The man and woman, both naked, tangled together without restraint.
Taras carefully observed Arabella on the bed.
It was incomprehensible where all of Arabella's astonishing strength was hidden in her slender frame.
His heavy breaths filled the air as his hands moved up her flat stomach, gripping her firm, supple breasts, with his thumbs brushing over her rosy, upright nipples.
He relished his control, pressing against her from behind, nibbling on her long, slender neck.
His penis, veined and erect with aggression, rubbed eagerly between Arabella's thighs.
Taras spread her cheeks with both hands and gave them a crisp slap.
"Master Unknown, spread your legs."
Hearing this, Arabella raised her hips, licking her lips, and turned her head with a smile, "How's this?"
She was always uninhibited in such matters, which made things particularly intense with Taras; any position was fair game.
Taras touched her, finding her wet, her desire surging.
He was brimming with confidence, feeling more exhilarated than he would take over the Destiny.
He wanted to tease her, rubbing his swollen tip against her entrance without entering.
Arabella wasn't annoyed; her gaze remained clear, devoid of any lewdness. She had honed control over her desires, emotions, and killer instincts over the years, and such minor torment didn't faze her.
Yet her movements were suggestive; she tightened her hips, swaying her body to match Taras's arousal.
"Good... keep it tight."
"Move your hips."
Arabella's tight hold made him twitch, and he plunged into her with a fierce, wild motion, uttering filthy words.
Standing added an intense angle, as he thrust forward deeply, lifting one of her legs to penetrate wildly and forcefully.
"Master Unknown, am I making you feel good?"
Arabella moaned, never one to suppress her pleasure, and responded frankly, "Not bad, it feels good."
With her affirmation, Taras's movements became even more intense.
Sex was straightforward and bold between them, with no need for coyness.
They enjoyed it freely, indulging without restraint; surrendering to lust was such a pleasure.
Taras thought, winning this woman's heart was likely a hopeless fantasy.
Being able to share this was probably satisfaction enough.
Unfortunately, he'd forgotten the saying: human greed is boundless.
Ultimately, he would fall for her completely, diving headfirst into the abyss that was Arabella.
For now, he didn't realize this; he only felt that this moment was thrilling, indulgent, and deeply erotic.
Afterward, Taras lay on the bed, blowing smoke in and out.
Arabella chose a chair and sat casually, her posture relaxed. She wore nothing but Taras's shirt, her legs bare and swinging casually over the edge of the table. In her hand, she held a bottle of liquor, blowing lightly across the top as she took a swig.
Unrestrained.
"I had the bomb shelter checked out. Got there in time, so the fire only spread halfway, but it's hard to account for everyone. What's clear is—another party saved that woman."
Arabella didn't respond immediately; she downed half the bottle, then sighed as if completely satisfied.
At times like this, Taras felt as if his efforts with Arabella on the bed reduced him to nothing more than a dutiful tool.
Out of bed, Arabella was still Arabella—unbelievably formidable.
"Could it be the old guys left in the Destiny?" Arabella swirled the bottle, indifferent.
"It's impossible. While that woman may be useless, they're still good for rallying the troops. If she were truly in their hands, they would have shown him by now to calm the members."
Arabella nodded in agreement.
She wasn't willing to waste her time on the already escaped Ivy. She didn't play the "root and branch" game.
Life and death weren't things that could be maintained by complete annihilation.
Human life—like weeds that can't be fully uprooted, they grow again with the spring breeze.
"Oh—by the way, there's something I should remind you of." Taras thought of something, turned, and got out of bed. Leaning over to Arabella's chair, he spoke softly, "Quentin's sudden reaction clearly shows he's certain the kidnappers are you. Someone must have leaked the secret to him. Otherwise, he wouldn't dare to gamble with his sister's life. The only way he could be so sure it was you... is if it came from your men back then."
When Arabella looked at him, her eyes were dark and piercing. Though her lashes were long, and she often wore a smile, many people overlooked the evident coldness in her gaze, a sharpness that betrayed a certain ruthlessness.
He only saw her as fair-skinned and delicate, an easy-going young lady.
At this moment, she stared intently at Taras for a while, then answered with a hidden edge in her smile, "And you."
Taras was startled at first, then his heart skipped a beat, and he quickly waved his hands to distance himself, "Nothing like that. If you're talking about me betraying you otherwise, that might be possible. But in this matter, our interests align."
"Mm. I know," Arabella lowered her gaze and nodded seriously.
Taras was still uneasy; he knew Arabella wasn't one to easily dismiss her suspicions.
Of course—she probably trusted no one, and if she suspected someone, she'd likely just stab them without hesitation.
The fact that she even bothered to ask made Taras perversely feel that he still had some value in her eyes.
Before leaving, he once again pledged his loyalty, saying, "Master Unknown, pardon my intrusion, but if there's any leak, it's likely an undercover cop."
Arabella waved her hand, dismissing him without further ado.
Taras arrived at noon and left by evening.
The two of them made a ruckus in the room all afternoon, while Albatross went mad in his own room, burying his face in the pillow, letting out low, anguished howls.
Arabella was never short of excitement around her, nor of people in her bed.
One after another, most were fleeting, ending once the night was over.
But Taras, it seemed, had developed a lingering attachment.
He sneaked into the hallway, hearing the passionate sounds from the room, with no attempt at restraint.
He couldn't help rolling his eyes, retreating to his room, biting down hard on his own arm, afraid he might lose control and do something to displease Arabella.
He was naturally handsome, his profile sharply defined by the light, with lines that rose and fell in clear, three-dimensional contours, carrying an edge of sharpness.
Throwing off the covers, his eyes were void of warmth, dark as night, his expression that of a predator lying in wait, laced with a chilling, bloodthirsty aura.
He had never been a kind soul, always concealing his desires.
All he wanted was to stay by Arabella's side, always be with her.
Whatever she wanted, he was willing to give.
In his desire, pulsing at its peak, he was merely a wolf in sheep's clothing, waiting to be devoured.
But the wolf had too many targets and wouldn't bother entangling with a mere sheep.
Perhaps—he should change his approach.
Make her fail, make her suffer, make her lose everything, until she had only him.
He thought it over, chuckling with a hint of madness before returning to his usual calm.
"Arabella! I've gone mad. Let's go mad together."
Raven crossed his arms over his chest, casting a cold glance at Albatross retreating to his room, indifferent to his inner turmoil.
As the climax neared inside, Raven straightened up, waiting for Arabella to emerge.
No one knew his heart, nor did he need anyone to.
They came and went, but he would stay with her, accompany her until death.
