HELENA’S POV
The drive to Tye’s apartnt was a blur. My hand was in his the entire ti while his thumb traced dizzying circles on my palm.
His apartnt building was like him: clean, modern, and intimidatingly secure.
The mont the door clicked shut, Tye dropped his keys on the entry table and spun around.
Before I could even take a breath, his mouth was on mine.
This kiss wasn’t like the one on the street. That one was hungry; this one was starving. Tye groaned low in his throat, backing up until my shoulders hit the smooth surface of the wall.
His hands were everywhere: tangling in my hair, gripping my waist, sliding down to my hips to pull flush against him.
"You have no idea," he murmured against my lips, "how long I’ve wanted to do this."
"How long?" I gasped, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.
"Since the first day I saw you at the office with that defiant look in your eyes and that stubborn chin," he growled.
He pulled back just enough to look at . His eyes were dark and dilated. Slowly, he reached for the zipper of my dress. The sound was loud in the quiet apartnt. The red silk pooled at my feet, leaving in my lace lingerie.
Tye’s gaze burned a path down my body, making my skin flush. "Beautiful."
He shucked off his shirt, tossing it aside.
I stopped breathing.
His chest was broad and sculpted, corded with muscle. But it was the landscape of his skin that held captive. There were scars... so many scars.
The most noticeable scar was the jagged one on his chest, right over his heart from the bullet he had told about. But there were others: a long, thin line running down his ribs, a burn mark on his shoulder, and many more
It was just like a map of violence, a history of pain.
I reached out, my fingers trembling slightly. Tye flinched when I touched the bullet scar, his muscles seizing.
"Ugly, right?" he rasped, watching my face for disgust.
"No," I whispered. I traced the edge of the scar gently. "Evidence."
"Evidence of what?"
"That you survived," I said, eting his eyes. "That you’re strong."
I leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the scar over his heart. Tye shuddered and a ragged breath escaped his lips. I kissed the scar on his ribs. The one on his shoulder.
"Helena," he groaned, his hands gripping my shoulders. "You’re killing ."
"Good," I murmured against his skin.
He swept up into his arms effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist. I buried my face in his neck, inhaling his scent as he carried to the bedroom.
He laid down on the cool sheets of his massive bed, hovering over me like a dark storm cloud. But when he touched , his hands were gentle, like I was something precious that might break.
"Are you sure?" he asked. "We can stop. We can just talk about the stories behind my scars."
I reached up, tracing the line of his jaw, looking into the eyes of the man who had been my enemy, my saviour, and now, sothing so much more.
"I don’t want to talk," I whispered, pulling him down to . "Show the rest."
Tye didn’t rush. He simply looked at , his eyes moving slowly from my collarbone to the curve of my breasts, down to the way my stomach trembled, then lower to where my thighs pressed together because I was already aching for him.
That look alone felt like a touch, like his fingertips were moving over my skin.
"Helena, you’re shaking."
"I know," I whispered.
My voice sounded nothing like the calm, organised assistant I was at work; it sounded needy, and breathless.
He dipped his head, brushing his on the spot just below my ear to give one soft, open-mouthed kiss that made my back arch off the bed.
He gave another kiss, lower, along the line of my neck, then another at my collarbone. Each kiss was slow, warm, and wet, like he was tasting one tiny piece at a ti.
His hand finally moved.
His palm slid up my ribs, thumb grazing the underside of my breast through the lace, tracing the curve again and again until my nipple tightened into a hard point.
I felt the throb directly between my legs as he idly circled the nipples over the fabric, rubbing over it without applying any pressure.
"Tye..." It ca out as a plea.
"Shh," he murmured. "I never thought this day would co so soon, princess. I’m not rushing tonight."
He shifted lower and his mouth followed the path his hand had taken. The lace was already damp from his breath. When his tongue finally flicked over my nipple through the fabric, I gasped, shocked at how good sothing so simple could feel.
He did it again, more slowly, wetting the lace until it stuck to before closing his mouth and sucking, gentle at first and then harder. The pull shot heat straight to my core.
His hand slipped behind my back and his fingers found the clasp of my bra. One smooth twist and it loosened.
He didn’t yank it off; he peeled it away like he had all the ti in the world, letting the straps slide down my arms inch by inch until my breasts were bare to the cool air and his hungry gaze.
He just looked for a long mont. "Perfect," he said, almost to himself.
Then his mouth was on again, with no lace in the way this ti. His warm, wet heat closed over one nipple while his fingers rolled the other, pinching just enough to make moan, then soothing with the flat of his tongue.
Every suck and pinch sent an ache rolling deep in my belly.
I tried to pull him up for a proper kiss, but he wouldn’t budge. Instead, he moved to my other breast, giving it the sa slow, worshipful attention. Soon, I was squirming, my legs squeezing together, completely wet and aching for more.
Only then did his hand drift lower.
His fingertips traced the waistband of my panties, back and forth, teasing without going under.
My panties was almost soaked; I could feel it, and I’m sure he could too. When he finally hooked a finger under the edge and tugged, just enough for cool air to kiss my skin, I whimpered, lifting my hips toward him.
"Patience, baby," he whispered, his teeth grazing my nipple. "I want to rember exactly how you sound when I finally take these off."
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