Playing With Fire (R-18)

Chapter 5

The air between us had grown thick, heavy with an electric charge that seemed to hum along my skin, making every hair stand on end. It wasn’t just the raw, animal heat of desire; it was a potent cocktail of tension, fear, and a burning anticipation that had been building between us for weeks, maybe months, all of it crashing down on this one, fragile moment. Every defense I’d built, every wall I’d erected, was crumbling, and Vios was the one tearing them down with nothing more than his touch.

His fingers were a whisper, feather-light, moving with a slow, deliberate grace that spoke of reverence. They traced the curve of my hip as if committing every line and shadow to memory before sliding lower, their careful advance a delicious torture. They teased along the delicate edge of lace that suddenly felt too thin, too fragile, a flimsy barrier between us that was no longer needed or wanted.

A gasp, sharp and helpless, tore from my throat before I could stop it. It hung in the breathless space between us, a sound that seemed to echo in the sudden silence. My body, a traitor to my mind, betrayed me completely. I arched into his touch, my hips tilting, a silent, primal plea for more that I hadn’t even realized I was capable of.

He didn’t move immediately. His dark eyes, a deep and fathomless brown, locked on mine, pinning me to the moment, to the truth of what was happening. There was fire there, a searing hunger that mirrored my own, but beneath it, I saw something else, something softer, more dangerous. A look that stripped me bare in a way no touch ever could, a look that said he saw me, all of me—the strength and the weakness, the desire and the fear.

Then, his hand stilled. The delicious heat was gone, replaced by a cool air that made me shiver.

“Tori,” he murmured, his voice so low it was almost a growl, thick with something unspoken, something that was both a plea and a warning. “Are you sure?”

The question, so simple, so profound, sliced through the haze of want like a bolt of lightning. It was the last vestige of sanity in the beautiful madness that was engulfing us. I could have laughed at the sheer absurdity of it—my heart was racing a frantic tattoo against my ribs, my breath had vanished, and he was asking me if I was sure—but the moment was too solemn for laughter. It wasn't absurd at all. It was everything.

This wasn’t just about a moment of physical release. This was about us, about every stolen glance across a crowded room, every accidental touch that had felt like a brand, every heated argument that had left us breathless and wanting. It was about all the unspoken truths that had led us to this bed, to this very second.

My fingers curled around his wrist, anchoring him—and me—to this choice. “Yes,” I breathed, the word a barely-audible whisper but a testament of my resolve. It was a promise, a surrender, a beginning.

At that word, something uncoiled in him, something fierce and tender all at once. The tension in his shoulders seemed to melt away, but the fire in his gaze burned hotter, deeper. He lowered his head, his lips finding mine again.

This kiss was different. Gone was the frantic edge, the barely-restrained hunger that had defined our earlier encounters. This was a slow, deliberate exploration, a deep and profound connection. It was a kiss that spoke in a language older than words, one that asked and answered a thousand questions all at once. His lips moved down the column of my throat, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, and I shivered, my resolve unraveling thread by thread until I was nothing but raw sensation.

Clothing became an intolerable obstacle, a barrier that had to go. With a care that felt like a sacred ritual, he stripped me of my shirt, his mouth following its path, lips grazing over my newly bared skin. Goosebumps chased every place he touched, every place he hadn’t touched yet, and a soft moan escaped my lips.

When his gaze finally lifted from my chest to meet mine, he froze, just looking at me. The air was still, silent except for the frantic beat of my heart. There was no lust in his eyes now, only a quiet awe.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice a husky whisper, and this time, there was no room for doubt. I felt the truth of his words like a vow in my bones, a promise that resonated deep within me.

My fingers trembled as I reached for him, tugging at the hem of his shirt until he pulled it over his head.

And God.

The sight of him stole what little air I had left.

He was all hard lines and strength—the sculpted muscles of his arms, the chiseled planes of his chest and stomach, a testament to his power. But there was a vulnerability in the way he stood there, letting me look. Letting me want. The contrast was a potent aphrodisiac, and I couldn't tear my eyes away.

My hands moved of their own accord, a silent language of their own, tracing the ridges of his chest, the planes of his stomach, the subtle flex of his muscles under my touch. A deep, guttural groan rumbled in his chest, a sound that vibrated against my fingers, and he lowered his mouth to my stomach, kissing a slow path downward, his hair brushing my skin and making me squirm with a delicious tension. My heart pounded so loud I was sure he could hear it, a frantic drum against my ribs.

Then, without warning, he lifted me. Just scooped me up like I weighed nothing, his arms a cradle of impossible strength. I gasped, startled, but he only smiled against my temple as he laid me gently on the bed.

The sheets were cool against my overheated skin, a stark contrast to the radiating heat of his body. He hovered over me, his frame a shield, his presence a promise. His hand brushed my cheek, his thumb tucking back a stray strand of hair, his touch so achingly tender it made my eyes sting.

“Last chance to run,” he teased softly, a playful glint in his dark eyes, but the way his thumb lingered against my jaw made it feel less like a jest and more like a promise—a promise that he would be right here when I came back.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said, my voice barely a whisper, but I meant it.

And then he was kissing me again, and the teasing was gone. The soft light of the lamp cast a warm glow over us as he lowered himself, his body a shield, a promise.

When he finally entered me, it was slow—achingly slow. It was not a moment of frantic desperation but a deliberate, careful merging of two separate worlds. Our breaths mingled, our bodies moving together until we found a rhythm that felt inevitable, a dance we had been rehearsing our entire lives. My nails dug into his back, my legs locking around his waist, pulling him closer until there was no space left between us, no room for doubt or fear.

The world fell away. The room, the city, the past, the future—all of it faded into a distant hum. There was only the sound of our mingled breaths, the quiet groan that escaped my lips, the feel of his skin against mine.

Every thrust felt like a confession of a love that had been hidden for so long. Every gasp, a surrender of every wall I had built. Every moan, a silent prayer that this feeling, this connection, would never end.

It wasn’t just a physical act; it was an emotional unburdening, a spilling out of everything we hadn’t said, everything we had held back, everything we had been. It was our breaking point, our turning point, our perfect moment.

When it came crashing down, it wasn’t just pleasure; it was a profound sense of relief, a beautiful, shattering release that left me breathless. Tears stung my eyes, hot and unexpected, and he kissed them away without saying a word, his lips a soft comfort against my skin.

When it was over, he collapsed beside me, pulling me against his chest, his arms a safe harbor. Our breaths were ragged, our heartbeats slowly, surely, syncing, a new rhythm born from the ashes of our shared fire.

I lay there, tracing circles on his chest, the steady thrum of his heart grounding me, bringing me back to myself. “I don’t know what this is,” I murmured, my voice small, afraid to break the fragile spell.

He kissed the top of my head, his lips lingering on my hair. “Neither do I,” he admitted softly, his voice thick with emotion. “But I don’t want it to end.”

I closed my eyes, breathing him in, and for the first time in a long time, the chaos inside me went quiet.