the angels hidden blade

THIRTY THREE

Her pale pink eyes were fixated on his face, unable to break free from the magnetic pull of his gaze.

In return, Geralt's eyes, once a calming amber, had transformed into an abyss of black so dark they seemed like voids of ink, swallowing any trace of warmth or emotion.

Nefeli's gaze travelled downward, drawn to the scar that marred Geralt's forehead and eye in a jagged pattern.

Geralt's body pressed further into hers, his chest almost touching her face as he loomed above her.

The proximity was suffocating, the air thick with the heady mix of tension and desire.

His hands, strong and commanding, dug into her hips, a possessive grip that left no room for escape.

The silk of her dress, a delicate barrier between them, pooled over his hands, contrasting with the rough texture of his gloved fingers.

Her breath caught in her throat, the rapid thud of her heart echoing in the charged silence as she looked up at him.

The intensity in his black eyes held her captive, the transformation from amber to the abyss of darkness a phenomenon she had witnessed before, when he hunted monsters.

"Wolf?" she asked uncertainly, her voice a fragile thread in the heavy air as she stared into the pools of obsidian that were his eyes.

The nickname, usually a term of endearment, now hung in the air with a weight of uncertainty.

A low groan ripped from his throat, a sound that seemed to emanate from a place deep within him.

Before she could speak again, his head dipped, his actions decisive

His lips crashed onto hers with a hunger that matched the fire burning inside her.

Nefeli gasped in surprise, the sound quickly transforming into a moan of pleasure as his kiss deepened.

His tongue dove into her mouth exploring every inch of her.

The taste of wine and desire mingled on his tongue, creating an intoxicating blend that fueled the heat scorching her body.

At that moment, the world outside the desolate hallway ceased to exist.

Her core tightened and she felt herself grow slick and wet between her thighs.

Nefeli's fingers tangled in the coarse strands of Geralt's long hair, her grip alternating between gentle caresses and fervent tugs.

The tactile sensation of his hair sliding through her fingers added an unexpected layer to the overwhelming intensity of their kiss, a mix of softness and strength that mirrored the complexities of their entwined emotions.

Geralt, in response, groaned audibly against her lips, the sound reverberating through the dimly lit corridor.

His hands, driven by a primal urgency, roamed her body with a desperate yearning.

Through the delicate fabric of her dress, his touch became a dance of exploration, tracing the subtle contours of her curves with an almost reverent appreciation.

The electricity of their connection crackled in the air as Geralt's hands moved with purpose, each touch setting her skin ablaze.

With a surge of raw desire, Geralt pushed her further against the wall, his body pressing against hers in an act of dominance.

The stone surface, cool against her back, provided a stark contrast to the searing heat emanating from her skin.

The weight of his body asserted a possessive dominance that sent shivers down her spine.