CHAPTER 407: MARKING (IV)

Warning: Mature content in the Chapter

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Evaline:

The world hadn’t yet steadied. My breath came uneven, shallow, my body trembling as the aftershocks rippled through me. The sheets beneath me were tangled, my skin still warm from the storm he had drawn out of me. Every nerve felt alive, over-sensitized, waiting... aching... for more.

Draven’s hand brushed down my thigh, his touch so gentle that it contrasted sharply with the wildness still blazing in his eyes. He was still between my legs, half-shadowed by the soft sunlight spilling through the window, his chest rising and falling with the same uneven rhythm as mine.

I watched him silently. He was still dressed, though his shirt clung to his chest, open at the collar, his breath rough as if holding himself back cost him everything. And his emerald gaze was holding me prisoner.

"Draven..." My voice broke somewhere between his name and a plea.

His gaze flicked down to my lips, then to the rest of me sprawled before him. The muscle in his jaw flexed, and for a moment, he looked like a man caught between heaven and sin. Then, he exhaled slowly and moved to my side.

"Don’t look at me like that, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice rougher than I had heard in a while. "If you do, I won’t stop this time."

The air around us seemed to tighten. I didn’t want him to stop. Not at all.

My fingers reached for him before I could think, curling around the hem of his shirt. I tugged gently, wordlessly asking what my voice couldn’t form. For a heartbeat, he froze. Then, with a sharp exhale, he gave in.

The shirt came off first. It slid over his shoulders, revealing the hard lines of muscle beneath - the heat, the raw power he usually hid beneath his control. The light filtering from the gaps in curtains painted gold across his skin, highlighting the strength that made me shiver for entirely different reasons.

Each motion of his hands as he unfastened his belt felt like an invitation and a warning all at once. His restraint hung by a thread, and I could feel it.

When he finally joined me on the bed again, it wasn’t with the slow reverence he had shown before... it was with the kind of hunger that had been chained for far too long.

He kissed me hard. His mouth claimed mine, and I met him with equal fire. My hands slid over his shoulders, tracing the heat of his skin, the solid frame that felt both terrifying and safe. Every movement was unhurried yet desperate, a dance of control and surrender neither of us wanted to end.

When his hand came up to cradle my face, the kiss deepened... it became messier, needier. His weight pressed into me, grounding me. His lips broke from mine only long enough to trail down my jaw, over my throat, leaving paths of heat that made my pulse stumble.

I could feel the tremor in his muscles as if he was fighting something inside himself. But when my fingers brushed his back, he groaned - a low, guttural sound that made me dizzy - and the last of his control snapped.

He rolled, pulling me with him until I straddled him. My palms pressed against his chest, feeling the hammering of his heart beneath. He looked up at me like a man starved, his gaze devouring every inch of me, worshiping and wild all at once.

"Move," he whispered, his voice like gravel, "the way you need to."

The words undid me.

I did as told. I rose until my entrance was aligned with his hard erection and I lowered myself. He slipped inside me with ease, and as his hardness stretched my inner walls, I moaned.

"Ahh..."

The sound was out of my mouth the moment his crown hit home inside me, so deep and right.

I heard him groan as well, and his grip on my hips tightened slightly.

We were still for a moment or two before I finally started moving.

Every breath, every motion blurred together as we moved - first slow, deliberate, then faster as the need built between us again. The world outside the room ceased to exist.... there was only the rhythm of our bodies, the sound of his voice, the rough catch of his breath in my ear.

At some point, he flipped us, his hands catching my wrists and pinning them gently above my head. His eyes burned into mine, the dominance in his posture both thrilling and consuming.

"Say it," he demanded softly, his voice vibrating through me.

I didn’t even know what he wanted me to say - his name, maybe, or something deeper. But the moment his lips brushed the hollow of my throat, I said it anyway. Over and over, until it became a plea, a promise, a surrender.

When it became too much to bear, he changed again - lifting me, carrying me effortlessly off the bed. I gasped, clutching his shoulders, but he didn’t stop. He pressed me against the wall, the cool surface shocking against the heat of our skin. The movement was rougher, wilder, yet there was care beneath every breath he took.

The rhythm of his thrusts shifted between desperate and tender, as though he was trying to memorize the feel of every part of me. My legs weakened, my body trembling with the effort to hold onto the moment as the world spun again.

Somewhere between our gasps, he whispered things I barely caught - my name, fragments of emotion that sounded like prayers and curses all at once.

When my strength gave out, he caught me easily, carrying me back to the bed. The way he looked at me then - disheveled, breathless, eyes burning with something deeper than lust - made my heart ache.

He brushed a strand of hair from my face and leaned down, his lips ghosting over my forehead, then my temple, then lower.

"Eva," he whispered, his tone ragged. "You undo me."

His mouth found mine again, but this time the kiss was slow. Reverent. As though he wanted to etch this moment into memory before the fire could consume it completely.

When he finally pulled back, his lips trailed lower again - over the edge of my jaw, down my throat, to the curve where my pulse fluttered uncontrollably. Each kiss grew softer, more deliberate.

My breath caught. I knew where this was going.

He lingered there, just above the spot where a mark would form - the sacred bond that would tie us forever. I could feel his hesitation, the war raging within him.

His lips brushed my skin lightly, barely there, but the promise behind the touch sent a shiver through me.

"Draven..." I whispered, my fingers clutching his shoulders.

He hummed against my neck, the sound vibrating through me. His lips traced small, slow circles, almost reverent, as if asking silently for permission he didn’t need but still wanted.

The possessiveness in his touch softened into something achingly beautiful - devotion, protection, love that burned even hotter than desire.

And as he drew one last, lingering kiss against that spot, I knew it wasn’t just passion that tied us, it was something ancient, unbreakable.

The moment before everything changed, the world held its breath with me.

His mouth hovered at the edge of my skin, his voice barely a whisper against me...

"Mine."

And then he began to trail kisses down the side of my neck, right where he was about to mark me.