Page 44 of Gilded Shackles
Her voice breaks around my name.
I don't stop until she's shaking.
Only then do I ease my fingers out. Kiss the inside of her thigh with a reverence that would surprise me if I stopped to think about it. But I don't stop. I don't think. I just crawl up her body, watching her glassy, stunned eyes track me like she can't believe what just happened.
Yeah. Me too, sweetheart.
I hover over her, body caging hers against the mattress, forearm braced by her head. I lower my hips just enough for her to feel how hard I am. Every aching inch.
"Elle."
Her gaze snaps to mine.
"I told you. I don't want to get this over with."
I brush my mouth over hers. A slow promise.
"I want to make sure you never forget it."
She opens for me without a word. When I push inside her, slow and steady, the heat of her pulls the air from my lungs.
She's tight. So tight I have to stop, forehead dropping to her shoulder, breathing through the urge to lose everything right then.
"Fuck," I groan when I'm fully inside her. She squeezes around me like her body is trying to keep me there, and my vision whites out for a second.
I begin to move. Deep but measured. Not rushed. This isn't the hotel, where everything was urgent and reckless and half-drunk on the unknown. This is something else. This is deliberate. Every stroke is a claim I'm not sure I've earned but I'm making anyway.
Her hands find my shoulders. Nails dig crescents into my skin. Each thrust draws a soft, sharp gasp from her, and the sound goes straight through me like a current.
"More," she whispers. Eyes locked on mine. "Please."
I shift my weight. Sink deeper. My hand slides between our bodies, and when my thumb finds her clit, her whole body jolts like she's been electrified.
"Oh God," she breathes, back arching.
I circle slowly. Matching the rhythm of my hips. Watching her face as the pleasure builds behind her eyes, watchingthe moment she stops thinking and starts feeling, watching the exact second her mouth falls open and her body starts to tighten around me.
This. This is what I meant by memorize.
The sound she makes when I press harder, when I angle deeper, when I give her everything I have and don't hold back. That sound. I'm carving it into my fucking bones.
"Nikolai," she gasps, and it sounds like a prayer she didn't mean to say out loud.
I drive harder. The bed protests. Her body meets mine, thrust for thrust, her legs wrapping tight around my waist, pulling me deeper, and the wet, slick heat of her is destroying me from the inside out.
My thumb doesn't stop. My hips don't stop. My mouth finds her throat, her jaw, the corner of her lips.
"Come for me," I murmur against her mouth. Not a command this time. A request. The most dangerous word I've ever said. "Come for me, Elle."
She shatters.
Her orgasm hits like a wave, her body clamping down on me so hard my vision goes white. She cries out, back bowing, and the way she clenches, pulses, trembles around my cock breaks whatever restraint I had left.
I bury myself deep. Release rips through me, raw and violent and so complete it feels like being unmade.
We come like we're breaking.
And I don't stop until every last aftershock is wrung out of both of us.
