Alpha Damon (Sienna) novel Chapter 248

She nodded, eyes glistening. “Then hold me.”

And I did…

I connected my lips against hers, only this time it was far more gentle than I thought that I could ever be.

Her breath was warm against my throat as she leaned into me, her body molding perfectly with mine. In that moment, the whole world around us was shut out. It was just the two of us. It was only her in my arms, in front of me.

And for the first time in what felt like days, months, I let myself want something just for me.

I guided her towards my bed, gently laying her down on her back.

Delilah.

She looked up at me beneath the dim light, her lips parted, eyes soft, not afraid, not uncertain. Just open.

“Are you sure?” I asked, brushing my fingers along her cheekbone.

She nodded, breath trembling. “Yes.”

I kissed her again, slower this time. My hands slid to her waist, guiding her gently as we stepped backward toward the bed. She followed, never breaking eye contact.

I laid her down carefully, like something sacred. The way she looked at me made it hard to breathe.

She reached up, pulling me down to her, her fingertips grazing along my jaw before curling behind my neck. Her body arched slightly, welcoming me closer.

Every piece of clothing that separated us fell away, quiet and patient, like even the fabric understood this moment didn’t need to be rushed.

When I pressed my forehead to hers, I stayed there, just breathing with her. Listening to her heartbeat.

And then I felt her hand on my back, guiding me closer.

I moved over her, fitting my body to hers. Her legs wrapped gently around my hips, and I held my breath as I positioned myself, hovering just at her entrance.

Our eyes met again.

There was no fear in hers. Only trust.

I kissed her lips once, slow and deep, before whispering against her skin, “Tell me if anything hurts.”

“It won’t,” she murmured. “Not with you.’

I pushed forward gently.

The tension built slowly, gently, until her body arched beneath me and her breath hitched, her lips parting in a soft moan. I followed her into that quiet, burning release, our bodies tangled in heat and breath and everything we hadn’t dared to say aloud.

“Are you okay?” I asked as I pulled out of her. I rested my forehead against her neck, letting my breath ease itself, allowing myself to regulate my breathing, allowing myself to inhale her, to admire her scent.

“I’m fine.” She whispered. I lay by her side, she crawled up wanting to turn around, not facing me, as if she was used to that, but I gently opened my arms for her, pulling her to my chest, allowing her to lay her head on my chest, silently asking her to do so. To listen to my racing heartbeat.

She didn’t speak. Neither did I.

But when she looked up. When she looked me in the eye, I read her words, which spoke louder meaning.

There was nothing left to say.

But I didn’t let go.

And she didn’t ask me to.

But I knew that this meant to her a lot more than she wanted to admit, and deep down, I knew that it meant the same thing to me.