Chapter 3: The Kiss That Didn’t Save Me

I should have pulled away.

I should have slapped him, screamed, run. But I didn’t do any of that. Because the moment Kael’s lips crashed into mine, something inside me broke—and welcomed the collapse.

His mouth wasn’t soft. It was demanding. Desperate. The kiss was not tender, it was a silent war. He didn’t just kiss me—he devoured the silence between us, swallowed the distance I’d tried so hard to maintain. And I let him.

His hand fisted in my shirt, dragging me closer until my spine hit the cold cement wall. I gasped into his mouth, stunned by the heat in him, the raw, volcanic pull beneath that calm exterior he always wore like armor.

Kael wasn’t calm now.

He was fire.

He kissed like a man punishing himself for wanting. And I kissed him back like someone who hadn’t been wanted in years.

When he pulled away, we were both breathless. His forehead pressed to mine, eyes searching mine like he needed permission to lose control.

"Say no," he whispered, voice wrecked and shaking.

I didn’t.

Instead, I grabbed his collar and pulled him back.

We stumbled together to the mattress, knocking over a chair. Kael didn’t care. His hands were under my shirt before I could catch my breath. He peeled it off me in one swift movement, exposing my scars, my shame, my history.

He looked at me like I was beautiful anyway.

And then he pushed me down.

Hard.

My breath caught, chest heaving as he settled over me. His mouth trailed fire down my throat, across my collarbone. He bit down, and I gasped. Not from pain—from need. From how real it made everything.

Kael's hands were rough. Calloused. Unapologetic. They didn't ask permission, but they didn’t need to. I had already given it when I kissed him back.

"You don’t know what you’re doing," I whispered, voice cracking.

His lips ghosted my ear. "Then teach me. Or let me ruin you."

His hand slid beneath the waistband of my pants.

I grabbed his wrist.

Not to stop him. To guide him.

His fingers found me, and the noise that escaped my throat was foreign to me. A strangled mix of want and disbelief. I arched into him, hands clawing at his coat, needing more.

Kael groaned against my neck, voice guttural. "You feel like sin."

"Then don’t be gentle."

He wasn’t.

Clothes came off in chaos. Shirts torn. Skin scraped. There was no rhythm, just collision. Hunger. We rolled over, fought for control, bit lips, left marks. My nails raked down his back. His teeth left bruises on my hip.

And still—we wanted more.

He pushed into me like he was claiming space in my body the same way he had taken it in my life. I cried out, half pain, half desperation. Kael froze, forehead pressing to mine again.

"Breathe," he whispered. "Take it. All of it."

I did.

I wrapped my legs around him and held on as he moved inside me, deeper, rougher, until I stopped thinking. Stopped remembering. There was only now. Only this.

His rhythm was punishing. Perfect. Like he’d waited forever for this moment and wasn’t wasting a single second.

He kissed me through the agony, through the pleasure. His lips never left my skin. My name spilled from his mouth like a curse. Like a prayer. Like he was breaking himself open just to fit inside my emptiness.

I clawed at his shoulders, pulled his hair, begged with my eyes. And Kael gave me everything.

When I came, I cried out his name like I was surrendering it. Like he owned it now. Maybe he did.

He followed a heartbeat later, breath ragged, body shaking.

We collapsed, limbs tangled, sweat-soaked and trembling.

Kael didn’t let me go.

His arms locked around me like a chain I didn’t want to escape. His mouth kissed my shoulder, my jaw, the corner of my eye.

"You’re mine now," he whispered.

I should have felt trapped.

Instead, I felt seen.

And maybe that was more dangerous.

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