“No,” I say, stepping closer until I feel the warmth of her body against mine. “You’re going to sit at that table, and I’m going to feed you, and then—when your guard is soft and your mind is quiet and you’re drowning in how much I want you—thenI’ll take you.”
Her breath shudders. “And if I want it now?” she whispers.
I inhale sharply, fighting every instinct urging me to claim her. “Then you’ll wait,” I say, voice dropping, “because I’m going to savor every moment of you—not rush through it.”
Her eyes darken. “Slade…”
I press a gentle hand to her lower back and guide her toward the table. The rose petals crush softly beneath her boots. The candles respond to her presence—brightening, warming, leaning toward her as though reaching for their witch.
When she sits, her curls spill over her shoulders, her lips parted in a small, breathless shape that makes desire curl deep in my gut.
I pour red wine into her glass—she watches my hands. I sit the plate in front of her—she tracks the way my mouth moves. I go to take my seat, and her eyes greedily roam over my body.
The curse stirs, not in warning, but in something almost like approval.
I take a slow sip of wine, letting my gaze drift to her throat, her collarbone, the faint rise and fall of her chest. “Eat,” I murmur.
Her fork trembles slightly when she lifts it. Every time she takes a bite, her eyes flick to mine, like she can feel how much I want to devour her instead. By the end of the meal, her cheeks arewarm from wine, her defenses softened, her aura loose and glowing.
Newt hops onto her lap, curls into a ball, and purrs as if sealing my victory. She sets her fork down, breath unsteady. “What now?” she asks.
“Now,” I say, rising from my chair and offering her my hand, “you let me take care of you.”
She slides her fingers into mine. Newt hops off her lap, offended of course, but returns to his perch. The bond stirs—rich, heavy, thrumming like a heartbeat between ribs.
I lead her toward the bathroom.
The scent of jasmine and bergamot welcomes her, steam drifting lazily from the full tub, lilies floating on the surface, candles lining every edge of the room.
She sucks in a breath. “Slade…” Her voice breaks. Emotion—soft, aching, vulnerable—rushes through her aura like a tide.
I step close behind her, letting my fingers skim her waist, then her hip, gentle but certain. Sheshivers. “You deserve beauty,” I murmur against her ear. “You deserve softness. And you deserve a night where nothing hurts.”
Her head tips back slightly, exposing more of her throat. “And you?” she whispers.
“I deserve to worship the woman fate carved for me.”
She trembles. I reach for the hem of her sweater, brushing my knuckles along the warm skin beneath—her breath shatters.
“Slade… I want this.”
I take her chin gently, turning her face toward mine. “I know,” I whisper, before I kiss her.
And this kiss—this one is not hungry or rushed or desperate.
It is slow. Deep. Certain. A kiss meant for a mate. A kiss meant for a woman I intend to kneel for as much as I intend to ravish.
Her fingers curl into my shirt—her body leaning into mine.
Her magic flares and melts and folds around me like a sigh. And as I lift her into my arms, carrying her toward the bath, one truth settles into place with absolute clarity…
Tonight, she won’t run from the bond. Tonight, she’ll feel exactly what it means. And when she chooses—she’ll chooseme.
Chapter 25
Piper
Slade’s mouth on mine feels like a slow unraveling—careful, deep, coaxing, as though he’s learning every way I could possibly break and choosing instead to piece me together. His hands guide me with a steadiness that makes my pulse tripover itself.
