Chapter Five — Crossing the Threshold

The silence in the room was not empty.

It was filled with the sound of their breathing — hers a touch uneven, his deep and measured — and the subtle rustle of fabric as Riven’s hand moved slowly along her spine. Mara could feel every inch of his palm through the thin barrier of her camisole, and the temperature of her skin seemed to rise with every centimeter he traced.

The city beyond her window faded into nothing. No headlights, no passing footsteps — just the two of them suspended here, a moment stretching endlessly before the inevitable.

Riven’s thumb made a small, deliberate circle against her lower back, a silent question that sparked just enough ache to make her sway closer.

“You’re shaking again,” he whispered, voice low enough to feel more than hear.

Mara swallowed. “I’m not cold.”

“I didn’t say you were.” The faintest smile curved his lips, but it wasn’t mocking — it was the kind of smile you give when you know you’ve been let in. “Is it fear, Mara? Or anticipation?”

She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again, gaze steady. “Does it matter, if I’m still here?”

He studied her for a long second. “No,” he said finally. “It matters that you’re here and that you’re choosing to stay.”

His words landed heavy. She realized he hadn’t pulled her, hadn’t forced her — he was just there, an unyielding gravity she had walked toward on her own.

And she kept walking.

Her fingers found the hem of his shirt again and lifted, slow this time, giving him a chance to stop her if he wanted. He didn’t. He raised his arms just enough for her to push the fabric over his head, revealing a landscape of lean muscle and the faint lines of old scars that her fingertips instinctively traced.

He didn’t flinch at her touch, but his gaze darkened as he caught her hand against his chest. “Careful,” he murmured. “When you touch me like that, it’s not just your hand I feel.”

She wasn’t sure if he meant physically or something else entirely — but her pulse stumbled at the possibilities.

When he lowered his mouth to hers again, the kiss was different — deeper, slower, more dangerous in its control. His taste lingered, warm and addicting. Mara tilted her head to give him better access, realizing that part of her wanted him to take more, and part of her was terrified of how completely she might give it.

Riven shifted them so she was beneath him on the couch again, but this time he didn’t rush to close the space. He braced himself on one arm, his other hand moving slowly, tracing down from her throat to her collarbone, then lower to the soft skin just under the lace edge of her camisole. Each movement was a pause, a question, a test.

Her breath caught when his fingers finally brushed that edge — not moving past it, just resting there, his eyes locked on hers.

“You trust me?” The words were quiet but sharp, like a blade testing paper.

“Yes,” she said, the word trembling in the air between them.

He nodded once, then slid his hand beneath the fabric with impossible steadiness, pausing only when he felt the first shiver run through her. His touch was warm, certain, mapping her curves as if he had all night — and maybe he did.

Her own hands were less patient. They slid around his back, nails grazing lightly at first, then bolder, encouraged by the faint groan he breathed into her ear.

The energy between them shifted — still slow, but heavier now, carrying the weight of what they both knew was coming.

“You’re not afraid of me,” he said softly, not as a question but as an observation.

“I’m not sure if I should be,” she admitted.

His grin was faint but genuine. “Good. Keep it that way — a little fear is honest.”

The way he said it made it sound like a shared secret, not a warning.

When his lips left hers and traveled down the slope of her neck, she tipped her head back, drawing in a quiet breath that turned into a sigh as he lingered there. His hand at her side splayed wide, holding her firmly as if she might drift away if he let go.

Mara didn’t want to drift away.

Her legs shifted slightly, drawing him nearer, and the space between them finally disappeared. The contact was a slow burn, both of them still clothed but already feeling the static where their bodies pressed.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured against her skin.

She didn’t answer with words. She pulled him down into another kiss, this one messier, her lips parting beneath his, hands tangling in his hair as if anchoring him there.

His control cracked in that moment — just slightly — and she felt it in the way his hand moved faster now, drawing her closer against him. One of her straps slipped down her shoulder, and his mouth followed, tasting the newly bared skin with a reverence that made her toes curl.

“Mara…” he said into her skin, the sound of her name suddenly far more intimate than any kiss. “You don’t understand how easily I could lose myself in this.”

“Then lose yourself,” she whispered without thinking.

His answer was not in words, but in the way his mouth reclaimed hers, in the press of his body as the world outside them ceased to exist.

By the time he slowed again — because it was always him who slowed, always him who kept the pace — her thoughts were a dizzy blur, her body humming with heat that had nowhere to go except into him.

Riven rested his forehead against hers, both of them breathing hard. “This,” he said, “is the edge. We can still step back.”

Mara searched his eyes, finding no trace of the predator she’d first feared — only a man who carried his darkness carefully, like a weapon he chose when to draw. “I don’t want to step back,” she said finally.

Something in his gaze softened, and then hardened again with resolve. “Then don’t.”

He kissed her once more — slow and claiming — and she knew before it ended that whatever threshold they’d crossed tonight, there was no return.

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