Page 129 of Haunted Crowns
His mouth hit hers like fury, like he had waited years and still wasn’t ready. She gasped, and he swallowed it. His hands tangled in her hair, pulled her closer, crushed her to him like holding her was the only way he could breathe.
Eris moaned into him, frantic fingers tearing at his clothes. He spun her fast, pinned her to the wall, teeth grazing her throat.
She arched into him, gasping, her nails digging into his scalp as if she could anchor herself to him or fall apart. Then he gripped her face in both hands, desperate, eyes locking breathless.
“You came back to me,” he whispered, forehead pressed to hers, voice cracking like he still couldn’t believe she was real.
“I never left,” she breathed, eyes glistening. “Even when they ripped me from you, I was yours. I will always be.”
He shuddered. She did too. Then he lifted her in one swift, rough motion, and her legs locked around his waist like she could cage eternity between them.
His hips ground into her. Her head thudded against the wall as she cried out sharp and wrecked.
This man—his burning breath, the scent of his skin—broke her open. How was she supposed to keep her sanity while he pressed into her like this?
“Tell me to stop,” he rasped against her neck. “Say it now, or I won’t.”
“Don’t you dare,” she breathed.
He carried her to the bed and dropped her onto it with a growl. She bounced back breathless, laughing. Gods, he was lost.
He fell on top of her, mouth hungry, hands everywhere. Fabric tore beneath their fingers like it offended them. His belt hit the floor. Her dress gave way with a gasp and a rip. His clothes followed.
When he was bare, she stilled. Her eyes dragged over the scars across his chest—lines of war, of pain, of survival. Her breath caught. She reached out, fingertips trembling, and traced one like a priestess reading prophecy.
“You lived.” She kissed each mark reverently, then lifted her gaze to his. “You are mine.” Her hands tightened on taut muscle. Possessive.
“I always have been,” he breathed, hands framing her face to let this truth carve into her soul.
Then his hands slid to her hips to steady her, gripping hard, then softer, like he was at war with the beast inside him.
She was untouched.
“Tell me if I—” he whispered.
She cut him off with a kiss that shattered him. “I want to feel everything.”
He exhaled and slowly pushed into that first, tight inch of her.
Eris gasped, sharp, strangled. That first stretch was agony and divinity, and gods, she took him like she’d been waiting a lifetime to be split open.
He froze, a guttural snarl tearing from his chest. She was too hot. Too tight. Too much. The feel of her clutched at his sanity. Every instinct screamed to move, to take, but he held, trembling. “Tell me you’re all right,” he rasped, barely holding it together.
Her lashes fluttered, tears shimmering from the unbearable beauty of it.
“I’m perfect. Keep going,” she whispered.
He kissed her forehead, her cheek, her lips like memorizing sacred scripture. His hips moved gently. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him close as her thighs parted wider, welcoming him deeper.
“More,” she moaned, and gods, he gave her more.
He thrust harder, deeper, like he wanted to carve himself into her soul.
Her back arched. She cried out again, louder, her nails scraping into his back. He welcomed the sting. It grounded him, matching the violence of how she lived inside his heart.
The bed rocked. The frame groaned. Their breath turned feral. This was not soft or careful. This was need. Love. War.
Each thrust knocked the air from her lungs. She rose to meet him, again and again, her cries driving him to the edge. Her voice broke around his name like a prayer turned weapon.
