The way Nine looked at me now—like I was something sacred—should've made me feel holy.
Instead, I felt hungry.
Not just for his body, though that too. Always.
But for every tremble, every shiver, every soft sound he tried to swallow.
He still did that sometimes—tried to hide his reactions like they were shameful.
But he wasn't something to be ashamed of.
He was beautiful.
He's ours, Nyx purred, pacing in the back of my mind. So why are you still up here, thinking, when you could be tasting him?
I didn't need more prompting.
Nine let out a soft exhale as I began trailing kisses down his chest again, slow and open-mouthed, tasting every inch of skin like it was mine to memorize. Because it was.
His stomach jumped slightly when I pressed a kiss to just above his waistband.
"Rhea…" he breathed, not pleading. Just saying my name. Almost reverently.
I met his eyes for a heartbeat, and then I moved lower.
His legs tensed when I pushed them apart gently—only enough to make space for myself.
He went perfectly still.
"I've got you," I whispered, voice low. "Let me show you."
And then I leaned in and kissed the inside of his thigh.
He gasped. His hips jerked slightly before he bit his lip and went still again, too still, like he didn't know what to do with what he was feeling.
So I did it again.
This time, slower. More deliberate.
His breath stuttered.
I dragged my mouth along the sensitive skin there, kissing just behind the bend of his knee and working my way back up—closer, warmer, deeper.
His thighs trembled. Just a little.
But he didn't pull away.
When I glanced up at him, his hands were gripping the sheets, white-knuckled.
I kissed higher, just along the inner curve of his thigh, and he whimpered—soft and high and involuntary.
Perfect, Nyx crooned, her own voice tight with need. You're driving him mad, and he's loving every second.
I didn't say anything. I just opened my mouth over that flushed, vulnerable skin and sucked gently, leaving a mark there—one no one else would ever see.
Just us.
He cried out softly, and I felt his whole body jerk, caught between surrender and need.
"Tell me to stop," I murmured, even though I already knew he wouldn't.
He didn't.
Instead, he reached down blindly, fingers tangling in my hair—not to pull me away, but to hold on.
Like he was falling.
And maybe he was.
So I kissed him again.
Higher.
Deeper.
Slower.
He whispered my name again, like a prayer this time. Like something fragile, half broken and wholly his.
I smiled against his skin.
I wasn't done yet.
Not even close.