Vera's POV

Claire didn’t stop.

She climbed over me, straddling my hips with the same unshaken focus she used to disarm me with her words. Her hands slid up my arms, firm, confident, until she reached my wrists.

Then she pinned them above my head.

I didn’t resist.

Her body pressed into mine, her breath brushing my lips. She leaned down, slow and sure, and kissed me—softly. Nothing wild. Nothing forceful.

Just a kiss that made my heart seize and my lips part on instinct.

And then her hips rolled.

Just once. Slow. Just enough.

A shiver ripped through my spine so fast I couldn’t stop the sound that escaped my throat—half a gasp, half something else. My back arched into her before I could stop it.

Her mouth moved to my neck, warm and open, kissing along the skin she’d already claimed. I felt her smile against me when I trembled again.

I hated how good she was at this. At me.

Then she pulled back, just enough to shift lower.

Her lips moved down my body in a trail of heat—over my collarbone, between the fabric of my shirt, down to my stomach.

Her hand slipped under the hem, pushing the shirt up as her mouth followed, planting slow, open kisses across my abdomen. Each one stole the breath from my lungs.

I swallowed hard, my head tipping back, every muscle drawn tight like a wire about to snap.

I had no defense left. Not against this.

Not against her.

And God help me—

I didn’t want one.

Her lips were slow, reverent, as they moved lower over my stomach. She wasn’t rushing. She wasn’t hesitating either.

She was worshiping me.

Her hands pushed my shirt higher, exposing more skin, and her mouth followed, pressing kisses into every inch like she needed to taste every part of me to believe I was real.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, chest rising and falling too fast. My wrists were still above my head, but she wasn’t holding them anymore. I could’ve moved.

I didn’t.

She kissed just below my navel, and my hips jerked slightly beneath her. She felt it—her hands moved to my waist, steadying me, holding me still, her thumbs pressing gently into my skin.

The way she touched me…

There was no violence. No force.

Just want.

Raw and undeniable.

My fingers curled against the sheets above me, digging in, trying to anchor myself to something before I floated straight out of my body.

“Claire…” I breathed, the name barely making it out.

She looked up at me, her eyes dark and soft all at once.

I’d seen people beg for their lives. I’d seen men fall to their knees in front of me. But nothing, nothing, leveled me like her gaze did right then—like I was the one trembling at someone’s mercy.

And maybe I was.

Because her mouth was back on my stomach, lower now. Slower. Her hands easing the waistband of my pants down inch by inch.

She didn’t say a word.

She didn’t need to.

She already had me unraveling in her hands.

The sound of the zipper sliding the rest of the way down felt louder than it should’ve. My breath hitched, sharp in my chest. Claire’s hands moved with purpose, but never rushed—pulling my pants lower, her fingers grazing the inside of my thighs like she wanted to see just how long I could stay silent.

I clenched my jaw, my head tilting back against the pillow. My chest rose and fell fast beneath her, and every inch of skin she uncovered felt like it was pulsing under her hands.

Her mouth followed the path her fingers carved—kissing the skin just above my hipbone, then lower. My thighs tensed beneath her, and I hated—hated—how much I wanted to beg her.

But she didn’t want me on my knees.

She wanted me like this.

Laid out.

Unarmed.

Quietly coming apart under the weight of her mouth.

Her hands pushed my legs open just enough. I let them. I let her do whatever she wanted.

Because I couldn’t think anymore.

All I could feel was the warmth of her breath, the way her lips pressed lower, slower, tracing heat into me like she was mapping the parts of me no one had ever been allowed to reach.

“Claire—” I said her name again, but this time it broke in my throat.

Because when her tongue touched me, all the control I had left—fractured.

My hips lifted into her mouth without permission. My hands found her hair, fingers digging in, and this time, I didn’t stop myself from moaning her name.

Soft.

Desperate.

Wrecked.

And she didn’t stop.

Her tongue moved with slow precision, like she knew exactly what I needed before I could even form the thought. Every stroke, every flick, sent heat curling through my stomach, my body straining to keep still beneath her. But it was useless.

I wasn’t in control.

Not of her.

Not of myself.

My back arched instinctively, a gasp escaping me, and I hated how wrecked I sounded. But Claire didn’t flinch. She didn’t slow down. If anything, she deepened her pace, her hands holding my hips down, grounding me when all I wanted was to come undone.

I pressed my fist against the sheets, teeth digging into my bottom lip to keep from crying out too loud. But she knew. She could feel it in the way my body trembled under her touch, the way I clutched at her hair like it was the only thing tethering me to earth.

I’d killed men without blinking.

Broken people without remorse.

But now—

I was shaking under her mouth, completely at her mercy, and all I could think—over and over—was don’t stop.

Claire moaned softly against me, the vibration shooting through me like lightning. My breath shattered. I was close—closer than I wanted to admit. Closer than I’d ever let anyone take me.

“Claire…” I choked out, voice barely there.

Her name tasted like surrender.

And when the tension finally snapped, it wasn't violent—it was quiet. Like a storm finally letting go. My body arched, my legs tightening around her, a broken cry leaving my throat before I could silence it.

She didn’t let go.

She held me through it. Her mouth, her hands, her presence.

And when I finally collapsed back against the mattress, breathing hard, heart pounding, every part of me bare—

She came up slowly. Eyes soft. Mouth swollen. Hair a mess.

She looked at me like I was hers.

And for the first time in my life—

I didn’t want to belong to anything else.

The air was thick with warmth and something heavier—something I didn’t have a name for.

I lay there, my chest rising and falling, my skin still humming where she’d touched me. My shirt was half-off, my pants pushed down, my hair a mess against the pillow. But I didn’t move.

I couldn’t.

Not with Claire curled beside me now, her hand resting low on my stomach like she had every right to be there. Her body pressed against mine, head tucked just under my chin again, breath soft against my collarbone.

We weren’t speaking.

We didn’t need to.

Her fingers traced lazy shapes into my skin, slow and absent, but with a kind of tenderness that unnerved me more than anything else that had just happened.

I should’ve said something.

I should’ve pulled away. Put the wall back up. I’d let her take too much. Let her see too much.

But instead—

I turned my head and kissed her hair. Barely a brush. Just enough to feel the softness.

She shifted, lifting her gaze, her eyes finding mine in the low light. There was no teasing now. No smug smirk. Just that same quiet, steady presence she always carried when no one else was looking.

“You okay?” she whispered.

The question was so gentle, it almost broke me.

I nodded.

But that didn’t feel like enough.

So I answered, voice rough and low. “Yeah. I just…”

She smiled, the smallest one, like she understood exactly what I meant.

“Shh,” she said, brushing her thumb over my side. “Let's just enjoy this.”

I looked at her for a long time.

And for once, I didn’t argue. I didn’t deflect. I didn’t run.

I just reached for her hand and held it.

And I stayed.

Claire's POV

I didn’t move.

I didn’t want to.

Vera was still beneath me, half-dressed, her body finally relaxed in a way I’d never seen before. Her skin was warm under my palm, her breath steady, but something about the way she held onto me—soft and silent—felt more intimate than anything we’d just done.

I didn’t know what I expected after… all of it. I thought maybe she’d pull away. Put the armor back on. Pretend it hadn’t happened or act like I’d crossed some unspoken line.

But she didn’t.

She kissed my hair.

And held my hand like it meant something.

My chest tightened.

Because I hadn’t just touched her. I’d undone her.

This wasn’t just lust—not with Vera. That would’ve been easier. Cleaner. But I’d seen it in her eyes when she came apart under me—how tightly she clung to control, how violently she guarded her body, her silence, her walls. And tonight?

She let it all go.

With me.

And I didn’t know what to do with that.

My thumb moved over her side, just lightly, trying to memorize the curve of her body, the rise and fall of her breath. I wanted to remember all of this—the quiet, the heat, the softness she didn’t show anyone else.

I looked up at her, and for once, she didn’t look like the ruthless woman who ran this world like it owed her blood. She looked… human. Still and stripped down.

Mine.

The thought scared me. Because I knew what came with belonging to her.

Pain. Power. Chaos.

But I also knew what it felt like to kiss her. To make her moan. To see her tremble.

And I knew I'd do it again.

Because no one had ever looked at me the way she did when she finally let go.

And I didn’t want to stop being the reason she let herself fall.

Vera’s breath was steady beneath me, her skin warm, her fingers still lightly wrapped around mine. I was tracing circles across her stomach, trying to hold onto the quiet, the weight of what we’d just shared. My mind hadn’t stopped spinning, but my body—God, my body was still aching for her.

Then her hand moved.

She laced her fingers through mine and guided them down to her side. I shifted, curious, but the moment her eyes met mine—dark, steady, needing—I understood.

She wanted more.

And this time, she wasn’t just letting it happen.

She was asking.

Her hands moved to my waist. Not rough, not demanding. Just guiding. Her fingers found the hem of my shirt and paused.

I breathed in—slow, shaky—then sat up over her and reached for the fabric myself.

I pulled it off in one motion, tossing it aside without taking my eyes off her. The hunger in her gaze wasn’t the same sharp edge I’d seen in her before. It was deeper. Controlled. Almost reverent.

Her eyes dropped to my chest. Her jaw clenched just slightly. And that alone made me tremble.

I stood on my knees to shimmy out of my pants, her hands on my thighs the whole time—steady, warm, grounding me. I kicked them off, underwear following with them, until I was completely bare above her.

Exposed.

But not ashamed.

I straddled her waist again, my hands resting lightly on her chest, feeling her heartbeat—faster now.

She didn’t say anything.

She just looked up at me, her hands gliding over my thighs, then to my hips, then higher, dragging me forward.

And I let her.

I shifted up slowly, moving toward her mouth, and I felt the heat of her breath before I even touched her. Her eyes locked with mine.

Come here.

My breath caught.

I let her guide me, shifting up, my thighs bracketing her face, and even then—hovering—I felt her exhale against my skin.

A low, reverent sound came from her throat as she looked up at me, eyes dark, gaze hungry but calm, like she was in her element now. Like she was home.

She didn’t yank me down. She waited.

I trembled, heat flooding through me.

I moved slowly, lowering myself until I felt her mouth brush against me—soft and wet, a slow drag of her tongue that made my head fall back instantly.

I gasped.

Her hands held me steady, her grip strong, but she let me move. Let me ride the pace I needed. Her mouth opened wider, tongue pressing deeper, and when I let out a moan—sharp, shaking—her grip on my hips tightened just a little.

I rolled my hips slowly, testing the pressure, the rhythm—her tongue followed without hesitation, like she knew what I needed before I did. Her mouth was hot and hungry, but never rushed. Every stroke, every flick, was deliberate.

She was savoring me.

I couldn’t keep quiet. I tried. But every time she circled her tongue just right, a sound escaped me—broken, breathy, shameless.

“Vera…”

Her name slipped out like a prayer.

Her grip tightened, grounding me, guiding me—never controlling, never pushing. She let me move how I wanted, her mouth adjusting to every shift, every arch of my spine.

I looked down.

And fuck.

The sight of her between my thighs, her eyes closed, completely lost in me—it nearly undid me right there. She looked devoted. Like this was where she wanted to be. Like this was what she needed.

Her tongue flattened, slow and deep, and my thighs shook around her face. My hands found her hair, fingers threading through the dark strands, not pulling—just holding.

Holding on.

The pleasure crested fast—too fast. It built low and hot in my stomach, rising with every lap of her tongue, every hum that vibrated against me.

“I—” My breath caught, my voice already breaking. “I’m gonna…”

She didn’t stop.

Didn’t slow.

Her fingers dug into my hips as she pulled me down harder against her mouth—and I shattered.

My cry tore from my throat, head falling back, body shaking as the orgasm ripped through me like lightning.

White-hot. Relentless.

She held me through all of it.

Never letting go.

Never letting me fall.