Contains explicit sexual content and themes of power imbalance.
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Faster, deliberately, Aurelia pressed toward him faster. Her knees braced against the sides of the table, one hand gripping the edge for balance, the other reaching for him. She was open now, exposed—not just in body, but in intention. As she leaned forward, her hair cascaded over her shoulder, a dark curtain against her skin, a veil of shadow against her luminous flesh.
But perhaps this was a mistake. A dangerous precipice.
Tenebrarum's eyes, sharp and assessing, met her body, then her face. He pulled back sharply, almost violently, putting a sudden, jarring space between them. In that instant, she was too exposed—every line of her body laid bare, vulnerable and stark. The gentle curve of her hip, the modest, delicate swell of her breasts, the waist so slender his hand could have encircled it completely. She felt the chill of the air on her skin, a stark contrast to the internal inferno he had ignited.
Why is she so beautiful?
The thought seized him, cold and sudden, a bolt of lightning. Her eyes glowed—a radiant, impossible violet, luminous and alive. Every contour of her was too perfect, too sculpted… too much to be human. More than human.
"What are you?"
He breathed the words into the quiet between them, barely audible, a ragged whisper laced with awe and a dawning fear.
For a moment, she only stared, her chest still rising and falling with the aftershocks of what they'd just shared. Did he just—? The question hung in the air, unspoken but potent.
"I don't know."
The answer left her in a rush of breath—unplanned, honest, trembling slightly. Aurelia's violet eyes brightened, a soft glow that seemed to pulse with her quickening heartbeat, a silent confession of the storm raging within her. She tried to steady herself, to pull her expression back into something guarded, something calm, but the raw honesty of the moment was too powerful.
"Tell me, what I'm I?" she said, her voice a silken murmur as she slid off the table. Her legs felt unsteady, protesting the shift, but her movement was fluid, deliberate. As her bare feet met the cool stone floor, she could still feel the phantom heat of him seared onto her skin.
Aurelia watched his expression shift—the cold mask of suspicion softening, melting into something more… intrigued. Something warmer, a flicker of something akin to wonder.
"Let me please you."
Her knees met the floor without a sound, a silent, graceful descent. One hand rose to the edge of his trousers, fingers hovering just above the dark fabric, a delicate tremor betraying her intent. Her eyes lifted to his, violet and unblinking, a silent plea and a daring challenge.
What is wrong with me?
The thought sliced through the heat in her blood like a shard of ice.
But her body was a silent, magnificent betrayal, a creature of instinct unbound. She tried to hold back, to remember Velmara's deceit, the harsh reasons she should hate him—but it was like a current pulling her forward, a magnetism she couldn't fight, an irresistible tide. Every inch of her skin remembered his touch; every breath drew her closer to his warmth, his raw, untamed essence. Her mind screamed in protest, a cacophony of warnings, but her body… her body remembered only the heat, the weight, the earth-shattering release.
"Can I?"
Aurelia's lips were closer now, her breath a whisper against the fine weave of his clothes, a promise held in the very air between them.
And in the subtle change of his gaze—the darkening, the silent, agonizing permission—she knew his answer.
She took him into her mouth, her lips wrapping slowly, deliberately around his head, the texture foreign, exciting. Her free hand moved in a steady rhythm below, up... down, up... down, a counterpoint to the intimate dance of her mouth. Her tongue traced slow, deliberate circles over his length, over the sensitive ridge, every motion measured, almost reverent—a stark contrast to the tempest raging inside her. A storm of desire, of need, of something ancient and raw.
And when his release came, warm and sudden, a thick, potent surge, she did not pull away. She held him there, letting his pleasure spill into her mouth, semi-sweat and intimate, swallowing slowly as her eyes stayed fixed on his, never faltering.
She had never tasted it before—creamy and slightly salty, a texture that made her throat tighten reflexively, an unfamiliar sensation that both shocked and intrigued her. Yet her lips remained sealed, her jaw relaxed, accepting him fully, completely.
Her eyes never left his face. She watched his lips part on a silent gasp, his head tilting back as he dragged a sharp breath inward. Even through the mask, she could see the tension in his brow ease into something akin to release, something like awe, a raw wonder washing over his features.
Tenebrarum guided himself deeper, his hips moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm against her lips, a silent communion of bodies. She took him fully, her mouth curving into a soft O as she began to move—in and out, steady and claiming, a rhythm born of instinct and a newfound mastery. With each pass, her tongue traced the sensitive ridge beneath his head, her lips massaging him with slow, devoted pressure, a silent offering of devotion and desire.
And now she could hear it—the sounds escaping him: low, frantic breaths that bordered on groans, each one a raw admission of need, a plea he could no longer contain. He was losing control, and he knew it. Every rational thought dissolved under the heat of her mouth, the impossible violet glow of her eyes watching him break.
His hands came up to cradle—then grip—her head. His fingers pressed deep into her scalp, as though she were the only anchor in a room that had begun to spin, the world tilting on its axis. He guided her with a rhythm that was his, in and out—deep, claiming, relentless. Her white hair scattered across his thighs like strands of spun moonlight as he pressed harder, fingers tangled in the pale silk of it, a stark contrast to the darkening passions.
Behind the mask, his eyes were shut tight, but his body spoke a raw, unfiltered truth: hips driving, breath ragged, sounds torn from somewhere primal and laid bare between them. He was lost—in the heat, the wet, the friction. Lost in whatever this beautiful, desperate unraveling was called.
Aurelia didn't fight it, she couldn't. She let him use her mouth, her throat, even as her own pulse hammered in triumph. This was power too much—the power to make him forget his mask, his mystery, everything he held so close. The power to shatter his carefully constructed walls, to reveal the man beneath the veneer.
Warm release flowed into her mouth, thick and sudden, as she kept moving with him—a rhythm now instinctual, almost consuming, a perfect echo of his own desperate cadence.
It spilled over her lips, dripping in slow streaks down her chin, a stark, undeniable testament to their shared intimacy.
Stupid. Messy. Betraying.
She couldn't hold it all in, couldn't hide the evidence of what they'd just shared. And still, she didn't stop. Her mouth was a wheel without brakes, circling him without thought, without end—a rhythm born of instinct, not choice. Her tongue moved in slow, practiced circles, tracing every ridge and curve long after his release had crested and stilled, a silent, lingering exploration.
"Enough."
His voice was low, frayed—the word more breath than sound, a plea for respite. He stilled at last, his harsh breathing softening into something ragged but quiet.
She remained on her knees, her own breath uneven, lips wet and parted. She lifted a hand, but let it hover near her chin without wiping anything away.
Let him see, she thought, her gaze unwavering. Let him see what he has made me become.
A single drop fell from her lip, then another—each landing softly on the marble floor between them, a silent, gleaming punctuation to everything left unspoken, everything that had irrevocably changed.
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To be continued...