He angled his head, deepening the kiss, one hand sliding up her back to press her closer. The feel of her against him, warm and yielding, pulled a low sound from his chest he did not recognize as his own.
She answered.
There was no hesitation now, no measured caution. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, then slid higher, threading into his hair.She rose on her toes without seeming to realize it, leaning into him.
Fire raced along every nerve he possessed.
He felt her tremble. Not with fear. With something that vibrated in his own bones.
He broke the kiss only long enough for a breath, his forehead dropping to hers. “Is this what ye wanted, then,” he asked, voice hoarse. “Yer husband in truth.”
Her eyes were dark, pupils wide, lashes trembling. “Aye.”
The word was small, but all he needed.
He kissed her again, harder. Her lips parted under his. His hand found the small of her back, thumb stroking in unconscious circles that made her breath hitch.
Somewhere in the haze he turned them, guiding her until the back of her thighs touched the edge of the desk. Papers shifted, a quill rolled and fell. She made a startled sound that turned into a soft laugh against his mouth.
He swallowed it, his own lips curving.
“Ye make a mess everywhere ye go,” he murmured against her jaw.
“Ye started this one,” she said, breathless.
He did not deny it.
He drew her up onto the edge of the desk, hands bracketing her hips. The movement brought her level with him, faces close, chest to chest. Her skirts whispered over his knees.
“Ariella,” he said. Just her name. It felt like a vow on his tongue.
Her hands cupped his face, thumbs brushing the familiar lines of his scars with none of the caution of before. This time he did not flinch away. Her touch burned, but in a different way.
“Maxwell,” she whispered back.
He kissed her again, slower now, deep and unhurried, the kind of kiss that rewrote old things without asking permission. Her body softened under his hands. A small sound escaped her throat, a high, helpless note that sent heat coiling low in his spine.
He let his mouth leave hers only to find the hollow beneath her ear, then the line of her throat. Her head fell back, giving him room. He felt her pulse flutter against his lips, fast and wild.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against her skin, eyes closed. “If ye wish it.”
Silence.
Then, very soft, “Daenae stop.”
The last of his resolve frayed.
He did not think of vows or rules or all the reasons he had given himself to keep his distance. He thought only of her, of the way she clung to him, of the trust in the way she opened to his touch.
His hand slipped beneath her skirts, slow enough she could stop him, sure enough that she didn’t. The moment his fingers found heat and softness, her breath broke. She clutched at him, kissing him harder, as if the pleasure stealing through her demanded a place to go.
He swallowed every sound she made.
He moved his fingers in careful strokes, learning how her thighs trembled, how her breath hitched in his mouth, how she pressed into his hand as though she needed him deeper, closer, now. She broke the kiss once, a soft gasp escaping her, and he chased it with his mouth, kissing her jaw, her throat, anywhere he could reach while she arched into him.
“Look at me,” he murmured.
She did. Wide-eyed, flushed, lips parted as if every breath burned.
