DREADED DESIRES

Chapter 2

He reached behind her, slowly pulling down the zipper of her dress. The sound was barely audible, but it felt deafening in the thick air between them. His fingers grazed the bare skin of her back, and she shivered—not from cold, but from anticipation. The dress slipped away from her shoulders, a whisper of silk, falling into a black pool at her feet. She stood before him in nothing but lace and heels, her body lit by firelight and his gaze.

Still masked. Still unnamed.

He paused, eyes roaming over her with a reverence that bordered on worship. His hands rose to her hips, sliding around her waist with a slowness that made her ache. Every inch of her skin responded, humming with awareness. He wasn’t rushing. He was memorizing.

His palms traced her ribs, up her spine, along the delicate straps of her lace bra. He breathed her in—jasmine, heat, and something innately her.

She reached for the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one, baring smooth skin over hard muscle. Her knuckles brushed the center of his chest, and she felt the subtle stutter of his breath. His control was exquisite—tense and tightly leashed. She could feel it in every breath he didn’t take, every twitch of muscle beneath her fingertips.

When he finally leaned in and kissed her, it was slow. Devastatingly slow. His lips claimed hers through restraint and hunger—tongue sliding against hers with practiced grace, but laced with something deeper… a hunger no one could fake. She kissed him back with equal intensity, fingers curling into the fabric of his open shirt until it slipped off his shoulders.

His hand slid lower, fingers splaying just beneath the lace curve of her ass. She gasped softly against his mouth.

“You feel like sin,” he breathed.

“Good,” she whispered, her breath fanning his lips. “Because I don’t want to be saved.”

He guided her backward until the backs of her knees touched the bed. Her legs bent slightly, sinking into the mattress. He hovered over her, eyes locked on hers, the firelight casting shadows across his face and mask.

And when they fell into the bed, it wasn’t just lust that consumed them. It was everything they weren’t allowed to say.

Her breath hitched as the backs of her thighs met the edge. She looked up, lips slightly parted, heart hammering in her chest. Then, slowly, deliberately, she sat down on the edge of the mattress, knees brushing his thighs.

She didn’t look away when her fingers slid down to his belt buckle.

Her movements were unhurried, calculated—daring him to stop her, testing how far she could push. She watched his jaw clench when the leather came undone with a soft snap. The heat in his eyes deepened as she tugged it free, then traced the waistband of his slacks with her nails, drawing a low exhale from his throat.

He stepped out of them without breaking eye contact, his body revealed in stages—each one tightening the coil of heat low in her belly. Her gaze dipped—heat flaring in her cheeks—and he saw it: the blush she claimed she didn’t do. A smirk tugged at his mouth.

“You’re not as composed as you pretend, Raven.”

She leaned back on her elbows, crossing her legs slowly, deliberately—legs still sheathed in sheer stockings, the lace of her panties barely visible. “And you’re not as in control as you think, Wolf.”

He laughed—low, full of heat—and moved forward, pushing her thighs apart with the slow pressure of his hands. He kissed up one, then the other, mouth trailing fire across her skin. She let her head tip back, a soft sigh slipping from her lips as his tongue traced the inside of her thigh, just shy of her center.

His fingers ghosted along the edge of her panties. “Take these off.”

She arched a brow, lifting her hips without a word as he slid the lace down her legs—slow, reverent, like peeling away secrets. His hands caressed every inch of revealed skin, the worship in his touch undoing her.

Then he kissed her again—this time lower. Deeper.

Her fingers twisted in the sheets as his tongue found her, unrelenting, focused. His grip locked around her thighs, pulling her closer to the edge of the bed, holding her open for him like she was his to taste.

And gods, he tasted her like a man starved.

She cried out—soft, broken sounds—trying to keep some composure, but it unraveled quickly. He knew how to read her. Knew exactly when her breath hitched, when her thighs trembled. When to back off. When to push harder. His tongue circled her c**t with maddening patience, until her fingers knotted in his hair and her back arched off the bed.

When she came, it was sharp and sudden, a strangled gasp followed by his name—no, not his name. The name that he gave her.

“Wolf…” she breathed, her voice trembling.

He looked up at her then, eyes dark with heat. “That’s better.”

He kissed his way up her body—her stomach, the swell of her breasts, the soft line of her throat. His c**k pressed against her thigh, hot and heavy. She reached between them, wrapping her hand around him, guiding him to her entrance.

But he didn’t thrust.

Not yet.

He paused above her, breathing hard, both of them masked and trembling with need. The moment stretched, rich with tension.

“Still want to keep the masks on?” he rasped.

She met his gaze, her voice low. “Especially now.”

And with one slow, deep push, he entered her.

They both gasped.

He filled her completely, inch by aching inch, and she felt herself stretch around him, pulse clenching. Her leg lifted to wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper. His thrusts were slow at first, deliberate—drawing out every delicious slide of friction, every helpless whimper from her lips.

Her hands roamed his back, nails scoring his skin when he angled just right, when he hit that spot that made her cry out.

“God, you feel…” she couldn’t finish. Words didn’t work anymore.

He grunted low against her shoulder. “Say it.”

“You feel like… like fire.”

He grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head, thrusting harder now, deeper. The headboard struck the wall, the rhythm roughening as restraint gave way to raw need. Her mask shifted, the ribbon loosening against her damp skin, but she didn’t let it fall.

Neither did he.

They clung to their secrecy like armor, even as they lost themselves in each other’s bodies. Every moan, every thrust, was an act of surrender without confession. They moved together in perfect rhythm—like the music from the ballroom still played in their blood.

And when they came—nearly at the same time—it was with a kind of violence. A shaking, gasping, soul-deep release that left her boneless beneath him, his body trembling with the effort not to collapse.

He rolled onto his side, pulling her with him. Neither spoke.

Their breaths were the only sound—shaky, soft, still masked.

A moment passed. Then another.

She lay curled against his chest, one hand resting over his heart. She could feel it—still pounding, still wild. Her own heart echoed it, unwilling to settle. There was silence, but it wasn’t empty. It was thick with questions they weren’t ready to ask.

He brushed her shoulder with his lips, then her temple. She let her fingers drift across the scars on his torso—faint lines, old stories.

“You’ve been through fire,” she whispered.

He didn’t answer. Just held her tighter.

Still, they didn’t ask for names.

Because the moment they did— it would all become real.