“Thank ye,” he said quietly.
“For what?” she whispered.
“For this.”
And then he kissed her.
Not hurried. Not uncertain.
It was deliberate, full, as if he were trying to pour every word he had swallowed into the space between their mouths. His lips moved over hers with intention, learning, claiming, lingering until her breath stuttered and her hands tightened in his tunic as though it were the only thing keeping her upright.
Ariella answered him without hesitation.
Her hands slid from his forearms to his chest, fingers spreading wide as if she needed to feel his heart beneath her palms, to be certain it was truly there. He felt the tremor in her touch, the way her breath caught when he deepened the kiss, hunger and relieftangling together until he could no longer tell where one ended and the other began.
“Maxwell,” she breathed against his mouth, the sound of his name softened and broken.
He answered by drawing her closer, his hand firm at her back, pressing her into him until there was no mistaking how much he wanted her. Her body fit against his as though it had always known the shape of him, as though it had been waiting. Everything else fell away, not gently, but all at once.
Her hands found the ties of his tunic, undoing them with quiet urgency, fingers brushing bare skin as she pushed the fabric aside. He hissed softly at the contact, a sharp intake of breath he did not bother to hide. Her touch was cool and curious, reverent in a way that undid him far faster than force ever could.
“That’s enough,” he murmured, though his voice betrayed him, rough and strained.
Her mouth curved, breathless and knowing. “Ye daenae sound convinced.”
He wasn’t.
He lifted her then, easily, the movement drawing a startled sound from her lips that went straight to his blood. He carried her to the bed as if there were no other place in the world shecould possibly belong, lowering her carefully, reverently, like something precious he had nearly lost.
His hands slid beneath her thin gown, not hurried, not clumsy, but certain. He explored her with patience that felt like a promise, learning the places that made her arch toward him, the subtle changes in her breathing, the quiet sounds she tried and failed to suppress.
He watched her face as his hand slipped lower and watched how her body reacted to his touch, memorizing the way her lashes fluttered closed, the way her lips parted when sensation overtook thought.
“Look at me,” he said softly. His fingers soft and sure as he encircled her slowly, feeling the rhythm of her body as he guided her to her climax.
She did, eyes dark and shining, full of trust and want and something dangerously close to devotion. The sight struck him low and hard.
He held her there, suspended on the edge of herself, until her hands clutched at him, until her body betrayed her need, until her breath broke into pleading little gasps she did not try to disguise.
“Maxwell,” she whispered again, not a name now but a surrender.
“Good, lass. So good,” he murmured, his fingers steady, unrelenting. “Daenae look away from me.”
Her body answered him, tightening, arching, her breath shattering as release claimed her in a way that left her shaking beneath his hands. He did not move away. He held her through it, grounding her, murmuring low praise that made her cry out again, overwhelmed and unguarded.
The moment stripped something bare in him.
She reached for him at once, pulling him down, his lips landing on hers.
What followed was not gentle.
It was desperate in the way only two people who had been holding themselves apart for far too long could be. His hands lifted her gown over her head letting her warmth soak into his skin.
She welcomed him without hesitation now, without fear. Her mouth traced the scars on his shoulder as if she were memorizing them, as if tomorrow were uncertain and tonight had to be enough.
He paused just long enough to make her breath hitch.
Maxwell hovered over her, his weight braced on one arm, the other hand cradling her hip as if committing the curve of her tomemory. His forehead rested briefly against hers, breath warm, unsteady, as though this moment mattered more than he had prepared himself for.
