CHAPTER 363: CHAPTER 363 ASHTON’S POV: CURE FOR NIGHTMARE

I lowered myself over her again.

My hand caressed her skin one more time, reverently, then trailed down the curve of her waist until it reached between her legs. I parted her thighs with a firm but gentle pressure, lifting them to rest on my hips.

By the time she realised what was happening, her legs were already yielding. Her eyes drifted downward. My robe had fallen open with the movement, and she stared.

‘It seems you like what you see,’ I said, a smirk touching my lips as I watched her eyes on me.

She blinked, her cheeks flushing, then met my look.

Copying my earlier move, she reached out and ran her hand over my skin in a deliberately teasing gesture.

As her fingers began to pull away, I caught her wrist in my grasp, holding it firm.

Her eyes lifted to mine, and I held them with an intensity that felt like it could strip her bare.

In that unguarded moment, I lifted her hand and pinned it above her head, keeping her exactly where I wanted her.

‘Just wait,’ I murmured with a low chuckle, pressing against her so she could feel how hard I was for her. She gasped, startled by the suddenness of it.

‘Are you ready?’ I asked.

She shot me a frustrated look, as if to say, ‘Just get on with it, why ask?’

But there was no real force behind it. In the warm, golden light, her eyes were soft and shining, like something precious.

I couldn’t help it. I leaned down and brushed my lips against her eyelid, once, gently.

The tenderness of it seemed to disorient her. She looked up at me, and I felt an unfamiliar leap in her pulse.

And then, without warning—

A sharp gasp escaped her as I drove into her, filling her completely. My rhythm was urgent, deep, and demanding, pulling a tight, almost pained sound from her throat. Any trace of softness in her eyes vanished, replaced by sheer want.

A smug grin touched my lips. Let’s be honest, what man doesn’t feel a surge of pride at a time like this?

I was no different. I nipped at her lower lip and growled, ‘I asked if you were ready.’

She turned her face away, annoyed.

‘Want me to pull out?’ I caught her chin between my thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look back at me. ‘Just say the word.’

‘Will you shut up?’ she retorted, though her voice lacked any real conviction.

With one hand pinned above her head and the other trapped, she had no leverage—so she went for her teeth, lunging to bite me.

But I saw it coming. I shifted back just enough to avoid her.

‘Little hellcat,’ I taunted, smirking down at her. ‘Always biting.’

Furious, she glared back. ‘That’s right, I am. And I’ll bite you whenever I like.’

Her eyes fixed on the fingers I’d used to hold her chin. Seizing the chance, she sank her teeth into one of them.

Her bite was more show than substance, leaving a set of faint marks before she let go.

But I wasn’t done. I kept my hand near her mouth, refusing to pull away.

She stared at me, confused, her eyes silently demanding I move.

Instead, I gave a wicked grin and pushed my finger past her lips, into the heat of her mouth, moving it slowly, deliberately.

Her eyes widened in shock, and this time, she bit down properly.

I didn’t flinch. My expression stayed utterly calm as I continued to explore her mouth.

She clamped down harder, until the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth—she’d broken the skin.

The realisation made her hesitate, her bite softening, and I took full advantage, sliding my finger deeper before finally withdrawing.

I examined the bleeding digit, then brought it to my own lips, sucking away the blood.

The sight sent a flush of heat through her—embarrassment, and something else.

‘Definitely a little hellcat,’ I teased.

Calling her that again wiped away any shred of guilt. She snarled at me.

I leaned down and took her mouth.

In the end, she surrendered.

That night, I took her apart, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but the raw, shuddering truth of us.

As her resistance faded, my own hunger only grew. The air in the room grew thick with heat, the hum of the air conditioning useless against the fire we’d built.

When a pale light began to bleed into the sky, the room was finally quiet.

Mirabelle lay on her back, her eyes heavy with exhaustion, her mouth parted like a fish gasping for air. She was too spent to even speak. Her eyes met mine for a fleeting second before they closed, and she was gone, sunk into a deep sleep.

Seeing her finally at rest, I felt some of the tension leave my own body.

The heat in my veins cooled rapidly, hardening into something cold and focused. I threw back the covers, shrugged into a robe, and called Harry. ‘Find the person who sent that parcel. You have twenty-four hours.’

Harry had been dead asleep, and the call clearly jarred him awake. He was still processing the order when I ended the call.

After delivering the command, I moved to get back into bed. But Mirabelle was restless, murmuring about the heat in her sleep, too exhausted to properly wake.

I headed to the bathroom. I ran a towel under cold water, wrung it out, and then returned to carefully wipe her down from head to toe. I worked quickly, not wanting her to catch a chill, and once she was clean, I tucked the duvet tightly around her.

It did the trick. Her murmurs ceased, her breathing evened out into the deep, heavy rhythm of true sleep.

Satisfied, I went for a quick, cold shower to deal with my own lingering... tension. When I returned to the bedroom and slid back under the covers, she instinctively rolled into me, curling against my side with a soft sigh, her grip on my arm firm even in sleep.

I paused for just a second, then opened my arms to her, a grim sort of satisfaction settling in my chest as she moulded herself against me.

I closed my eyes, finally allowing sleep to take me with the weight of her in my arms.