Chapter 238: Chapter 238: The Tea 2

MAILAH SAT ON HIS LAP, her heart hammering against her ribs. The serum was still coursing through his veins, stripping away the centuries of icy composure.

The man holding her wasn’t the brooding, guarded Grayson.

“Grayson,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “The serum… it’s making you say things you might regret.”

“I told you,” he growled, the sound vibrating through his chest and into hers. He gripped her waist, his fingers digging into the soft flesh with a possessive strength that made her gasp. “I don’t regret the truth. I regret the time I wasted hiding it. I want you, Mailah. I want to consume you.”

Before she could respond, he stood up abruptly, keeping her clutched against him as if she weighed nothing at all.

He didn’t walk; he moved far too fast for a human as he carried her out of the dining hall and toward the grand staircase, his strides long and purposeful.

Mailah clung to his neck, her head spinning. “Grayson, wait—”

“I’ve waited long enough,” he interrupted, his voice a low, rough rasp.

He didn’t take her to her room. He headed to his own private quarters. He kicked the heavy oak doors open, and they slammed against the stone walls with a deafening crack.

His room was filled with the scent of cold steel and the dark, intoxicating musk that was uniquely his. His massive, four-poster bed sat in the center of the room, draped in heavy black silks.

He didn’t set her down gently. Driven by a lust that was amplified by the serum and his own demonic nature, he threw her onto the bed.

Mailah hit the soft mattress with a small oomph, the air leaving her lungs for a second. Before she could even scramble back, he was over her, his heavy body pinning her down.

He moved with a terrifying speed. His hands were everywhere—tangled in her hair, gripping her wrists, tearing at the buttons of her blouse with an impatience that bordered on violence.

He wasn’t careful or restrained. This was the pre-exile Grayson—a creature used to taking what he wanted without question.

He crashed his lips against hers, and the kiss was bruising. It tasted of the golden tea and raw, unfiltered desire. His tongue invaded her mouth with a dominance that left her breathless, his massive strength evident in the way he held her head still, his fingers threading through her hair so tightly it pulled at her scalp.

Mailah’s blood was on fire. She wanted this—she wanted him with a desperation that matched his own—but she was also acutely aware of how fragile she was compared to him.

As he moved down her neck, his teeth grazing her collarbone with a sharpness that made her heart leap, she felt the true scale of his power.

“Grayson,” she gasped, her hands clutching his shoulders, her nails digging into his jacket. “You’re… you’re moving too fast.”

He didn’t seem to hear her. His mind was a whirlwind of the “truths” the serum had unlocked. He was focused on the heat of her skin, the scent of her fear mixed with arousal, and the overwhelming need to finally claim her.

He moved his hand down, his touch heavy and demanding as he stripped away the rest of her clothing.

When he entered her, it was with the same unchecked force. He didn’t wait for her to adjust; he didn’t remember that her human body required a gentleness he hadn’t had to practice in centuries. He pushed into her hard and fast, his muscles rippling with a strength that felt like it could break her.

“Ah! Grayson, stop! It hurts!” Mailah cried out, her back arching off the bed. Tears pricked her eyes as a sharp, searing pain shot through her.

The sound of her cry acted like a bucket of ice water over the fire in his veins.

Grayson froze. He stopped abruptly, his chest heaving, his eyes wide and wild. For a moment, the demonic haze seemed to battle with the man who cared for her buried deep within.

He looked down at her—at her flushed face, the tears on her cheeks, and the way she was trembling beneath him.

He realized then that he had been treating her like a demon, someone who could withstand his full, unchecked power. He had forgotten she was made of glass.

A low, guttural growl of frustration and self-loathing escaped his throat.

He grabbed her wrists, pinning them over her head against the black silk pillows. He leaned his weight onto his arms, holding her down with a grip that was still incredibly hard, his jaw tightening so much that Mailah could see the muscles jumping in his neck.

For a long, agonizing minute, they just stared at each other.

Mailah could see the war behind his eyes. He wanted to keep going, to lose himself in the primal urge to conquer, but the sight of her pain was a barrier he couldn’t cross. The truth serum made him honest, but it didn’t strip away his soul.

“I…” he started, his voice a strained, pained whisper. “I forgot. I forgot what you are.”

Mailah could feel the heat radiating off him, the sheer physical effort he was using to hold himself back. His entire body was vibrating with the strain of his restraint.

“I’m sorry,” he groaned, the words sounding like they were being torn from his chest. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Mailah reached up, her fingers trembling as she brushed a stray lock of dark hair from his forehead. “I know. It’s okay. Just… slow down. Please.”

Grayson closed his eyes, his jaw still tight enough to crack bone. Slowly, agonizingly, he began to move again. But this time, it was different. He was fighting every instinct that told him to take, to dominate, to move with the speed of a storm.

He lowered his head, his lips grazing her ear. “Tell me if I’m too much,” he whispered, his voice thick with a vulnerability that the serum had forced into the light.

He shifted his weight, easing the pressure on her wrists but not letting go. He began to move with a slow, agonizing rhythm that was almost more intense than the violence of before.

Each thrust was deliberate, a careful exploration of her limits. He watched her face with an intensity that was almost frightening, his eyes never leaving hers as he searched for any sign of discomfort.

The pain faded, replaced by a slow-burning heat that began to coil in her stomach. Mailah’s breath hitched as the rhythm changed from a struggle to a dance.

“Grayson,” she whispered, her voice breathy and broken.

He groaned, his eyes darkening. He released her wrists, his hands moving down to cup her face.

He kissed her again, but this time it was deep and searching, a silent apology for his earlier roughness.

He was still holding back—she could feel it in the way his muscles were locked, in the way he would pause every few seconds to check her reaction—but the restraint itself was a form of passion.

“You are so fragile,” he murmured against her lips, his movements becoming more fluid, more sure as she began to move with him. “I feel like if I hold you too tight, you’ll shatter.”

He increased the pace slightly, but he stayed attuned to her, his touch light where it had been heavy, his kisses soft where they had been bruising.

The tension in the room shifted from the violent energy of a storm to the deep, heavy pressure of a tide.

Mailah wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper into her. She wanted that massive strength now, but tempered by the love she saw in his eyes. She wanted the demon and the man.

“You won’t break me,” she promised, her voice a low, melodic sound that seemed to push him over the edge of his control.

Grayson let out a choked sound, his eyes closing as he gave in to the rhythm they had found together.

He was still careful, still mindful of her human frame, but the passion was undeniable. It was a slow-motion collision of two worlds—the dark, eternal cold of his past and the warm, fleeting light of her present.

Mailah arched beneath him, her breath catching as she felt the shift—his restraint fraying, his movements growing deeper and more deliberate.

Every inch of her skin was alive with sensation, his palms dragging against her thighs, the way his teeth scraped against her pulse point without breaking skin, the hot, shuddering breaths he exhaled against her collarbone.

His fingers tangled in her hair again, but this time there was purpose—not just possession, but worship. He pulled just enough to tilt her head back, exposing the vulnerable line of her throat as he murmured a single, low word—”Ish’ka-val”—in a language she didn’t recognize.

The sound was rough and guttural against her skin, a dark oath breathed into the hollow of her neck that made her entire body shiver.

She didn’t need translation. The way his hips rolled against hers, slow and deep, told her everything.

Mailah gasped when his free hand slid between them, his thumb finding the exact spot that made her thighs tremble. The pressure was perfect—just relentless, circling in time with the way he filled her, each stroke coaxing her higher until her vision blurred at the edges.

She could feel the tension coiling in him too, the way his breath hitched when she dug her nails into his shoulders, urging him closer.

Grayson’s lips traced the shell of her ear, his voice rough as gravel when he murmured, “Look at me.” And she did—just in time to see his control fracture, his pupils swallowing the silver of his irises as his rhythm stuttered.

Mailah felt it first in her toes, a tightening so sharp it curled them against the sheets, then in the base of her spine, where heat pooled and spread like spilled ink.

His fingers tightened in her hair, not enough to hurt but enough to make her whimper, and that sound—raw, unguarded—was what undid him.

His hips snapped forward fast and hard, burying himself deep, and then he shuddered, his breath ragged against her throat as he came with a groan that sounded almost pained.

The sensation of him pulsing inside her was enough to tip her over the edge; her back arched off the bed, her mouth falling open in a silent cry as pleasure ripped through her.

For a moment, neither of them moved, still locked together, his face buried in the crook of her neck, their breaths mingling in the narrow space between their lips.

He didn’t move for a long time afterward, his heavy weight a comforting anchor against the soft silk of the bed.

The storm had passed, leaving behind something quiet and profound.

Grayson eventually pulled back, propping himself up on his elbow to look down at her. The silver light was fading from his eyes, the serum finally losing its grip on his mind. But the honesty seemed to remain.

He reached out, his thumb tracing the swollen line of her lower lip. “Did I hurt you? Truly?”

Mailah shook her head, a soft smile touching her lips. “Not at the end. At the end, it was perfect.”

Grayson sighed, a sound of immense relief. He rolled off her, pulling her into his side and tucking her under his arm. He stared up at the dark canopy of the bed, his jaw finally relaxing, though his expression remained pensive.

“I’m not used to being careful,” he admitted, his voice sounding more like the Grayson she knew, but with a new layer of openness. “In my world, strength is everything. But with you… strength is knowing when not to use it.”

He turned his head to look at her, his gaze lingering on her face.

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