Page 120 of Chains of Recompense
He says nothing, just reaches out and brushes a loose strand of copper hair behind my ear, his knuckles warm where they graze my skin. The touch is gentle, unassuming yet devastating.
“What?” I ask too quickly, suddenly hyperaware of my body and how close he is—how I want him to be closer.
His gaze doesn’t leave mine. “I was just thinking…” he says slowly, like he’s choosing each word with care. “About how much I want to kiss you.”
The admission ignites the air between us like a spark. Heat blooms low in my stomach, sharp and undeniable.
My first instinct is to deflect, to joke, to remind him of the rules we agreed to for this fake, temporary relationship—clean lines drawn in ink that was supposed to dry.
But my body betrays me.
My breath stutters. My heart pounds hard enough I’m sure he can hear it.
And before I give myself permission, I’m leaning closer to him. “Okay,” I breathe.
He doesn’t hesitate.
His hand cups my jaw, thumb warm against my cheek, then his mouth is on mine, firm and unhurried.
It’s not the claiming kiss of a man who thinks he owns me, not the careful one of a man afraid of crossing lines.
It’s deliberate, confident, and filled with wanting. It’s the kind of kiss that asks a question and waits for the answer.
I give it to him without words, opening my lips to him, fingers curling into the front of his shirt as the world narrows to heat and breath and the familiar, dangerous pull between us.
He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine. “Come to bed with me,” he murmurs.
It isn’t a command. It’s an invitation, and I should say no. I should remind myself that this ends.
It has to.
I already let things get completely out of hand last night—and again this morning.
I’m balancing too many secrets on a knife’s edge.
But all I do is nod.
His hand finds mine, our fingers interlacing, and the simple gesture feels far more intimate than anything we’ve done before.
My heart stutters, my breath catching in my throat as he leads me down the hall to our bedroom, and I know I’m dangerouslyclose to losing myself in this moment, to losing myself to this man.
The door closes softly behind us, and he crowds me against it, his arms caging me in as he leans down to steal another scorching kiss.
My lips meet his greedily, my hands reaching for the buttons of his dress shirt of their own volition, and a low, satisfied rumble rises from his chest as Raf lets me undress him.
His abs flex beneath my fingertips as his shirt falls open, and I curl my fingers around the waist of his pants, opening his belt, button, and zipper with breathless confidence.
But before I can shed him of his clothing, he’s pressing forward, his hips meeting mine.
One knee presses between my thighs, urging them open as his foot knocks against mine, spreading my stance.
And when the firm muscle of his leg meets the peak of my thighs, the friction it creates drives me wild.
“Tell me,dolce, what’s your darkest desire?” he breathes against my lips, and the words tickle the back of my mind, awakening a memory I’ve long since tried to bury.
The first time he asked me that, I’d been eighteen. Young, innocent, not twenty-four hours past losing my virginity. But I’d burned to know the kind of pleasure that women came to Portentia’s to experience.
Suddenly, I can hear the sharp sound of flesh meeting flesh, the pained yelp, a pleasure-laced groan. My core throbs with anticipation, and my cheeks flame. I hadn’t been able to say itthat night. And the thought of suggesting it now feels almost impossibly more off limits.
