Page 111 of Veil of Dust

“Never will,” he says, spinning us, pinning me against the wall, wood groaning under our weight, his body a storm, demanding. I arch into him, legs wrapping around his hips, pulling him closer, needing his weight, his fight, needing him to match me.

“Tell me you’re not running,” I growl, lips against his throat, teeth grazing his pulse, tasting sweat, feeling it jump.

“Never,” he says, hands sliding under my shirt, rough, callused, sparking fire across my skin. “I’m right here, Vespera.”

I rip my shirt off, tossing it aside, baring my skin to him, to the storm, to the fury that’s all I am. His mouth finds my neck,biting, sucking, leaving marks that sting, a map of want drawn in bruises.

“Fight for it,” I say, moans spilling as his teeth graze my collarbone. “Fight like I do.”

“Always,” he replies, his hands cupping my breasts, thumbs brushing my nipples, hard and aching, sending shocks through me, my breath catching.

I grind against him, feeling him through his jeans, thick, straining, a promise I’m not ready to let him keep. “You want me?” I hiss, fingers twisting in his hair, pulling, forcing his eyes to mine, gray clashing with dark.

“Always,” he says, voice raw, slicing through my rage, making me burn hotter. I slide down, hands tearing at his belt, metal clinking, jeans shoved low, freeing him, hard and heavy in my palm. “This is mine,” I say, grip firm, stroking slow, teasing, watching his jaw go tight, breath hitch.

“Yours,” he groans, hands fisting in my hair, not forcing, just holding, as I drop to my knees, the floor cold against my skin. My lips brush him, a whisper of heat, then take him in, slow, deliberate, tongue tracing every inch, tasting salt, power, him. His groans grow louder, hips twitching, so close, and I stop, pulling back, leaving him gasping, my lips curling into a wicked smile.

“Not yet,” I say, standing slow, pushing him back, keeping control. “You don’t get it that easy.”

“Vespera,” he says, voice a plea, eyes blazing, letting me lead, letting me burn. I shove him onto the bed, straddling his thighs, jeans still on, a barrier for control. His hands grip myhips, pulling me down, but I hold firm, leaning back, guiding him lower.

He moves fast, flipping us, his strength a sudden storm, pinning me beneath him, jeans yanked down, tossed aside. His mouth finds me, hot, relentless, tongue circling my clit, slow, then faster, a rhythm that unravels me, makes me arch, scream.

“Yes,” I gasp, hands in his hair, pulling, urging, “take me there.”

“Always,” he murmurs against me, fingers joining, sliding inside, curling, finding that spot, driving me higher, merciless. The candles sputter, shadows leaping, painting us in gold and black, warriors in a war of want. Thunder rolls, vibrating through the bed, syncing with my gasps, my cries.

I grind against his mouth, chasing the edge, my moans raw, echoing with the storm. His tongue flicks faster, fingers relentless, and I shatter, orgasm crashing through me, a firestorm of release, body trembling under his will. He doesn’t stop, not until I’m shaking, spent, breath ragged, heart pounding.

He rises, lips glistening, eyes dark with want, and I pull him down, kissing him, tasting myself, the storm, us. “More,” I say, voice fierce, legs wrapping around him, guiding him to me. He thrusts in, slow, deep, filling me, making me gasp, nails digging into his back, drawing blood.

“Feel me,” I say, hips rocking, meeting his rhythm, claiming every thrust, every groan. “Feel what I do to you.”

“Every damn second,” he growls, thrusting harder, faster, hands gripping my thighs, our bodies syncing, a collision of fireand flesh. The bed creaks, protesting, but we don’t stop, caught in this chaos.

“Don’t you dare leave me,” I say, eyes locked on his, gray burning into dark, a vow, a command.

“Never,” he says, voice breaking, thrusting deep, holding me like he’ll never let go. The jazz wails, rain slams, and we move, wild, untamed, until I feel it again, the edge, my body tightening, cries sharp, echoing.

He follows, a low roar, spilling inside me, hot, fierce, binding us. We collapse, tangled, slick with sweat, blood, storm, breaths ragged, hearts pounding. The candles flicker, jazz fading, storm easing, but the fury smolders, ready for the next spark.

The room is heavy with heat, my breath still ragged, chest rising and falling, skin slick with sweat and the lingering warmth of Tiziano’s touch. I’m sprawled across the bed, legs trembling from the orgasm he coaxed out of me, his head resting against my thigh, warm, heavy, grounding me to this moment. But the fury inside me hasn’t faded—it’s coiled tighter, a live wire sparking, ready to ignite.

“You think that’s enough?” I say, my voice low, rough, pulse pounding as I meet his gaze. “You think you can unravel me and walk away?”

Tiziano lifts his head, dark eyes glinting in the candlelight, hungry, mirroring my own fire, promising we’re far from done. His lips curve, not a smile but a challenge, daring me to push harder. “Never walking away, Vespera,” he says, voice a growl, raw and unyielding. “Not from you.”

“Better not,” I reply, my tone sharp, a blade wrapped in heat, stoking the rage and need burning in my veins.

The jazz wails from the record player, its notes jagged, slicing through the air, a wild rhythm that drives us. Rain pounds the windows, relentless, thunder rumbling deep, vibrating through the bed, syncing with my heartbeat, his breath. The room smells of wax, sweat, and the faint copper of blood from earlier, a reminder of the fight we’re still in.

I sit up, slow, deliberate, my body humming, every nerve screaming for more, for him. “You’re still here,” I say, voice rough, daring him to prove it.

“Always,” he says, his hands sliding up my thighs, firm, claiming, grounding me in their heat.

I reach for him, fingers curling around his shoulders, nails digging into muscle, pulling him up, needing his weight, his fire. He moves with me, fluid, strong, his body a storm meeting mine, no hesitation. Our lips crash, a kiss that’s all teeth and hunger, tasting sweat, the faint metallic tang of blood from a split lip, the raw truth of us.

“You’re mine,” I say, my tongue claiming his, hands roaming, clawing at his back, leaving red marks that’ll linger, proof of this night. “You don’t get to offer me a new life and think I’ll forget this one.”

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