Page 64 of Nansar
He kissed me again, and this time it was different—slower, deeper, a deliberate claiming that stole the breath from my lungs. His lips moved against mine with devastating tenderness, each stroke of his tongue a promise, each gentle nip a question. His hands mapped the curve of my spine with reverent touches, as if I were something precious, something sacred. Heat bloomed everywhere he touched, spreading through me like wildfire.
When his fingers found the fastenings of my borrowed dress, they fumbled slightly with the ties, and the small imperfection made my heart squeeze. This powerful warrior, reduced to trembling hands by wanting me. I pulled back just enough to meet his gaze in the dim light, and what I saw there—raw need tempered by infinite patience—made my decision for me. My own hands shook as I helped him work the fabric free, gasping softly as cool air kissed my heated skin.
"Are you certain?" His voice was rough gravel and silk, barely restrained desire wrapped in iron control. His hands stilled completely, waiting. "I need you to be certain, Chloe."
"I'm certain." The words emerged breathless but unwavering. I had never been more certain of anything.
A shadow flickered across my mind—Declan's hands, cruel and demanding. The suffocating weight of his body. Thehelpless, trapped feeling of having no choice. My breath hitched, and for one terrible second, I was back there, frozen in that nightmare.
But then Nansar's thumb traced gentle circles on my hip, a soothing rhythm that anchored me firmly to the present. His eyes searched mine with such genuine concern, such tender worry, that the shadow dissolved before it could fully form.
This wasn't that. This was nothing like that.
Nansar waited, patient as stone despite the desire burning in his gaze. He would wait forever if I needed him to. The certainty of it settled something deep in my chest, something that had been broken for far too long.
"I'm here," I said softly, as much to myself as to him. "With you. Only you."
Understanding flickered across his beautiful features. "Always only me," he promised, his voice rich with conviction. "I will never take what you do not freely give."
When he kissed me again, it felt like worship. Like devotion. His hands moved across my skin with deliberate slowness, giving me time to adjust, to accept, to want. And God, I did want—desperately, with an ache that surprised me with its intensity.
Every touch erased another painful memory, replacing violation with pleasure, fear with trust. Every whispered endearment replaced the echoes of cruel words. Where Declan had taken without asking, Nansar offered and waited. Where Declan had used, Nansar cherished. The contrast was staggering, overwhelming... healing.
My world narrowed to the warmth of his skin against mine, the rumble of his voice in my ear speaking words in his own language that sounded like prayers. The way he said my name—Chloe—like it was the most beautiful word he'd ever spoken. There was no room for ghosts here, not in the spacebetween our bodies, not in the heat building steadily between us. The past couldn't reach me in his arms.
For the first time in longer than I could remember, I felt safe enough to simply feel. To exist in this moment without fear of what came next.
I was whole. I was present. I was choosing this.
And for the first time in forever, I felt truly free.
He helped me out of the rest of my clothing, his eyes drinking in every inch of exposed skin with an passion that made me feel beautiful, desired, wanted. His gaze was reverent, almost worshipful, as if committing every curve and line to memory. The heat in his eyes made my breath catch and sent warmth pooling low in my belly, a liquid heat that made me acutely aware of the growing ache between my thighs. When I reached for his pants, eager to feel his skin against mine—eager to see all of him—he caught my hands gently but firmly.
"Carefully," he murmured, his voice low and husky with need. "The bandages."
I nodded, understanding the delicate balance we needed to strike. Together, moving slowly, we managed to remove his clothing without disturbing the wrappings too much. I couldn't help but notice how the injuries that had looked so severe earlier already seemed less inflamed, the edges beginning to knit together. But what truly captured my attention was the thick, hard length of him, already fully erect and straining toward me. My mouth went dry at the sight, heat flooding through me as I realized just how much he wanted me.
"See?" He guided my hand to his chest, pressing my palm flat against his heart. The strong, steady beat thrummed against my skin, vital and alive and reassuring. "Healing."
His skin was warm under my touch, radiating heat like a furnace. His heartbeat was strong and steady, a rhythm that seemed to sync with my own until I couldn't tell where his pulseended and mine began. I traced the edge of one bandage with my fingertips, marveling at the resilience of his body, at the miracle of him. My other hand, emboldened, drifted lower, wrapping around his cock. He was hot and hard as steel wrapped in velvet, and when I stroked him experimentally, he jerked in my grip with a strangled groan.
"Chloe." My name was a growl of pure need, his hips bucking involuntarily into my touch. "If you keep touching me like that..."
I looked up at him through my lashes, emboldened by the hunger blazing in his eyes, by the way his cock throbbed in my hand. "What?"
He groaned, a sound that rumbled through his chest and vibrated against my palm. "You will be the death of me, female."
"I thought I was your best medicine," I teased, stroking him again, feeling him pulse and leak against my fingers. But my breath caught as his hand skimmed up my thigh, leaving trails of fire in its wake, his claws pricking deliciously against my sensitive skin.
"Both," he said, rolling carefully so he was above me, supporting his weight on his uninjured arm. His body was a magnificent wall of muscle and heat, powerful and protective. His cock pressed hot and insistent against my belly, and I could feel the wetness leaking from his tip. "You are both. You are everything."
His mouth claimed mine again, the kiss deeper this time, more demanding. There was a raw edge to it now, as though whatever restraint he'd been clinging to had finally snapped. His tongue swept against mine in a dance that was both possessive and worshiping, and I melted into him, surrendering completely. I could taste his hunger, his desperation, his need.
His palm blazed a trail across my stomach, each touch igniting sparks beneath my skin. I'd never felt so alive, so awareof every nerve ending in my body. His hand mapped the curve of my hip, fingers splaying wide as if he needed to touch as much of me as possible. The roughness of his callused palm against my soft skin created a friction that made me tremble with want. I was already wet, already aching for him, my pussy clenching around nothing as arousal slicked my inner thighs.
Then his lips left mine, and I nearly whimpered at the loss—until they found the sensitive column of my throat. He kissed his way down, pausing where my pulse beat wildly, his tongue flicking against the frantic rhythm. I felt the sharp edge of his teeth, a promise of possession that made me gasp. Lower still, across my collarbone, tracing the delicate bone with such tenderness it made my heart ache. When he reached the swell of my breast, he paused, his heated breath ghosting over my skin, making my nipples tighten into hard, aching peaks.
"Beautiful," he whispered, reverent as a prayer, before his mouth closed over my nipple.
