“They respond to emotion,” I explain. “To magic. To intention.”
“And what do they hear from you now?” she asks quietly.
“Desire,” I say.
The word tangles in the space between us. She doesn’t withdraw, or tense. She steps closer.
Slowly, deliberately, she moves into my space until her back brushes my chest. I place a hand on her waist, fingers curving over the velvet-soft warmth of her body, guiding her gently against me. Her exhale shivers through the cold, and the air thickens around us. I bend my head, letting my lips graze the place where her neck meets her shoulder—a soft, reverent stroke of my mouth over her beating pulse. Her hands rise to the railing, tightening around the carved stone as if she needs grounding.
“That spot,” I murmur against her skin, “is mine.”
Her body arches imperceptibly, offering more. She tastes like winter and warmth. Likehome. My other hand slips from her waist to her hip, curving around it, guiding her back into me with slow, sinfully deliberate pressure. Her breath catches, the sound small and breakable and perfect.
“Slade…” she whispers.
“Look up,” I tell her softly.
She lifts her chin, looking up at the glittering mass above us. The stars swell brighter—responding not to me, not to my realm, but toher. To the emotion blooming in her chest that she doesn’t hide, or mask.
They pulse in rhythm with the bond.
I slide my hand up her arm—slow, deliberate—until my palm covers her heart. Her pulse leaps against my touch. She lets her head fall back against my shoulder, exposing her throat in a gesture that is instinct, trust, surrender. “You belonghere,” I murmur, letting my lips brush her ear. “In my world… In my life. Withme.”
Her fingers slide along my arm, knuckles brushing mine, her breath warm and uneven.
And slowly, she turns in my arms—facing me, framed by the soft chiming twilight. Her eyes shine with an emotion that vibrates through the bond like a deep, resonant chord.
“Then show me,” she says, her voice low and sure.
The stars flare like a breath caught in the throat of the realm. The night bends toward us.
And I step into her fully—letting the seduction deepen, letting the magic thrum, letting the world around us fade into a warm, pulsing hush.
My hands slide under her dress, finding the lace of her underwear and tearing it aside without ceremony, circling her clit with fast strokes. I claim her mouth with a deep, consuming kiss, silencing the breath that was about to escape her. This isbeyond slow seduction now. This is famine, and the Ninth Realm is our witness.
I lift her, turning her so her back presses against the cold marble railing. The contrast makes her gasp into my mouth. I hike her legs, pulling them around my waist, making her entirely dependent on my grip. Then, I peel back the barrier of my clothing, quickly freeing myself, and press my throbbing length against her slick heat.
“Look at the stars, little witch,” I demand, my breath heavy against her ear. “See how bright they burn for you.”
I drive into her, a single, deep plunge that takes her breath and makes the silver-fire braziers around the terrace flare. She cries out, a sharp, feral sound that is immediately muffled by my mouth clamping down on hers.
I pull back, needing to see her face, to see the pleasure I'm inflicting. Her blue eyes are wide, glazed over with need, framed by her wild curly, dark black hair.
I begin a slow, brutal rhythm, one hand gripping the railing behind her for leverage, the other fiercely kneading the curvy flesh of her hip. I don't move for control. I move for the painful depth of her pleasure.
“Scream for me, Piper,” I growl against her throat. “Let the whole damn realm hear what you feel.”
She doesn't disappoint. The sound is a ragged, breathless plea that the stars absorb instantly, making them shimmer faster.
I shift her slightly, hooking my forearm under her thighs, lifting her so she is impaled at a dizzying, perfect angle over the railing. She grips the cold marble, her knuckles white, her body stretched and vulnerable.
I slow the pace, needing to savor the intensity. I pull back almost entirely, letting the friction drive her mad, and then sink back in, deep and possessive, making her moan.
“Tell me what you need, my witch,” I whisper, my lips trailing down her throat.
“Everything,” she begs, her voice dissolving into a choked cry. “Harder. Faster.”
I answer by accelerating the pace, driving us both toward the edge. I’m moving with a feverish intensity, pushing deeper, faster, until she’s lost to the feeling.
