Maëlys and Eliott's fusion of souls and bodies, forged in the flames of passion and the ashes of memory, had reached a point of no return. The fragile, amnesiac woman had vanished, replaced by a new entity, or perhaps, a reincarnated version of who she had always been. The Maëlys who emerged was no longer at war with her past, nor with the man who had authored it. She was now a woman who fully embraced the untamed nature of her heart, a wild flame that had found its equal in Eliott's mesmerizing darkness.
Their days in the loft, their secret refuge and gilded cage, flowed into an almost claustrophobic intimacy, which she no longer fought. Each morning, waking was an entanglement of limbs, Eliott's scent permeating the sheets, his solid presence against her back. He often held her tight, even in his sleep, as if a part of him still feared she might vanish. And Maëlys, strangely, found comfort in that hold.
Breakfast was a silent ritual. He always made her strong, black coffee, unsweetened, a habit she had forgotten but whose taste her palate now recognized with deep satisfaction. He watched her drink, his eyes dark and intense, as if he drank with her, absorbing every particle of her being.
Conversations had grown deeper, less focused on simple "memory retrieval" and more on understanding the complexity of their dynamic. He spoke of their shared dreams, the wild plans they had concocted in their youth, the spontaneous escapades that had led them to the ends of the country, living on adrenaline and their devouring passion.
"You wanted to open an art studio," he murmured one afternoon, as he traced the lines of a new design on his own arm, the hum of the tattoo machine filling the air. "A place where marginalized artists, broken souls, could create without judgment. A sanctuary for wild souls." He looked up at her, his gaze piercing. "It was your dream. And I wanted to build it with you."
Maëlys felt a wave of emotion wash over her. An art studio. A sanctuary. It was so... her. The idea resonated within her with unexpected force, a deep aspiration she had forgotten. She remembered now animated conversations, sketches tossed onto paper napkins, the vision of a space where raw creativity could flourish.
"Why didn't we do it?" she asked, her voice tinged with a hint of regret.
Eliott shrugged, his gaze darkening. "Liam. He was always there. A shadow. He couldn't stand you having dreams that didn't include him. He wanted to own you completely, even your ambitions. And then... chaos took over. Our chaos." He put down the tattoo machine, his arm extended towards her. "But that dream isn't dead, Maëlys. It's just dormant. We can build it. Together. Now that you're back."
His proposition wasn't a simple offer; it was a promise, a commitment to a future they could shape in their image, a future where their love, however dark, could become a creative force. It was proof that he not only wanted to possess her but also to support her, to let her flourish by his side.
The "spicy" moments had become more intense, deeper, imbued with a mutual understanding of their darkest desires. Eliott no longer forced her to remember; he invited her to explore, to rediscover the depths of their carnal connection. He read her reactions with disconcerting precision, every shiver, every sigh, every movement of her body a map to her pleasure.
One evening, rain hammered against the loft windows, creating a dark, intimate atmosphere. Eliott had found her sitting on the windowsill, staring out at the stormy sky. He approached silently, his shadow enveloping her.
"Thinking of the storm?" he asked, his voice low, his breath warm against her ear. "The one that always drew us in?"
Maëlys nodded, a shiver running through her. "I remember nights we ran in the rain. Like madmen. Like nothing could touch us."
"Nothing could," he murmured, his hand sliding under her shirt, his skin warm against hers. "Except ourselves. And Liam." He made her stand and led her to the large bearskin rug in front of the fireplace, where a fire crackled softly, casting dancing shadows on the walls.
He undressed her slowly, each gesture imbued with a possessive reverence. His fingers brushed her skin, untying knots, letting fabric fall to the floor. His eyes never left her, dark, intense, devouring every inch of her exposed body. He didn't rush, savoring each moment, each tremor of her body.
When she was completely naked, exposed to his hungry gaze, he pulled back slightly, content to simply look at her, his eyes shining with a primal hunger. Maëlys felt a heat rise within her, a mix of vulnerability and new power. She knew he saw her, desired her, not just for her body, but for the woman she had become, the woman he had rebuilt.
He lay down beside her, without touching her immediately. Their bodies were so close she could feel the heat radiating from him, the musky scent of his skin. It was exquisite torture, this waiting, this palpable tension between them. His eyes devoured her, slowly descending over her body, lingering on the curve of her breasts, the flatness of her stomach, the line of her hips.
"You're magnificent, Maëlys," he said, his voice husky, almost a growl. "Every mark, every scar, every curve. Everything is perfect. Everything is mine."
He extended a hand, his finger tracing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, making Maëlys shiver. The contact was light, barely there, but it triggered a torrent of sensations within her. He slowly traced a path upwards, exploring every curve of her intimate anatomy with a precision and slowness that drove her mad with desire.
Maëlys moaned, her hips instinctively arching, seeking more of his touch. Eliott smiled, a dark, satisfied smile, never breaking eye contact. He loved to watch her writhe under his touch, to see her succumb to the hunger he awakened in her.
"You desire me, don't you, little bird?" he asked, his voice a dark murmur that resonated in her flesh. "You want me as much as I want you. More than you know."
"Yes," she gasped, the words torn from her throat, unable to lie. "Eliott... I want you."
The sound of her voice, broken by desire, seemed to be the signal he was waiting for. He leaned over her, his heavy body pressing her into the sheets. He kissed her mouth, a deep, possessive kiss that stole her breath, her soul. His tongue explored every corner of her mouth, lingering, drawing her into a frenzied dance.
His hand left her intimacy to grasp her hips, pulling her towards him. Maëlys felt the pressure of his erection against her, hard, urgent, imperious. He didn't wait. With a deep groan, he plunged into her, a slow, deliberate invasion that made a cry escape her throat.
Their union was seamless, a perfect connection forged by years of repressed desire and rediscovered memory. He moved slowly at first, a languid rhythm that built the tension, making her shiver with pleasure. Maëlys clung to him, her nails digging into his shoulders, her head thrown back, eyes closed, surrendering to the sensation.
"Open your eyes, Maëlys," Eliott commanded, his voice hoarse, his body lifting slightly so she could see him. "Look at me. Look at what we are."
She opened her eyes, hers lingering on his face. He was magnificent in his sexual fury, his features taut with desire, his dark eyes burning with a primal flame. He looked at her as if she were the only thing in the world that mattered, the only thing that could calm him or make him burn.
He quickened the pace, each thrust deeper, stronger, carrying her towards delirium. Their bodies slapped against each other, the sound of their skin mingling with groans and sighs. Eliott whispered words, dirty words, words of love, words of possession. "My doll... my Queen... my whore... always mine..."
Maëlys felt the wave rise within her, a pleasure so intense it became almost painful. She arched, her legs wrapping tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper still. Her body tensed, every muscle contracting, orgasm imminent, an explosion of light in her mind.
She screamed his name, a raw, broken sound, as spasms wracked her body, shaking her from head to toe. Eliott groaned, his own body convulsing as he emptied into her, his ragged breath against her neck. He collapsed onto her, his body heavy and satisfied, his protective arm around her.
As their hearts calmed, Maëlys remained seated on him, their bodies still united, the warmth of their passion enveloping them. She looked up at him, and in his gaze, she saw not only satisfied desire, but also a deep tenderness, a vulnerability he only showed to her. The indelible mark of their love was not just on her skin, but in the depths of her soul. She was his, and she accepted it. Completely.