Page 96 of Burned

He pushes inside slowly.

I close my eyes.

He stops. “Look at me.”

I force my eyes open.

The stretch is intense. Familiar. Overwhelming. My body yields around him, and he watches every flicker on my face like he would murder discomfort itself if it showed up uninvited.

I breathe through it.

He waits.

Once he is fully inside me, neither of us moves.

Tears slide into my hair. Lucian kisses them from my temple.

“You are mine,” he whispers.

That undoes me more than anything else. I pull his mouth to mine as he begins to move.

Slow at first. Deep. Searching.

I feel every inch of him, every controlled thrust, every tremor in his arms as he holds himself back for me. It is too much and not enough. I need more.

I dig my nails into his back. “Don’t be careful.”

His jaw tightens. “I’m trying not to be.”

“I know.” I lift my hips. “But I need to know you still want me like before.”

A flash of pain crosses his face. Then heat. “Like before?”

I nod.

His hand slides to my throat. Light. Possessive.

My breath catches.

“There is no before,” he says. “Only us.”

Then he moves harder.

My body arches under him.

The pressure. The force. The dark certainty of him.

He drives into me with controlled intensity, eyes never leaving mine. The sofa creaks beneath us. My hands clutch his shoulders, then his hair, then the edge of the cushion as pleasure builds again too fast.

A sob. A moan. His name.

He thrusts deeper. “Who do you belong to?”

“Myself,” I gasp. “Again. Finally.” Then I reach for him, nails digging in. “And you.”

The sound that leaves him is almost broken. He kisses me hard and loses the last of his restraint.

I wanted this. Wanted him undone, wanted the proof that my truth did not make him gentler because he wanted me less, only careful because he loved me more.