What began as a slow exploration becomes unguarded and carnal. Her fingers knit into my hair, her hips press against the insides of my thighs, and she moans. The sound is unlike any I have ever heard. It is a confession, a plea, and an endorsement all at once.
I break the kiss for the barest of moments. “That sound,” I say, staring down into her eyes, seeing the fire burning behind them.
More.
My mouth crashes back into hers as I wrap an arm around her back, desperate to keep her here. Her tongue plunges into my mouth. Fire burns my veins. I want to capture her, devour her.
More.
Instinct begins to drive me. My hand reaches for the nape of her neck, and I tilt her head back so I can deepen the kiss. She moves with me, yielding to my touch in a way that is both shameless and trusting.
It is addictive.Sheis addictive.
“Fuck. Why are you so good at this?” she moans before returning her mouth to mine and letting her hands explore my chest.
I am a good fighter and a good student. This is not so different. Matching strike for strike. Anticipating your opponent. Finding their weakness and exploiting it. Moving, lunging, dodging, dancing together. But it is so much better than fighting could ever be.
Her fingers continue down my chest, and when they reach my abdomen, a deep, uncontrollable rumble rolls through me. Her body quivers in response. The power we wield over each other is indescribable. I cannot tell if it is the bond or just … us, but it is clear she could control me with a single drag of her finger, flick of her tongue, or whispered word in my ear.
“What’s happening?” she asks, lips swollen and the color of ripe veladoo.
I trace the line of those lips and then the curve of her jaw with my thumb. “Our hearts made a choice,” I say, before following the path of my thumb with my mouth, tasting her skin and nearly falling apart at how perfect every inch of her is, how it feels like every part of me was carefully crafted for the singular purpose of loving her.
She has done the impossible. She has awoken the ancient miracle of my people, and I will worship her accordingly. I kiss and lick down her neck, tasting the salt on her skin and feeling her pulse beneath my tongue. The Zhyrrak chose her. It choseus. Amara is my mate, my destiny, my Queen.
When my lips return to hers, I feel a shift. A deep acceptance. Her hands slide down my arms. A rumble vibrates my chest. Then a pleasure unlike any I have ever known overtakes me, and a single word fills my mind.
Mine.
Her hand presses over my heart.
She has accepted our bond. There is no question.
I feel her soul weaving itself into mine, rebuilding me from the ground up, threading us together, and flooding me with a power that feels as ancient and as raw as the stone beneath us.
This is what my ancestors sang about.
This is why they were mighty warriors.
This is how I will protect my Queen.
19
FOREVER
AMARA
THE INTENSE, MAGNETIC pull between us has won the battle against my rational mind, and I’ve forgotten all sense of reason or self-preservation.
“What’s happening?” I ask, my voice breathy and unguarded.
His thumb ghosts over my lips before tracing the line of my jaw, sending bolts of euphoria dancing over my skin. “Our hearts made a choice,” he whispers. He follows the path of his thumb with his mouth, patiently kissing and licking down my neck until I’m out of breath and trembling.
Is it supposed to feel this good? I don’t remember anything ever feeling this good.
When his mouth returns to mine, the kiss is claiming and greedy and achingly familiar, like I’ve always known how he would taste, how his lips would feel on mine, or how the firm planes of his muscles would tighten and ripple against my body. It’s like a dream I’ve already had, and it feels so … right.
He pulls me closer, tighter, harder. Every touch becomes a delicious promise, and I want it all. I want his gentle but deadly hands, his wild kiss, his impossible confidence, his steady calm.
