Cyrius's POV
"Take off my clothes, wife."
The words hung in the air, thick with heat, but she didn't move at first. Her lips parted slightly, her breath shaky as her fingers hovered just above my shirt.
Her hesitation only made me harder it hurts.
Still, I didn't touch her.
I let her close the space. I let her decide. Because if I so much as grazed her skin, I'd lose whatever fragile restraint I had left.
Her fingers rose again, trembling, and finally touched the buttons of my shirt. One by one, she undid them..slowly, almost reverently. When her knuckles brushed my skin, I inhaled sharply through my nose, grounding myself before I pinned her to the floor like every cell in my body was begging me to do.
She pushed the shirt off my shoulders. I watched her eyes flick down, her gaze catching on the mark Aaliyah had left.
But I didn't hide it.
I wanted her to see it…. I wanted her to burn with the same fire I was drowning in.
