Kiera's POV
The room was dim, the only light a thin blade of moonlight cutting through the half-drawn curtains.
Shadows clung to the walls like secrets. Malakai's weight settled over me as he flipped me onto my back, the mattress dipping under the force of it. His body caged mine,broad, solid, dangerous but his hands were careful, almost reverent, as if I might shatter.
He kissed me slowly. Not the hungry, bruising kind. Soft. Deliberate. His mouth brushed the corner of mine, then the center, tasting me like he had all the time in the world.
I made a sound I didn't recognize. Half sigh, half something foreign and needy—and his lips curved against mine before he moved lower. My jaw. The sensitive spot beneath my ear. My throat. Each kiss was warm, open-mouthed, lingering. I whispered his name without meaning to. It slipped out on a shaky breath.
His mouth traveled lower still. Across my collarbone. Down the slope of my chest. Even through the thin fabric of my shirt his lips found me, hot and insistent. I arched without thinking. He made a low sound in his throat—dark, approving—and then his fingers were at the hem of my shirt. Gentle. Always so gentle with the bruised wrist he refused to let me use. When I reached to help him, he caught my hand and pressed it back to the sheets.
"No," he murmured against my skin. "Let me."
He peeled the shirt upward and off, leaving me bare to the cool air and his gaze. No bra. My nipples tightened instantly under the weight of his stare. He looked at them for a long second, then up into my eyes.
"So fucking beautiful," he said, voice rough, almost reverent. The words landed heavier than any touch.
He kissed his way back up from my stomach, slow and worshipful, until his mouth closed over one breast. Heat. Wet suction.
The gentle tug of his teeth. His other hand cupped the neglected one, thumb circling, rolling. I bit down on a moan, forcing it into something quieter. Staff moved through the house at night. Bridget could walk past at any moment. The thought of being overheard made my heart hammer even harder, but it didn't stop the sounds completely. Soft, broken things kept escaping me—his name, little gasps, foreign syllables I didn't know I could make.
He was meticulous.
He switched sides, sucking, licking, drawing every reaction from me like it was his right. When he finally released me, my skin was flushed and damp. He kissed lower again—sternum, the soft plane of my stomach—while his hands found the waistband of my shorts. I tried to push them down myself. He stopped me with a quiet, firm sound and did it himself, sliding the fabric down my hips and thighs with careful control, mindful of every bruise. Then I was completely bare beneath him. Exposed. Wet. The air felt too sharp against my skin.
He sat back just long enough to unbutton his own shirt, one button at a time, never looking away from me. The sight of him—scarred, powerful, dangerous—made something tight coil low in my belly. He discarded the shirt, then leaned down again. Kissed the inside of one thigh. Then the other. I could smell myself—sharp, unmistakable arousal—and I knew he could too. His eyes stayed locked on mine as he settled between my legs.
One smooth, hot lick across my clit and my whole body jerked.
A broken sound tore out of me before I could catch it. He didn't stop. He licked again, slower, deeper, dragging the flat of his tongue through my wetness like he was savoring it. Then he sealed his mouth over me and ate. Tonguing, sucking, working me open with devastating patience. One finger slid inside—just one—and I was so wet it offered no resistance. He curled it, stroked, matched the rhythm of his mouth until I was trembling, thighs shaking around his head, hands fisting the sheets because I couldn't risk grabbing his hair and making noise.
When he finally lifted his head, his mouth was shiny. He crawled back up my body and kissed me hard. I tasted myself on his tongue—salty, intimate—and I sucked at it greedily, desperate. While we kissed, his hands worked between us. Belt. Zipper. The soft sound of fabric shifting. Then he shoved his underwear down and I felt him—hot, heavy, impossibly thick—against my thigh.
I looked.
Holy mother of God.
The length. The girth. The dark, flushed head already glistening. My first time, and he was that. Panic flickered through the haze of want. Would he even fit? Could something that size go inside me without tearing me apart?
He must have felt my stare. He didn't look down at himself. He looked at me instead, eyes dark and searching.
"Are you sure?"
I nodded. Couldn't trust my voice.
He kissed me again—deeper, hotter, almost frantic now—and the sound he made against my mouth was pure animal restraint. Groans fought their way up his throat; he swallowed most of them, but a few escaped, low and rough. He lined himself up. The broad head of him nudged my entrance. Just that contact sent a sharp spark of electricity through me, unfamiliar and overwhelming. He paused, forehead against mine, eyes locked on mine again, hunting for any flicker of doubt.
I nodded once more.
He pushed in.
Slow. So slow it was almost cruel. The stretch burned—thick, relentless pressure that stole my breath. Pain and pleasure tangled so tightly I couldn't separate them. He kept going, inch by careful inch, jaw tight, breathing hard through his nose as he fought every instinct to thrust. When the sharpest pain hit—deep, sudden—I gasped. His eyes snapped open.
"If you don't want this… if it hurts too much, tell me. I'll stop."
"No." My voice was wrecked. "Don't stop. Just… slow. Please."
He obeyed. He sank deeper, filling me until there was nowhere left to go, until I was stretched around him completely and the fullness bordered on too much. He held still, trembling with the effort, letting me adjust. Then he began to move. Shallow thrusts at first. Gentle. The pain was still there, a raw edge, but pleasure began to bloom underneath it—hot, liquid, building low in my stomach with every careful drag of him inside me.
The sounds were obscene. Wet. Soft flesh meeting flesh.
I bit my lip hard enough to taste copper, trying to stay quiet. He increased the pace only when I nodded, when the pleasure finally overtook the sting. His head tipped back, throat working, a low groan finally escaping him as he fucked into me with more force. Controlled still, but darker. Possessive. Like he was claiming something he had no intention of ever giving back.
The feeling in my lower belly coiled tighter and tighter until it snapped. My orgasm crashed through me hard and sudden. A loud, broken cry tore from my throat before I could stop it. Instantly his hand covered my mouth, pressing firmly, muffling the sound so no one in the house would hear. I bit down on the edge of his palm as the waves rolled through me, hips jerking, inner walls clenching around him. He kept thrusting through it—slower now, working me through every aftershock—while the slick evidence of my climax made every movement easier, wetter, louder. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room.
His control finally fractured. His thrusts turned deeper, more desperate. Low, guttural groans spilled from him as he chased his own release. Then he buried himself to the hilt and came with a broken sound against my neck, hips stuttering, flooding me with heat.
We stayed like that for a long moment—joined, trembling, breathing like we'd run for miles. Eventually he eased out.
The emptiness that followed made me wince. I looked down between us and saw the evidence: his release mixed with mine, streaked faintly pink with blood. Proof of what we'd just done.
He was still breathless when he left the bed. I heard water running. He returned with a warm, damp towel and cleaned me with the same careful hands he'd used the entire time—gentle, thorough, almost tender. The contrast was dizzying. This man who moved through the world like a weapon had just been inside me like I was something fragile and precious.
I was too exhausted to speak. Too sore. Too full of everything that had just happened. Sleep dragged at me hard. The last thing I felt was him lifting me slightly, arranging me properly on the sheets, then pulling my body against his.
His arm slid around my waist, solid and possessive, tucking me into the heat of his chest.
I fell into the dark with a small, secret smile still on my face.