Page 111 of Shattered By Grace

This wasn’t desperate or frantic. It was slow, deep, and earth-shattering in its own way. A promise. A surrender. A beginning.

When she pulled away, her gaze locked onto his. Without a word, she took his hand, fingers threading through his, and gently tugged him toward her room. No words were needed.

Tristan followed without hesitation, his grip tightening as if to tell her he was right there with her in this, whatever this was. The moment they crossed the threshold, the air shifted, charged and electric with unsaid emotions. She barely had time to turn before he was there, hands framing her face, mouth capturing hers with a hunger that sent a shiver down her spine.

This wasn’t just desire,it was raw and unfiltered devotion. His hands traced the shape of her, memorizing, worshiping, like she was something sacred. And maybe to him, she was.

Victoria pressed closer, her fingers threading into his hair, anchoring herself as his lips left a trail of fire along her jaw and down the column of her throat. Her breaths came faster, her heart a wild rhythm against his own. Every touch, every whispered breath between them felt like something irrevocable, something they could never take back, and neither of them wanted to.

He pulled back just enough to search her eyes, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured, his voice rough, strained with restraint.

She shook her head, a soft smile playing on her lips as she pulled him back to her. “Not a chance.”

Tristan held up a finger, just like earlier, making a slow spinning gesture. She followed his silent command, turning for him, and as she did, his fingertip brushed her hair to one side. A shiver ran through her as he pushed the thin strap of her dress off her shoulder, his lips following in its wake, pressing slow, reverent kisses from her neck to the curve of her shoulder. Then he repeated the motion on the other side, letting the fabric slip lower until it pooled at her feet.

“Turn around and let me look at you.”

Her breath hitched. She had never felt this exposed before, this seen. It was intimate in a way that went far beyond the physical. But the way he looked at her, like she was something to be worshiped, had warmth spreading through her chest. She didn’t feel small or vulnerable. She felt powerful.

Tristan’s gaze dragged over her, dark and slow, taking in every inch of bare skin with a quiet kind of reverence. Then, he dropped to his knees, looking up at her through thick lashes, a wicked smirk curving his lips.

“Hold on,” he murmured.

She gripped his shoulders as he slid one heel off, then the other, his hands warm against her skin. His hands traced a slow path up her calves, his touch unhurried, fingertips skimming higher until they found the outer curve of her thighs.

Slowly, he rose, dragging his hands with him, mapping every inch until he reached her hips.

“You have a fantastic ass.” His voice was thick with appreciation, and a slow smile tugged at her lips in response.

His grip on her hips tightened, and before she could catch her breath, he lifted her effortlessly. A gasp left her lips, but instinct took over and her legs wrapped around his waist, holding on as his arm slid beneath her, supporting her weight with ease.

The other hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head back as he claimed her mouth in a kiss that sent fire racing through her veins. He carried her with steady, controlled steps, the muscles in his arms flexing beneath her palms.

By the time her back met the bed, the kiss had deepened, slow and intoxicating. His body followed, never breaking contact, as if letting her go wasn’t an option.

Her hands found the hem of his shirt, fingers slipping beneath the fabric, tracing over hard muscle before tugging itupward. He broke the kiss just long enough to pull it over his head and toss it aside.

With his chest bare before her, she ran her hands over his warm skin, palms smoothing over the firm ridges of his torso. “Mine,” she whispered, a quiet claim against the silence between them.

“Yours,” he murmured. He bent down, capturing her lips again, the kiss deepening, more consuming.

Victoria’s legs remained locked around his waist, and with a push of her elbows, she shifted, flipping their positions in a controlled roll until she was straddling him. His breath hitched, a smirk ghosting over his lips, but he didn’t stop her.

“All mine,” she murmured, leaning down to press slow, lingering kisses down his chest, nipping at his skin as she moved lower.

As Victoria slid lower, her fingers made quick work of the button on his pants, the soft rasp of the zipper cutting through the thick silence between them. She glanced up, her breath catching at the way Tristan watched her,his jaw tight, his dark eyes locked onto hers like he was barely holding himself together.

His fingers threaded into her hair, the grip firm but not forceful, like he needed to touch her, to feel her. “Fuck, Vic,” he murmured as she pressed an open-mouthed kiss just below his navel, her nails dragging lightly along his hips.

She smirked at the way his muscles tensed under her touch, at the sharp inhale when she teased the waistband of his pants lower, her fingers skimming over his hip bones, deliberate and slow.

His patience snapped.

With one swift motion, he hauled her back up, his grip firm on her thighs as he turned them, pressing her against the bed. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t give her a second to tease him furtherbefore his mouth was on hers, hot and claiming, his hands pushing her thighs apart as he settled between them.

His lips moved down her throat, trailing lower, his stubble scraping against her sensitive skin as his mouth closed over a peaked nipple, his tongue flicking, sucking just hard enough to make her back arch.

“Tristan…” Her breath hitched, hands fisting in his hair, nails scratching down his scalp.

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