Page 202 of Arrow

His expression shifted into something more gentle, and my heart stuttered in my chest. He released my wrists, then stood to remove his clothes with the same deliberate care he’d shown when undressing me. I watched the moonlight play across his body as each piece fell away—the broad shoulders, the muscled chest marked with scars that told stories of violence and survival, the narrow hips, the thick cock already hard for me.

When he returned to the bed, it was with a different energy than I was accustomed to. Instead of the urgent, punishing need that usually drove our encounters, he approached with a reverence that made my breath catch. He lowered himself over me, his weight supported on his forearms as he gazed down at me.

“Tonight,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from my face, “I want to memorize every inch of you. Before the vows, before you officially become mine.”

His tenderness was more devastating than his dominance had ever been. I reached up to trace the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth that could deliver both cruelty and unexpected gentleness. This version of Arrow—unguarded, almost vulnerable—was more dangerous to my heart than any threat he’d ever made.

“I’m already yours,” I whispered, the admission pulled from somewhere deep inside me. “I have been since that night in the elevator.”

His eyes darkened at the memory—me against the wall, his hand around my throat, both of us vibrating with hatred and desire in equal measure. How far we’d come from that first violent collision.

Arrow lowered his head, his lips finding the pulse point at my throat where he’d left countless marks before. But this time, his kiss was gentle—an open-mouthed caress rather than a claiming bite. I shivered beneath him as he worked his way down my body with the same deliberate care, paying homage to each curve, each hollow, each scar.

When his mouth closed over my nipple, I arched into him with a gasp, my fingers tangling in his hair to hold him there. The gentle scrape of his teeth, followed by the soothing warmth of his tongue, sent electricity racing through my body. This wasn’t the punishing pleasure he usually inflicted—this was something deeper, more deliberate, as if he was learning me all over again.

“Arrow,” I breathed, his name a prayer and a plea on my lips.

He looked up at me, his eyes dark and hungry in the moonlight. “Say it again,” he commanded softly, his breath hot against my damp skin.

“Arrow,” I repeated, watching his pupils dilate further at the sound of his name in my voice.

He moved lower, his mouth trailing kisses down my stomach, his tongue dipping into my navel, his teeth grazing the brand on my hip. Each touch was reverent, worshipful, like he was committing every inch of me to memory. When he settled between my thighs, his hands gripping my hips to hold me still, I felt more exposed than I ever had before—not just physically, but emotionally laid bare.

His first lick was gentle, exploratory, so different from the demanding way he usually claimed me. I whimpered, my hips straining against his grip as he tasted me with slow, deliberate strokes. My hands fisted in the sheets, then in his hair, not sure if I was trying to pull him closer or push him away as pleasure coursed through me. His tongue circled my clit before sucking it gently into his mouth, the sensation so intense I cried out, my back arching off the bed.

“That’s it,” he murmured against me, his breath sending shivers across my sensitized flesh. “Let me hear you.”

I’d never felt so vulnerable, so completely at his mercy, yet so powerful at the same time. The way he worshipped me with his mouth made me feel like a goddess, something sacred and revered rather than just possessed. His fingers joined his mouth, two sliding inside me with practiced ease while his tongue continued its relentless attention to my clit.

“Please,” I gasped, not even sure what I was begging for. More pressure, more depth, just more of him in every way possible.

He understood without words, curling his fingers to find that spot inside me that made stars explode behind my eyelids. I writhed beneath him, my thighs trembling as he drove me higher, closer to the edge with every stroke of his tongue, every thrust of his fingers.

When my orgasm hit, it wasn’t the violent explosion I was used to with him, but something deeper, more consuming—waves of pleasure that radiated outward from my core until every part of me was tingling with it. I called his name as I came, the sound torn from my throat like a confession.

Before I could recover, Arrow was moving up my body, positioning himself between my thighs, his cock pressing against my entrance. He captured my gaze, his eyes dark and intense in the moonlight.

“I want to see your face,” he whispered, brushing my hair back from my flushed cheeks. “I want to watch you take me.”

He entered me slowly, each inch a deliberate claiming that made me gasp and clutch at his shoulders. This wasn’t the punishing pace he usually set—this was something else entirely, a joining rather than a conquest. When he was fully seated inside me, he paused, his forehead resting against mine, our breaths mingling in the small space between us.

“Do you feel that?” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion I’d never heard before. “How perfectly we fit together? Like you were made for me.”

I nodded, unable to form words as he began to move, each thrust slow and deep and devastating. My legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, needing him deeper. His eyes never left mine, watching every expression that crossed my face as he loved me with aching tenderness.

“Tomorrow,” he said, his pace increasing slightly as his control began to fray, “you become mine in name. But tonight—“ his voice broke as I clenched around him, “—tonight you give yourself to me by choice.”

“Yes,” I gasped, my nails digging into his back as pleasure built inside me again, stronger than before. “My choice. You. Always you.”

His rhythm faltered at my words, something raw and vulnerable flashing across his face. He drove into me harder, deeper, one hand sliding between our bodies to find my clit. His touch was precise, knowing exactly how to push me toward that precipice again.

“Come with me,” he commanded, his voice ragged as his control slipped. “I want to feel you come around me.”

My second orgasm built faster, more intense than the first, spiraling outward from where we were joined until my entire body was consumed by it. I cried out his name as I came, my inner walls clenching around him, drawing him deeper. He followed moments later, his hips stuttering against mine as he buried himself inside me, his release hot and pulsing as he groaned my name against my neck.

We lay tangled together afterward, his weight a comforting anchor as our breathing gradually slowed. Neither of us spoke, afraid to break whatever spell had fallen over us. This wasn’t the violent claiming I’d grown accustomed to—this was something else entirely, something that terrified me more than any threat he’d ever made.

Eventually, he shifted to lie beside me, drawing me against his chest with one arm. His heartbeat was strong and steady beneath my ear, a rhythm I’d come to find oddly comforting. His fingers traced lazy patterns on my bare skin, mapping the curves and hollows of my body as if committing them to memory.