Page 83 of Gilded in Blood

I bob my head, finding a rhythm, using my hand on the part I can’t take. His groans and curses spur me on.

The power I feel, knowing I’m the one making him lose control like this, is intoxicating. It makes me wetter, more aroused.

When he starts to tense, hips bucking slightly, he tries to pull me off. “Milana, I’m going to⁠—”

I don’t let him. I take him as deep as I can and swallow every drop as he comes with a deep, guttural groan, his hand tightening in my hair.

When he finally relaxes, I pull back, licking my lips as I look up at him.

He stares down at me with dark, satisfied eyes, breathing hard.

“Fuck,” he rasps. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

A slow, satisfied smile curves my lips as we hold each other’s gaze for a long moment.

His fingers move gently through my hair, like he’s memorizing the feel of it. Then he bends down, brushing his lips just behind my ear before sealing them over mine.

I expected him to be disgusted after what I just did. But he isn’t. He kisses me deeply, tongue sliding against mine like he can’t get enough. The taste we share only makes me wetter.

He lifts me effortlessly, laying me down on the couch. Then he stands, stripping out of the rest of his clothes until he’s completely naked, just like me.

His cock is hard and heavy again, curving up against his stomach. He settles between my legs, eyes never leaving mine.

He teases me first. The thick head of his cock taps against my pussy, rubbing up and down my slit, coating himself in my wetness.

Every tap against my clit makes me jolt, a soft whimper escaping my lips. He presses the tip against my entrance like he’s going to push in, then pulls back, repeating the motion until I’m squirming beneath him, desperate.

“Please…”

Smirking, he finally sinks into me, slow and deep, eyes locked on mine the entire time. This feels different. Not the frantic, desperate fucking from before.

This is slower. Deeper. Like he’s making love to me. Like he’s trying to memorize every inch of me from the inside.

We hold each other’s gaze as he moves, pulling out almost completely before sliding back in, filling me so perfectly it steals my breath.

His hand comes to my throat, not squeezing hard, just holding me there with that perfect pressure that makes everything sharper. Even that feels different tonight. Possessive, but tender.

He bends down, kissing my breasts, sucking and biting my nipples until I’m arching into him. Then he moves to my neck, leaving more marks as he continues to thrust slowly, deliberately.

When he raises his head again, our eyes meet once more, and he kisses my lips, deep, consuming, swallowing every moan as he rides me.

The pleasure builds differently this time. Slower. Deeper. Like it’s coming from my soul. When I come, it’s with a broken cry against his mouth, my walls pulsing around him as waves of intense pleasure wash over me.

He keeps kissing me through it, swallowing every sound, every gasp.

Only when I start to come down does he let himself go. He thrusts a little deeper, a little harder, and comes with a low groan, spilling inside me as he kisses me like he never wants to stop.

We stay like that for a long moment, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other in.

This feels different. And it terrifies me how much I want it to mean something.

Still breathless, he stands up and lifts me off the couch. I wrap my legs around his waist instinctively, arms around his neck as he carries me through the penthouse to his bedroom.

He doesn’t stop there, he takes me straight into his bathroom, turning on the shower and adjusting the temperature until it’s perfectly warm.

We step in together, water cascading over us. He doesn’t speak much. He just takes care of me. His hands are gentle as he washes my body, soaping every inch of me with slow, reverent strokes.

When he reaches my hair, he massages shampoo into my scalp, fingers working through the strands with so much tenderness. I close my eyes, leaning into his touch.