Page 49 of Fallen Heir
He set me down at the edge of the bed like I was breakable, but his hands stayed firm—anchoring me, steadying me. I froze.
My heart raced, panic threading through the arousal because I knew what came next.
The sweater would come off. The leggings. The illusion.
And he’d see me. All of me.
My fingers hovered near the hem, shame crawling up my throat before I could stop it.
But he didn’t rush.
Didn’t touch.
He just stepped closer, eyes burning with something that knocked the air from my lungs.
“Whatever stories you have layered beneath those clothes,” he said, voice low, reverent, “only make you stronger. Not weaker.”
Tears stung at the back of my eyes. Because in that moment, I knew he'd seen me. He didn't look away. didn't flinch. as he pulled my shirt over my head. I knew it, in the way his throat made that deep sound, he wanted me just as much as i wanted him. he never took his eyes off mine.
His gaze scorched me—like he was memorizing every inch of my skin, not just seeing it but revering it. The quiet air between us pulsed, thick with something deeper than want. Need. Hunger. Worship.
His hand slid up my ribcage slowly, reverently, like he wasn’t just touching skin but tracing the map of everything I’d survived.
When his thumb grazed the line of a scar beneath my breast, I flinched—barely—but he leaned in, his forehead brushing mine.
“You’re fire, Savannah,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “You think your scars make you damaged? They make youbeautiful.And I’ve never wanted anything more.”
My breath caught as his lips found the hollow of my neck, then lower, then everywhere, and my body lit up like a fuse had been struck. I reached for him—gripped his shirt like it was the only thing keeping me grounded—but he pulled back just enough to peel it off.
Andholy God.
His body was carved. Like he’d been made, not born—shoulders broad, abs chiseled with lethal precision. Ink covered him like a second skin, each tattoo dark and haunting, curling over muscle and bone like whispered secrets. There was a phoenix wrapped around his shoulder, flames licking toward his collarbone.A string of Latin ran down his ribs, sharp and angled, and I had no idea what it meant—but the shape of it, the way it curved along his side, made my mouth go dry.
I wanted to trace them. With my fingers. With my mouth. With my tongue. Every single one. He looked like sin—and tasted like salvation.
He kissed me again, harder this time. Rougher. Like restraint was starting to slip. And I wanted it to. I needed it to.
I didn’t even remember moving. One second, my leggings were on. The next, they were on the floor like they’d vanished into thin air. My head fell back, a gasp catching in my throat as his mouth moved up my leg—slow, deliberate, like he was savoring every inch. The heat of his breath scorched me, teasing me. Until he was right there. Inches away from where I needed him most. Moisture clung to my thighs—slick and desperate. All from his touch. Fromhim.
My body arched under him, aching, desperate—and when his hand slipped under my panties inserting a finger inside of me, I nearly shattered. His fingers teased me like he already knew how close I was, like he’d memorized me long before he touched me. Like I was a sheet of music, and he was the composer—playing every note like he’d written it from memory.
His lips came crashing down on mine like he had something to prove—like if this was pretend, it was the most real lie either of us had ever told. His fingers moved with rhythm. In and out. In and out. My body followed his tempo, moving in sync with every beat—every stroke—like we were made to match.
Every time I thought I couldn’t take more, he gave me exactly that—more pressure, more friction, more of him.
My back arched, desperate to feel him deeper, to pull him impossibly closer. His name spilled from my lips like a prayer, and the guttural moan he gave in return—low, raw, and right against my mouth—set me ablaze.
My core pulsed. Climax building. Pressure curling tighter with every stroke of his fingers—deliberate, unrelenting, and cruelin the best way. A broken whimper tore from me as my nails bit into his shoulders. And then—
I shattered.
My body climbed, spiraling, trembling with release so sharp I forgot to breathe.
His breath was ragged against my cheek. And I needed him—inside me, replacing his fingers with the full weight of him. I could feel the length of him pressed between us, thick and ready, and every inch of me ached for more.
When I finally dared to open my eyes, he was still there—still watching me like I was something sacred. A miracle he hadn’t earned, but would never let go.
Chapter 18
