He stood and walked back to her as one corner of his mouth curved, but there was nothing kind in it. She huffed a breath, then rolled her shoulders back.
He glanced past her to the fire and then back down at her, his voice low and certain. “Will you move?”
Her jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”
Before she could find words, he was already working. He bent and grabbed the first bedroll in one smooth motion, slinging it over his shoulder as he crossed in front of her with aslow, unhurried stride, shadows rippling over the broad planes of his back and shoulders.
“Jake…” Her voice broke on his name, hovering somewhere between warning and plea.
He didn’t answer or explain. He simply held the bedroll over the fire, and for a heartbeat nothing happened, the cloth unrolled and hanging there as if waiting for judgment and execution. The seams surrendered with a sudden whoosh and flames leapt greedily upward.
Ella’s mouth fell open. “What the?—”
“You’re not sleeping apart from me tonight,” he said, his voice rough enough to kindle warmth deep in her stomach. “Or ever again if I can help it.”
The burning cloth curled inward on itself, ash breaking apart and drifting into the night air as he stepped back toward her, a current following him like a tide. Firelight ran up the black ink etched along his corded forearms, muscles shifting beneath skin as his hands dropped loosely to his sides, danger in every measured movement.
Her pulse stumbled, and she swayed, unsure if it was the wine or just him. “That’s…one way to say it.”
“That’s the only way to say it.”
He stopped in front of her, so close she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. His hungry gaze held her captive, heat rolling off him until the very air felt as if it might ignite.
“Take off your clothes, Princess,” he said, radiating dominance, smooth enough to ruin her. Her breath caught hard in her throat.
“Fuck.” Her lips trembled around the word, her voice more prayer than curse, slipping from her before she even realized, Jakobav’s command still hanging in the air.
He didn’t blink. He only watched her from his full height, dark eyes catching every flicker of firelight, waiting to see if she would obey.
She did.
The wine that still coursed through her blood, the hours of sharing stories, the bedroll he’d burned to ash, and the vow he’d spoken—to never sleep apart from her again, all of it had her standing taller instead of shrinking back.
Her fingers found the laces at her bodice, and she pulled at them slowly, intentionally, as though each loosened knot was a promise she meant only him to hear.
She wasn’t nervous, not tonight.
Piece by piece, she let the fabric fall away, and his gaze never wavered; he tracked every inch she revealed with relentless fixation, like a man engraving her into memory.
The last barrier slipped from her body, her undergarments pooling at her feet. She looked at him through lowered lashes, her stomach tightening at the sight that met her.
He wasn’t even trying to hide it, his fingers flexing at his sides—restrained movements belonging to a predator holding himself back from a strike.
The firelight revealed the hard, unmistakable shape straining against his pants, and memory crashed into her; she’d felt him before, wanted all of him before they were interrupted. But now? No one knew where she was, no one to interrupt. The thought, equal parts terrifying and intoxicating, sparked a need she could no longer quiet.
Ella’s tongue brushed her bottom lip before she could stop it, and his jaw tightened in response.
The size of him was impossible to ignore, every shift a reminder of the strength she’d felt when he’d pinned her before, the sheer force he could use now if he wanted.
His cedar-and-amber scent wove into the night air, rich and intoxicating, flooding her senses until she swore she could taste it on her tongue.
Jakobav moved then—not closing the space between them but stepping past her instead, his arm grazing her bare skin in a brush that left a fevered trail. He lowered himself onto the waiting bedroll with the casual grace of a man who owned the moment entirely, leaning back slightly on his palms, shadows playing across the ridges of his shoulders.
“Well?” His voice came smooth and steady, eyes glinting in the half-dark as he tipped his head toward the bedroll. “Or are you planning to sleep standing up?”
She crossed the space toward him, her chin lifted in defiance, but before she could sit beside him, he caught her wrist, and with one effortless pull, he drew her between his legs, placing her upright on her knees, close enough to feel the heat of his desire. He sat back on his palms, his knees bent and spread, relaxed yet radiating control.
Fuck.
