Page 42 of Bound By Crimson
Windows dark and endless.
Its silence alive.
The iron gate groaned as she pushed it open, the sound scraping down her spine.
Still—she kept walking.
A single lantern flickered on the drive, throwing long shadows across her thighs as the velvet dress grazed her skin like whispers.
But she wasn’t alone. Not really. He was here. She had felt him.
Waiting.
Watching.
Wanting.
And she was coming to him—not as the girl who worked behind a dusty counter.
But as the woman he had awakened.
She paused at the base of the steps.
For the first time that night, a flicker of uncertainty found her.
A breath lodged in her throat.
What if she wasn’t enough?
What if she had imagined all of it?
She was still just a girl—one who had dreamed too much and lived too little.
What if he saw her and changed his mind?
What if she had misunderstood everything?
Her fingers brushed the slick iron railing. Cold bit into her skin.
She closed her eyes.
And then—it came.
A wave of heat, slow and sinuous, wrapped around her like velvet.
Not comforting.
Not warm.
Hungry.
It slid across her collarbone, down her spine.
Her nipples tightened.
Her thighs pressed together.
The fire inside her reignited—hotter, deeper, demanding.
