Beneath the Crimson Sky

Chapter 9

The wind howled outside their shelter, carrying with it the chill of the mountain and the howls of distant wolves. They had passed the checkpoint. Escaped death. And now, in the cold attic of an abandoned chapel deep in the forest, they were alone again—with nothing but the ache of adrenaline and the wild, electric heat between their bodies.

James lit the lantern, its golden glow casting long shadows on the wooden beams overhead. The silence between them was thick, trembling with tension that had been building since the moment the checkpoint gate had opened.

Sofia dropped her coat. It hit the floor with a heavy thud. She didn’t speak.

She didn’t need to.

James turned toward her, eyes dark, jaw clenched tight. He looked at her like a man barely containing the storm inside him. She met his gaze—unflinching, unafraid, and already burning.

“Come here,” he said. His voice was rough, nearly broken.

She took a step forward, then another, until she was standing chest to chest with him, their breath mingling. Her hands moved to his belt without hesitation, tugging it loose, pulling it free with a swift flick. His hands were on her dress a moment later, fingers dragging the fabric down, exposing the smooth expanse of her back.

It fell to her ankles.

She stood before him in nothing but bare skin and fire.

He growled low in his throat, sweeping her up and pressing her back against the nearest wooden beam. His hands were everywhere—her thighs, her hips, her breasts. His mouth claimed hers in a kiss so deep it shattered the last thread of restraint.

Sofia moaned into him, wrapping her legs around his waist, grinding herself against the hardness already pressing between them. There was no gentleness tonight. No pretense of patience.

This was need.

He carried her to the floor, laying her down on an old blanket thrown over the wooden planks, then pulled back only long enough to strip the rest of his clothes away.

And then he was on her again—naked, hard, and hungry.

He kissed down her neck, biting lightly at the spot beneath her jaw that made her whimper. His mouth moved lower, trailing over her chest, teasing her n*****s with his tongue until she arched, gasping, her fingers tangling in his hair.

He slid a hand between her thighs, parting her slowly. She was already slick, already throbbing for him. He slipped a finger inside her, then another, curling just right. She cried out, hips bucking against his hand.

“God, James—”

“Tell me what you want,” he rasped, voice thick with lust.

“You,” she gasped. “Now. Hard.”

That was all it took.

He positioned himself over her, teasing the tip of his c**k against her entrance. Their eyes met—hers blown wide with need, his filled with raw hunger.

Then he pushed inside, slow at first—just enough to make her whine—then all at once, burying himself to the hilt. They both groaned, bodies locking into one desperate rhythm.

He began to move, thrusting deep and fast, his hips slamming against hers with a force that made the floor creak beneath them. She clung to him, nails digging into his back, legs tightening around his waist as she met every thrust with equal hunger.

Their moans filled the attic, echoing off the walls like music.

There was no time. No world. No war. Only the heat of their bodies, the sweat on their skin, the pounding of blood and breath and want.

James flipped her over, pulling her onto her hands and knees. He entered her again from behind, gripping her hips hard as he pounded into her, faster now, rougher. She cried out, head thrown back, her hair falling around her shoulders like a dark curtain.

He reached forward, wrapping a hand around her throat, just enough to make her breath catch.

“You like being taken like this?” he growled into her ear.

“Yes—God—don’t stop—”

He didn’t.

Their bodies crashed together in a fury of heat and sound. She felt herself spiraling, building toward the edge. He reached around to stroke her c**t in tight circles, and that was it. She came with a scream, her body shaking, muscles clenching tight around him.

He followed moments later, cursing her name as he spilled inside her, thrusting through every wave until he collapsed over her, breath ragged, skin soaked.

They didn’t move for a long time.

Only the sounds of panting, of the wind outside, of their hearts slowing together.

When he finally pulled out, she rolled onto her back, flushed and glowing. He leaned down, pressing kisses to her stomach, her breasts, her lips.

“That wasn’t just lust,” he whispered.

She smiled lazily, brushing a strand of damp hair from her eyes. “No,” she whispered back. “That was survival. That was everything.”

He lay beside her, wrapping her in his arms. She curled against his chest, the scent of sweat, s*x, and pine heavy around them.

They made love again before dawn—this time slower, deeper. He took his time, worshiping her body, drawing out every gasp, every shiver. She rode him with fierce tenderness, hands on his chest, her eyes locked on his.

And when they came together again, it was with tears in their eyes and promises unsaid but understood.

No matter where the war took them, no matter what came next, this night—this fire—was theirs.

Forever.