7

"Leave."

Nine's voice cut through the room like a blade.

Colla, halfway through wiping down her weapon, whistled under her breath and tossed the cloth aside, slipping out the door without argument, leaving only the two of them inside.

Aya barely had a second to steady herself before Nine's hands were on her again—strong, unyielding, pulling her flush against his chest. The air between them was thick, charged, the scent of aged wood and cooling embers mixing with something deeper, something undeniably male.

"I need to get ready," she murmured, placing a palm against his chest, meaning to push him away.

He didn't move.

Instead, his dark gaze searched hers, studying every flicker of hesitation, every shift in her breathing. His voice, when it came, was lower, more deliberate.

"Aya… have we ever kissed?"

Her breath hitched. "On the cheek. Yeah. Why?"

A slow, unreadable smirk curled at the corner of his lips. "Not like this, then."

Before she could ask what he meant, he dipped his head, his lips brushing hers in the lightest whisper of a kiss. A test, a question. And when she didn't pull away, he pressed deeper.

His mouth slanted over hers, coaxing her open, his tongue slipping past her lips, exploring hesitantly at first—then with more confidence. Heat coiled in her belly as he tasted her, his kiss slow, consuming, as if he was mapping every inch of her mouth, learning the shape of her response.

Aya gasped against him, her fingers tightening in the fabric of his tunic. It was too much—too new, too intense. She tried to retreat, but Nine followed, swallowing her breath, claiming her lips with a hunger that sent a shiver down her spine.

He tasted her deeply, sucking on her tongue, swallowing her saliva as if drinking her in. His grip on her waist tightened, pulling her closer until there was no space between them.

Then she felt it.

Something hard, insistent, pressing against her stomach. Instinctively, she reached down to move it away, thinking it was a weapon—until Nine let out a sharp, guttural groan.

His head dropped against her shoulder, his breath hot against her skin. His fingers flexed, gripping her waist like a man on the edge of restraint.

"Aya," he rasped, his voice rough, strained. "If you touch me like that, I won't stop."

Realization hit her like a bolt of lightning, and she yanked her hand away, eyes wide. "Is that…?"

Nine exhaled shakily, his control fraying at the edges. His forehead pressed against hers, his grip unrelenting. "Will you let me?"

She swallowed, her heartbeat thundering in her ears. "Do you even know how?"

"We'll learn together."

Then he pushed her back onto the mattress.

Aya stiffened as his hands slid up her thighs, lifting the fabric of her dress. The scent of blood and steel clung to him, but beneath it, something else—something raw and undeniably him.

Nine's lips trailed from her jaw to her collarbone, his tongue flicking over sensitive skin before descending lower. Her body arched when his mouth found her breast, his sharp teeth grazing before his tongue soothed. He sucked, slow and deliberate, each pull sending sparks of pleasure through her.

A gasp escaped her, her fingers tangling in his hair. Impatient, Nine tore at the fabric separating them, his breathing harsh as his hands explored her newly exposed skin.

His fingers parted her thighs, his breath hot against her inner skin. And when his tongue found her, she nearly jolted off the bed.

"N-Nine—!"

He groaned at the way she whimpered his name, his grip tightening as he licked, slow and deep, tasting, savoring. He wanted more. The way she trembled, how her fingers clutched at the sheets—it undid him.

"Tell me if it's too much," he murmured, voice thick with hunger.

Aya could barely think, barely breathe, the pleasure drowning her. And then—

He positioned himself at her entrance.

The head of his length pressed in, stretching her, inch by inch, until a sharp sting made her gasp. Nine stilled immediately, his forehead pressing to hers, his fingers intertwining with hers.

"Relax," he whispered, voice taut with restraint. "Breathe, Aya."

She tried. She really did. But the overwhelming sensation of him filling her made her shudder, her fingers clenching around his. He pushed deeper, groaning against her neck as he finally seated himself fully within her.

Aya's body quivered beneath him, a mix of pain and something else—something deep, aching, unfamiliar.

Nine's breath came heavy and uneven, his muscles trembling. "You feel… too good."

He began to move, slow at first, each thrust deliberate, deep, drawing out every sensation, every reaction. The discomfort faded, replaced by something new, something that made her cling to him, her moans turning soft, desperate.

"Nine—!"

His name left her lips in a broken gasp, and it undid him.

Nine's grip tightened as his thrusts grew harder, more urgent, the wet sound of their joining filling the room. Aya's mind blurred, pleasure winding tight inside her, coiling, threatening to snap.

His hand found her throat, not squeezing, just resting there, feeling the rapid pulse beneath her skin. "Come with me, Aya."

And then—

She shattered.

Her body arched, a cry slipping past her lips as waves of pleasure crashed over her. Nine followed, burying himself deep, groaning against her skin as he spilled inside her, heat flooding her in thick pulses.

She barely had time to catch her breath before he moved again.

"A-ah—wait…!" Aya whimpered, her body trembling from overstimulation.

Nine didn't listen. He pulled her onto his lap, guiding her down onto him again, his hips thrusting up to meet hers. The position forced him deeper, and the sensation was too much—too raw, too overwhelming.

Her fingers dug into his shoulders, nails leaving crescent-shaped marks in his skin, but Nine only groaned, gripping her waist to control her movements. His gaze burned into hers, dark and possessive.

"I'm not done."

Aya barely had the strength to protest before he flipped her onto her back again, her legs hooked over his shoulders as he drove into her, relentless, consuming.

She was lost—utterly lost—in the storm of pleasure he wove around her, each thrust dragging her deeper into bliss, again and again, until she couldn't even remember her own name.

Nine's breathing turned ragged as he neared his limit, his fingers tightening on her hips as he pushed impossibly deep.

"I'll make you mine," he growled, voice rough, primal. "I'll make sure of it."

Aya barely comprehended his words before the last wave of pleasure overtook her, her body convulsing around him. Nine followed, groaning as he came again, filling her once more, marking her in every way he could.

Even as their mixed release spilled between them, he didn't pull away. Instead, he pushed back inside, his smirk dark, possessive, as he cradled her trembling form against him.

"I'll keep it inside," he murmured, voice satisfied.

Aya, too dazed to respond, whimpered softly against his chest.

As she drifted into exhausted slumber, Nine only held her closer, still buried deep inside her—ensuring that she belonged to him, and him alone.