The air in Raye's apartment was a living flame, saturated with the scent of molten wax and the primal musk of unspoken desire. Candle flames danced, casting shadows that writhed across the walls like lovers locked in a forbidden embrace, their golden glow bathing Mia's skin in a radiance that seemed to pulse with her breath. Her dress, a sheath of midnight whool, clung to her curves like a lover's whisper, its low neckline baring the soft swell of her breasts, the hem teasing the tops of her thighs with every movement. She was a vision of starfire and temptation, and Raye's body was a furnace, ablaze with a hunger that clawed at the edges of his soul.
Weeks of stolen moments—fingers brushing in shadowed alleys, kisses that burned hotter than dragonfire—had woven Mia into the marrow of his being. Each date had been a thread, pulling her closer, tightening the trap he loathed yet could not escape. Tonight, she stood in his sanctuary, her eyes blazing with a boldness that set his blood alight. "Raye," she murmured, her voice a velvet blade slicing through his restraint, stepping so close her jasmine scent enveloped him, heady and relentless. "You're holding back. Why do you keep me at arm's length when I can feel how much you want me?"
Her words were a spark in a powder keg, and Raye's control frayed like silk caught on thorns. Her fingers grazed his chest, slipping beneath the open edges of his shirt, her touch igniting his skin like a brand. His cock, already swollen and heavy, strained against his trousers, a throbbing ache that pulsed with every heartbeat, blood rushing to fill it until it felt like iron, unyielding and desperate. "You don't know," he growled, his voice rough with the effort of holding himself in check, "what you're doing to me, Mia. You're unraveling me."
"Then unravel," she whispered, her lips brushing the edge of his jaw, her breath hot and teasing, a siren's call to ruin. Her hands roamed lower, fingertips tracing the hard ridge of his belt, and Raye's restraint snapped like a brittle bone. He surged forward, pinning her against the wall, the cold stone a stark contrast to the molten heat of her body. Her thighs parted instinctively, cradling his hips, and he groaned, low and guttural, as her softness pressed against the rigid length of his arousal. His cock twitched, a primal demand that seared through his veins, the fabric of his trousers a cruel cage against its throbbing need.
"Gods, Mia," he rasped, his mouth hovering over hers, so close he could taste the sweetness of her breath, yet he held back, teetering on the edge of damnation. Her lips, swollen from their earlier kisses, parted in a silent plea, her eyes dark pools of want that beckoned him to drown. His hands gripped her waist, fingers digging into her flesh as he pressed himself closer, letting her feel the full, unyielding weight of his desire. She gasped, her hips rocking against him, the friction a torturous spark that sent a jolt of raw need through his body, his cock pulsing with a desperation that bordered on agony.
His hands slid lower, bunching her dress until it rode up her thighs, revealing the smooth, moonlit expanse of her skin. His fingers brushed the edge of her lace panties, and he paused, savoring the excruciating anticipation, his breath ragged, his heart pounding like a war drum. Slowly, deliberately, he slipped beneath the fabric, finding the slick heat of her arousal, her clit swollen and sensitive under his touch. "Fuck," he breathed, his voice a low rumble of reverence and torment. She was drenched for him, her wetness coating his fingers like a sacred offering, and the knowledge made his cock throb painfully, a primal ache that screamed for release.
"Raye," she moaned, her head tipping back against the wall, baring the delicate curve of her throat. He pressed his lips there, tasting the salt of her skin, his tongue tracing the frantic pulse that raced beneath. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him on, and he obliged, nipping at her flesh, then soothing the sting with slow, languid kisses that lingered like a vow. His fingers focused on her clit, stroking with agonizing precision, circling the sensitive bud with a rhythm that had her trembling, her breath fracturing into desperate, keening gasps.
"You're so fucking perfect," he murmured against her throat, his voice thick with worship, his control hanging by a fraying thread. He teased her clit with deliberate slowness, alternating between featherlight brushes and firm, relentless circles, feeling her body shudder with each touch. Her arousal slicked his fingers, her hips rocking against his hand, chasing the pleasure he wielded like a blade. He wanted to drop to his knees, to taste her, to lick the sweetness of her desire and lose himself in the primal act of worshipping her body. But the Hatcher's mark burned in his mind—a shimmering sigil hidden beneath her skin, a cruel reminder of the dragon's curse. Her virginity was the key to the coven's power, the anchor of the blessing that held the darkness at bay. To take her, to slide inside her, would shatter everything—his duty, his people, the fragile hope of salvation.
He intensified his touch, his thumb pressing harder against her clit, circling with a precision that made her cry out, her nails digging into his shoulders, leaving crescent marks that burned like brands. "Raye, please," she begged, her voice breaking, her body trembling on the edge of release. Her hips bucked against his hand, her arousal a slick heat that coated his fingers, and he could feel her clit pulsing under his touch, so close to unraveling. He wanted to push her over, to watch her shatter in his arms, to feel the tremors of her climax against his fingers, but the curse's weight pressed against his chest, a cold chain around his heart.
He slowed his movements, his fingers still teasing her clit, drawing out the torment, and she whimpered, her body shaking with unspent desire. "Why?" she panted, her eyes searching his, glazed with lust but clouded with confusion. "Why do you keep stopping? I'm burning, Raye. I need you. Don't you feel it?"
"I feel it," he said, his voice raw, his free hand fisting so tightly his knuckles whitened, fighting the urge to rip her dress away and press his cock against her, to rub himself against her slick heat until they both shattered. His erection was a relentless ache, so hard it felt like it might split him open, the fabric of his trousers a torturous restraint. Her scent clung to his fingers, a torment he couldn't escape, and every inch of him screamed to give in. "I'm burning too, Mia. But I can't… not yet."
She pushed off the wall, closing the distance between them, her hands clutching his shirt, her body still trembling from his touch. "You kiss me like I'm your everything," she said, her voice thick with hurt and frustration, "touch me like you're starving, and then you pull away. What are you so afraid of, Raye? Tell me what's holding you back."
Her words were a blade, slicing through his resolve. He wanted to spill every secret—the coven's schemes, the dragon's curse, the mark that bound her to a fate she didn't understand. But the truth would break her, and he couldn't bear to dim the fire in her eyes. "It's not that simple," he said, his voice low, strained with the weight of his lies. "There are things I can't tell you. Not now."
Her eyes searched his, piercing and unyielding, and for a moment, he feared she would demand more, would unravel the truths he guarded. But then she stepped back, wrapping her arms around herself, shielding her heart from the sting of his restraint. "I thought you saw me," she whispered, her voice soft, wounded, her dress still bunched at her hips, her skin flushed with the heat of their almost. "Not just my body, but me. Was I wrong?"
The question was a wound, deeper than any spell could carve. He saw her—not as the Hatcher, not as a pawn in the coven's game, but as Mia, fierce and radiant, a flame he would burn for a thousand lifetimes. "You weren't wrong," he said, stepping closer, unable to resist her pull. He cupped her face, his thumbs brushing her cheeks, and she leaned into his touch, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I see you, Mia. Every part of you. And it's tearing me apart to hold back."
"Then stop holding back," she pleaded, her hands curling into his shirt, her voice a desperate prayer. "I'm not afraid, Raye. Whatever it is, we can face it together."
Her words were a siren's call, tempting him to cast aside duty, coven, curse, and claim her as his own. But the dragon's shadow loomed, and he clung to his restraint, a fragile shield against the inferno of his desire. "Trust me," he said, his voice fervent, almost a vow. "Just a little longer."
She studied him, her gaze a storm of doubt and longing, and finally nodded, though the shadow in her eyes told him her trust was fraying. "I trust you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But don't make me regret it."
He pressed his forehead to hers, breathing her in, memorizing the feel of her in his arms, her scent a torment he would carry forever. "I won't," he promised, though the words tasted like ash. He was breaking her, and himself, with every moment he denied them both.