Heir to a Fallen Star

Chapter 32

His large hands slide up to securely grip your hips, anchoring you to him as he leans upward. True to your command, he lowers his head, his lips warm and slightly parted as he presses a soft, lingering kiss right where your finger started, just above your navel. A delicious shiver ripples through you, your stomach muscles tightening under the heat of his mouth.

With agonizing slowness, he begins his ascent. He presses slow, bruising kisses up the sensitive skin of your ribs, his rough beard scratching lightly against you, making your breath hitch. Each press of his lips is deliberate, unhurried, and thick with a heavy devotion that burns hotter than the hearth across the room. He follows the path your finger drew, mapping your body with his mouth until he reaches the centre of your chest, where your heart is hammering wildly against your ribs.

He pauses there for a fraction of a second, letting out a hot, ragged breath against your skin that makes your knees weaken even as you straddle him.

"Still your rules, Red?" he murmurs darkly against your skin, his hands sliding up to frame your waist, his eyes lifting to lock onto yours with a fierce, breathless intensity as he hovers just inches from your painted lips.

Your grey eyes flash with a sudden, fierce focus, cutting right through the haze of pleasure trying to pull you under. You grip his broad shoulders, anchoring yourself, and look down at him with absolute, unyielding authority.

"Yes," you say, the word ringing out very firmly in the quiet room, your painted lips setting into a commanding line. "My rules."

Kaelen lets out a low, rough sound—halfway between a defeated groan and a dark chuckle—entirely undone by your stubborn refusal to break. His moss-green eyes flare with a sudden, devastating heat, acknowledging the absolute hold you have over him.

"Your rules it is, then," he rasps against your skin.

He bridges the remaining distance in a heartbeat. His mouth closes over yours, completing the final step of his ascent with a deep, possessive kiss that tastes of sweet honey mead and pure, unbridled hunger. His large hands slide up from your waist to cup the back of your neck, his fingers tangling into your loose, golden curls to hold you steady as he drinks you in.

The muffled music and stomp of boots from the festival downstairs fade into nothing but a distant vibration through the floorboards. In the warm, flickering glow of the hearth, there is only the rustle of velvet, the heavy fabric of his clothes, and the fierce, unyielding rhythm the two of you create together—exactly the way you commanded it.

You pull back just an inch, your breathing shallow and ragged, the deep crimson on your lips slightly smudged from his kiss. For a long, heavy second, you just look down at him, watching the way his moss-green eyes burn up at you in the firelight, entirely captive to your whim.

"What is it you want?" you whisper softly against his skin, leaning down to place a string of delicate, feather-light kisses along the sharp, tense line of his jaw and down the warm column of his neck.

Kaelen’s entire body goes completely rigid beneath you, his fingers tightening in your hair as a sharp, ragged gasp escapes his throat. Your sudden tenderness, mixed with the absolute control you've maintained all night, completely shatters whatever restraint he had left.

"You," he groans out, the word raw and deeply vibrating against your lips as he arches his chest up into your touch. "Gods, Iris... I just want you. All of you. No more rules, no more waiting."

His hands slide down from your hair, his large palms sweeping down your bare back with a sudden, fierce urgency that makes your breath catch. He grips your waist, his eyes locking onto yours with a loving, breathless intensity that burns hotter than the hearth.

"Please, Red," he whispers roughly, his voice thick with a lifetime of devotion. "Let me show you exactly how much."

Yes.

That single, breathless word is all the permission he needs.

The last of Kaelen's hard-fought restraint snaps entirely. With a low, possessive growl, his large hands grip your waist and he rolls you over onto the mattress in one fluid, powerful motion, pinning you beneath his heavy frame as the rich crimson velvet of the dress bunches wildly around your thighs.

He hovers over you for a fraction of a second, his moss-green eyes burning with a fierce, blinding devotion that drives all the air from your lungs. Then, his mouth crashes down onto yours.

There are no more games, no more teasing delays—only a deep, consuming hunger that echoes the wild beat of your hearts. Every touch of his calloused hands against your bare skin is a silent, reverent vow, completely erasing the rest of the world until the sounds of the tavern below vanish entirely into the quiet, fire-lit sanctuary of the room.