The room was still heavy with her fear.
Her confession hung between us like smoke—unsettled, unspoken at the edges. I could still feel the sharp echoes of it in the bond. The lingering dread. The guilt. The old panic curdling at the base of her spine.
But beneath it… something was shifting.
Sera was quiet for a long moment, breathing slow and shallow against my chest where I held her. I kept my arms around her, steady and sure, like I was anchoring her to now. To me.
"I meant it," I murmured into her hair. "He doesn't get to win. Not while I'm breathing."
"I know," she whispered. Not like she was doubting me—but like she was starting to believe it.
Her forehead lifted from my shoulder, and she pulled back enough to look at me. Her gaze didn't shy away this time. Still stormy. Still laced with grief. But grounded. Clear.
"I'm sorry I let it hang over us like this," she said quietly. "It's hard to let people see the cracks. Even harder when you've spent a long time being the strong one."
"You don't have to be with me."
"I know that too." She smiled faintly. "That's why I can stop pretending."
I felt the bond shift before I saw it in her eyes. That storm behind her ribs began to uncoil—bit by bit—until what poured through wasn't panic.
It was heat.
Certainty.
A familiar, unyielding thread of command that curled through the bond like silk soaked in flame. I barely had time to brace before it hit me full force, and I sucked in a breath, heart stuttering.
She stepped back from my arms with purpose. No more trembling. No hesitation.
I watched as her fingers slid to the straps of her robe. She didn't rush. She knew exactly what she was doing. And she knew exactly the effect it would have on me.
"Sera?" My voice cracked slightly. "What are you—"
"Shhh," she said, and that one soft sound made my knees go weak.
The robe dropped inch by inch, baring her collarbone, the upper swell of her breasts, then the delicate black lace beneath. Her dark strands cascading around her shoulders like a crown of shadows. And her eyes—gods, her eyes—
They had gone sharp. Commanding. Burning straight through me.
This wasn't the Sera who cried in my arms.
This was the Sera who gave orders. The one who probably has stared down arrogant kings. The one who had given blood into my mouth and a second chance life in return.
"Sera," I breathed again, barely able to say her name.
Her lips curved in a smile that was all edge and promise.
"Strip," she said. "Now."
No room for protest. No softness in the command.
And something inside me—something primal and electric—snapped.
I fumbled to obey, dragging my shirt over my head while she let her robe fall to the floor. Her slippers were off before I even got my belt undone. She moved toward me slowly, barefoot now, hips swaying slightly as she stalked. Like a predator with no reason to rush.
I was already half hard by the time she was in front of me.
She didn't speak. Just reached out, caught my jaw in her hand, and tilted my head up so I had to look at her.
"You're mine," she said softly. "You understand?"
"Yes," I whispered.
"Say it."
"I'm yours."
Something flickered behind her eyes. Something wild. Her thumb brushed over my bottom lip, slow and deliberate, then pressed slightly into my mouth. I opened for her automatically. Her eyes darkened.
"Good boy."
The praise punched the air from my lungs. I didn't even know how much I'd needed it until she said it.
Her fingers slid into my hair, tugging back just enough to bare my throat—and then she kissed me.
No—took me.
Her mouth crashed into mine with such force I staggered. I clutched at her hips, but she grabbed my wrists and slammed them lightly against the wall behind me, holding them there with one hand.
"No touching," she growled against my lips. "Not until I say."
I groaned. Gods.
Then she slid her palm down to cup me through my jeans.
I nearly came undone.
"Sera—fuck—"
"I know," she whispered. "I know, baby. You're being good. You're being so good for me."
Her mouth found my neck and bit—not hard enough to mark, but deep enough to make my spine arch. Her other hand found my waistband and undid it in a practiced motion. She pulled my pants and briefs down in one go, and I stepped out of them, flushed and trembling.
"You're already so hard for me," she said, gaze flicking downward. "You were waiting for me to do this, weren't you?"
"Yes," I gasped.
She dropped to her knees like a queen descending from a throne, slow and sure.
Heat. Wet. Slow at first.
And then deeper.
She moaned around me like I tasted good—like she'd missed this, missed me, like she hadn't taken me multiple times last night, her nails scratched lightly down my thighs as she took her time, working me with both mouth and hand.
I nearly came undone.
"Sera—" I gasped. "You're going to—fuck—"
She pulled off with a slick pop and looked up at me, eyes dark.
"Good. I want you trembling for me before I ride you."
I couldn't breathe.
She moaned as she took me in deeper, tongue swirling, lips tight around the base. My head hit the wall. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. My hands clenched into fists as I fought not to touch her.
"Sera—fuck—I'm not going to last—"
She pulled back with a wet sound, eyes blazing. "You'll last as long as I want you to."
And then she sucked me back in, deeper this time, her nails raking gently down my thighs, her throat relaxing as she took me again and again. Each motion precise, confident, designed to ruin me completely.
When I was shaking with restraint, she stood.
In one smooth motion, she stripped the last of her lingerie off and climbed into my lap as I collapsed onto the bed, my legs weak. She straddled me, warm and slick and ready, and without a word she reached between us and guided me in.
Slow.
So fucking slow.
We both gasped when our hips met. She held there, chest pressed to mine, lips brushing my ear.
"Feel that?" she whispered. "You belong to me. Every inch."
She rolled her hips once, and I cried out—actually cried out—as she set a pace that was relentless and controlled and devastatingly good.
I buried my face in her neck, trying to hold on, but she dragged my wrists above my head and pinned them to the back of the couch.
"No hiding," she said. "I want to see what I do to you."
Fuck.
She rode me like I was hers to break and put back together. Like the bond wasn't enough—she needed to carve her claim into my bones with every roll of her hips.
Every time I got close, she slowed. Controlled it. Controlled me.
"Sera—please—"
"Not yet."
Her voice was like velvet wrapped around iron. Her lips brushed mine, teasing. Her breath shuddered, her own body beginning to quake with need.
Only then—only then—did she lean close, grab the back of my neck, and whisper:
"Now, Cass."
I shattered.
I came so hard I couldn't breathe, couldn't see, hips jerking, moaning her name over and over like a prayer. She followed with a sharp cry, her nails biting into my shoulders, her body shaking as she came with me—around me—on me.
We stayed there, a tangled mess of limbs and sweat and bond.
Her forehead pressed to mine. Her chest heaved. But her eyes were clear.
And that knot of fear in her chest?
Gone.
She was whole and back to being untouchable.
And I was helplessly, willingly hers.