Page 125 of Veil of Dust

She smiles, a small curve of her lips, and leans closer. “You’re mine, too,” she murmurs, her breath brushing my cheek.

Her hands move deliberately, fingers trailing over my chest, tracing the lines of my collarbone, the curve of my shoulders. Each touch feels intentional, like she’s memorizing me. Her hips shift, slow and gentle, finding a rhythm that’s not rushed but chosen, a quiet dance between us. I feel the warmth of her, the press of her thighs against mine, the way her body aligns with me.

“Take your time,” I say, my breath catching as heat builds where our bodies meet. “We’ve got forever, Vespera.”

“Forever’s a promise I’m keeping,” she replies, her voice soft but firm, her hips circling slowly, guiding us closer.

Her eyes never leave mine, gray and endless, holding a promise in every glance. I feel her warmth, her softness, the way her body moves with mine, like we’re building something sacred. The silk around my wrists tugs lightly as I shift, not to break free, but to feel her boundaries, to know I’ve chosen this.

“I’m right here,” I say, my voice rough with emotion, my body alive under her touch.

“And I’ve got you,” she answers, her fingers brushing my face, her gaze steady, fierce with love.

She sets the pace, slow and deliberate, her hips rolling, taking me in inch by inch. I gasp, the sound soft, raw, every tremor of my breath a note she seems to hear. Her warmth surrounds me, her rhythm steady, writing a story with every movement.

“You feel like home,” I say, my voice trembling, not with need but with awe.

“You are home,” she whispers, her hands cupping my face, thumbs brushing my lips.

I move with her, matching her rhythm, our bodies speaking in sync. The silk tightens just enough, a reminder of her care, my choice. My wrists pulse under the fabric, my heartbeat matching hers. The room smells of jasmine and sandalwood, the candles casting a golden glow over her skin, turning her dark hair to fire.

“I’m yours,” I say, my chest rising, drinking in her flushed cheeks, her parted lips.

“Always,” she replies, her voice hushed, holy.

She leans down, kissing me, slow and deep, her tongue tracing mine, tasting me. The kiss is a vow, a truth we’re writing together. My body moves with hers, every thrust a word, every sigh a sentence.

The candles flicker, their light steady, bathing us in warmth. She moves faster, just a fraction, her breath quickening, her eyes reading me, guiding me. I feel the tightening, the love in every roll of her hips.

“Take me there,” I say, my voice soft, my body rising to meet hers.

“With you,” she murmurs, her hands gripping my shoulders, pulling me closer.

She shudders, a soft moan escaping, her rhythm steady, drawing me into her. I follow, my heart answering, full of love that’s fierce and gentle. Her fingers loosen the silk, freeing my wrists with care, kissing each one, her lips warm against my skin.

“Yours,” she whispers, her gray eyes endless, saying everything.

I smile, reaching for her, pulling her close, feeling her warmth. “Now it’s real,” I say, my voice steady, a truth we’ve built.

“It’s always been real,” she says, her body pressed to mine, our breaths mingling.

We lie there, tangled, her head on my chest, my fingers tracing her back. The candles burn low, but the warmth remains, holding us as we rest, as we love, as we are.

Chapter 29 – Vespera

I stand at the threshold, arms crossed. My eyes sweep the room, taking in everything—the chips in the wood, the fresh paint, the scars on the walls. Every piece of this place means something. Every mark earned.

We made it.

The feeling settles low and steady in my chest. Not fragile. Not loud. Just…solid. After everything we’ve lived through, we’re still here. Still whole.

The bar isn’t perfect. There are burns in the paneling that won’t ever fully sand out. The floor’s warped in places. But it stands. That’s what matters. It’s still standing.

Tomas is near the shelves, hammer in hand, sweat on his brow. He’s fixing what needs fixing, like he always does. Quiet. Steady. Focused. The kind of presence you trust without needing to say why.

You never gave up, I think, watching him work. Not when I wanted to. Not when everything was falling apart. You held the line. And I’ll never forget that.

I step closer and rest my hand on his shoulder, my voice low.

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