Page 107 of Savage Saint
"Butterfly," he groans, the nickname sending a shiver down my spine. "Come here."
I pull back, rising slowly, enjoying the hunger in his eyes as I undress completely. His gaze travels over my body, lingering on the scars that tell my story.
"Untie me," he demands, voice rough with desire.
"Not yet," I whisper, straddling him again.
By the time I sink down onto him, we're both breathless with need. I gasp at the sensation of fullness, of connection. His eyesnever leave mine as I begin to move, setting a rhythm that has us both panting. This isn't just sex. It's a promise, a claiming. With every rise and fall of my hips, I'm choosing him, choosing us, choosing a future I never thought possible.
"Fuck," he hisses, his head falling back. "Kasia..."
I set a slow pace, my hands braced on his chest. His eyes never leave mine, even as pleasure threatens to overwhelm us both. There's something sacred in this connection, something that transcends the physical.
"You're mine," I whisper, the words falling from my lips like a revelation. "And I'm yours."
His response is to surge upward, capturing my mouth in a kiss that steals my breath. The belt gives way under his strength, and suddenly his hands are everywhere. In my hair, on my hips, guiding me, claiming me.
Our pace quickens, driven by a desperate need to be closer, to erase any space between us. I've never felt so present, so alive in my own body. Every sensation is heightened, every touch electric.
He pumps into me like his life depends on it, holding me tight, worshipping my neck. I'm lost in every touch, every sensation, teetering between here and now and a blissful place just within reach.
When release finally claims me, it's with his name on my lips and his arms holding me tight against him. He follows moments later, his body tensing beneath mine.
We stay like that for a long time, tangled together, neither willing to break the spell. His fingers trace lazy patterns on my back as our breathing returns to normal.
"I never expected this," I confess, my voice muffled against his chest.
"What? This?" He gestures between us with a smirk.
I shake my head. "Any of it. You. This feeling." I struggle to find the words. "Like I'm... whole. Like I'm finally me."
His arms tighten around me. "You are you. The real you. Not what he made you."
I lift my head to look at him. "How can you be so sure? What if this is just another role I'm playing?"
"Because I know you," he says simply. "The real you. The one who couldn't kill me, even when she remembered she was supposed to. The one who fights to protect others even when she's broken. The one who survived everything that bastard did to her and still has the capacity to feel."
Tears prick at my eyes. "I don't deserve your faith in me."
"It's not about deserving," Angelo says, his voice firm. "It's about choice. And I choose you, Butterfly. All of you, the parts that were made and the parts that were born. The killer and the woman. The weapon and the heart."
He sits up, bringing me with him, his hands cradling my face. "We're the same, you and I. Born in blood, raised in violence. But we get to decide what we become next."
I press my forehead to his, overwhelmed by the gift he's offering me, the chance to be more than my past, more than my programming.
"I choose you too," I whisper. "I choose us."
His smile is like the sun breaking through clouds. "Then that's all that matters."
He lifts me easily, carrying me to the sofa. As he lays me down, his expression turns serious again.
"Tomorrow, we begin," he says. "We find Jerzy. We end him. And then we start our life, whatever we want it to be."
I pull him down beside me, nestling into the safety of his arms. I feel at peace. Not because the danger has passed. It hasn't. Not because I'm forgiven. I'm not sure I ever will be. But because I'm no longer alone in this fight.
"Our life," I repeat, testing the words, finding I like how they taste. "I'd like that."
Angelo pulls me closer, his lips brushing my temple, sending a shiver down my spine. There's a tenderness in his touch that contrasts sharply with the cold indifference he often shows the world.
