He breaks the kiss, his breath hot against my skin. “I need to see you. All of you.” His voice is a low, husky rumble that vibrates deep within me.
His hands move from my face, trailing down my neck, over my shoulders, with a slowness that is pure torture. He finds the laces of my tunic, his fingers surprisingly deft as he loosens them. The fabric whispers to the floor. His gaze is a physical caress, hot and intense, as he looks at me, standing in only my thin shift.
“By the gods,” he murmurs, his eyes full of awe. “You are more beautiful than I ever dreamed.”
He kneels before me, his hands sliding down my back to my hips, and presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss to my stomach through the linen. The sensation shoots through me, a bolt of pure lightning. He hooks his fingers in the hem of my shift and draws it up, over my hips, my waist, and finally over my head, tossing it aside. I stand bare before him, the firelight dancing on my skin.
He rises to his full, immense height, his eyes drinking me in. “You are a vision, Dina. My vision.”
“Xylon… take your clothes off for me,” I murmur, wanting to see him in all his glory. This is a long time coming; we’ve been dancing in this attraction for a while now.
His own clothes follow, discarded with a haste that betrays his controlled exterior. And then he is bare before me, and my breath catches. He is magnificent. Every inch of him is carved from power and grace. His chest is broad, his abdomen a defined plane of muscle that tapers down to…
My eyes widen. He is… large. Thick and long and proud, a part of him as formidable as the rest. A flicker of nervousness mixes with the molten heat pooling in my belly.
He sees the look and stills, his expression filling with concern. “We do not have to,” he says instantly, his voice soft. “We can stop. I would never?—”
“I want you,” I interrupt, my voice stronger than I feel. “I want all of you.”
He groans, pulling me against him. The feel of his skin on mine is electric. He is so warm, so solid. He kisses me again, deeply, his tongue exploring my mouth as his hands explore my body. He cups my breasts, his thumbs circling my nipples until they tighten into aching peaks. A low moan escapes me.
“I love that sound,” he whispers against my lips. He lowers his head and takes one nipple into his mouth, his tongue laving, his teeth grazing gently. I cry out, my knees buckling. He holds me effortlessly, his arms like bands of steel.
He lays me down on the thick pile of furs before the hearth, covering my body with his. He worships me with his mouth and hands, kissing a path down my stomach, nipping at the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. The scent of us—of smoke, leather, and pure, wild desire—fills the air.
“Xylon,” I plead, my hips arching off the furs.
He moves back over me, his eyes dark with a passion that steals my breath. He positions himself at my entrance, the blunt tip of him pressing against my wet heat. He hesitates, his body trembling with the effort of his control.
“I do not want to hurt you,” he grits out, a sheen of sweat on his brow.
The fear in his eyes, for me, breaks the last of my hesitation. With a strength I did not know I possessed, I push against his chest. He yields, a look of surprise on his face as I roll us over until I am straddling his hips.
His shock turns to a look of blazing heat. “Dina…”
“My turn,” I breathe, looking down at him. The firelight gilds the hard planes of his chest, the scars a map of his past, while my shadow falls over him like a promise. I position myself above him, and then, holding his gaze—a tether to the man within the warrior—I lower myself onto him.
It is an agonizingly slow descent. He is huge, a stretching, filling pressure that burns and soothes all at once. It is overwhelming, a claiming that borders on pain before it transforms into the most perfect, shocking sense of completion. A sharp, ragged gasp tears from my throat as I finally settle, fully sheathed, feeling him buried to the hilt inside me. For amoment, I cannot move, can only feel the thunderous pulse of my own blood and the incredible, intimate fit of our bodies.
His hands fly to my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh, his knuckles white with the effort of his restraint. A guttural groan, raw and stripped bare, rips from his chest as his head falls back against the furs. “Gods… Dina… you feel… incredible.” The words are a strained, broken thing.
Emboldened by his surrender, I begin to move. A slow, tentative rocking of my hips, a rhythm as ancient as the mountains outside. His eyes fly open, dark pools of stormy emotion locked on mine. In them, I see not just passion, but a staggering, soul-deep adoration that makes my heart clench and soar simultaneously.
“I love you, Dina,” he rasps. His hands slide up from my hips, over the trembling skin of my waist, to cup my breasts. His thumbs, calloused and gentle, circle my nipples, sending jolts of lightning straight to my core. The dual sensations—the deep, internal friction and the exquisite external touch—threaten to undo me.
“I love you, Xylon,” I moan, the confession fueling my movements. My hesitancy melts away, replaced by a confident, rising rhythm as I ride the building wave of sensation. I am not just a participant; I am a force, meeting him, taking him, claiming him as he claims me.
With a primal growl that vibrates through both our bodies, he surges up. In one fluid, powerful motion, he flips me onto my back without ever breaking our connection. The world spins, and then he is above me, a dark, magnificent silhouette against the flickering fire. He drives into me, deeper than I thought possible, and a scream of pure, unadulterated pleasure is torn from my lips.
“Again,” he demands, his voice raw with need, his hips setting a relentless, pounding rhythm. He is pushing me toward the edge, each thrust a vow etched into my very soul.
“I love you!” I cry out as he angles himself, hitting a spot deep inside me that unleashes a supernova of sensation behind my eyelids. The world dissolves into a symphony of our joining: the slick sound of our skin meeting, our ragged, mingling breaths, the soft crush of furs beneath us, and the feel of him—everywhere—his scent of leather and cold night air, the taste of his sweat on my lips, the sound of my name on his tongue like a sacred prayer.
“Come for me, my love,” he commands, his pace becoming frantic, desperate, as if he’s trying to imprint this moment onto eternity. His plea is my undoing.
The tight coil in my belly snaps. A scream is torn from my throat as my climax shatters me, waves of pleasure so intense they border on pain, crashing over me again and again. I convulse around him, my body gripping his in a series of uncontrollable spasms. Feeling me fall apart beneath him, he shouts my name, a sound of triumph and surrender, as his own release crashes over him. He pours into me, his body shuddering violently, his forehead dropping to my shoulder as he spills himself deep within, as if seeding a promise for a future he is determined to secure.
For a long moment, there is only the aftermath: the frantic hammering of our hearts slowly calming, our ragged breaths mingling with the soft crackle of the fire. Slowly, carefully, he collapses beside me, pulling me tightly into his arms. Our bodies, still joined, feel like a single entity. He presses a long, tender kiss to my sweat-dampened hair.
