Stay with me tonight."
She hesitates, and I can practically see the war raging in her mind. Part of her wants to stay, I can tell, but the other part—the part that's been hurt before—is screaming at her to run. She's still holding back, and while I want to drag her out to be with me, I know I have to keep trying to earn her trust.
Even if I want her so bad it hurts. I have to tread lightly. I'm so close to tearing down those last walls. I can feel it.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she nods. "Just tonight," she whispers, settling back against my chest.
The relief that floods through me is almost overwhelming, but I force myself to remain calm. It's just one night, but it's progress. It's her letting me in just a little more, and I'll take whatever she's willing to give.
19
BRYNN
The first thing I notice when consciousness creeps back is warmth. Not just the warmth of blankets, but the solid heat of another body pressed against mine. Ciaran's arm is draped across my waist, his breathing slow and even against my neck, and for a moment I let myself sink into the feeling. When was the last time I woke up in someone's arms? When was the last time I felt this safe, this protected?
The answer comes too quickly—never. Even with Cyprien, there had always been an edge of uncertainty, a feeling that I was borrowing time that wasn't really mine. But this... this feels different. Solid. Real.
I shift slightly, trying not to wake him, but his arm tightens around me immediately. His lips brush against my cheek, soft and warm, before trailing to my ear.
"Don't run," he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep but carrying an undertone of quiet command that makes my stomach flutter. "I can feel you thinking too hard already."
My heart pounds against my ribs, betraying me. He knows me too well, can read the panic that's starting to build in my chest like he's reading one of his manuscripts. I let him in lastnight—really let him in—and now the morning light is making everything feel too real, too exposed.
"Ciaran, I should?—"
"Should what?" His hand slides up my side, fingertips tracing patterns on my skin that make me shiver despite the warmth. "Should run back to your safe little walls and pretend this didn't happen?"
The gentle accusation in his voice stings because it's true. That's exactly what I want to do. It's what I always do when things get too real, too complicated. But his touch is patient, unhurried, like he has all the time in the world to convince me otherwise.
"This doesn't have to be all or nothing," he continues, his mouth finding the sensitive spot just below my ear. "We can go at whatever pace you need. But don't shut down on me, Brynn. Please."
His words are reasonable, measured, but there's an underlying desperation there that makes my chest tight. He's afraid I'm going to bolt, and he's not wrong to be worried. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to get dressed, go home, and pretend this was just a moment of weakness.
But then his hands continue their slow exploration, sliding over my ribs with reverent care, and the tension in my body starts to ebb despite my racing thoughts. He's not demanding anything from me, not pushing for promises I'm not ready to make. He's just... here. Present. Patient.
"I don't know how to do this," I whisper, the admission scraped raw from my throat. "I don't know how to let someone in without losing myself."
"You don't have to figure it all out right now." His thumb traces along my collarbone, and I can feel some of the panic loosening its grip on my lungs. "Just don't disappear on me. That's all I'm asking."
The simplicity of it—just don't disappear—makes something crack open in my chest. Not the earth-shattering break I've been expecting, but something smaller, more manageable. A door opening just a crack instead of being torn from its hinges.
