“Better. You will not come until I tell you to.” His voice was low and unyielding. “Keep your eyes on me while I push you to the edge. I want you to see exactly what you’re doing to me.” A groan escaped him. His touch deepened, driving harder—punishingly perfect—as he continued. “How your very essence has melted into my bones, ingrained so deep in my soul, that I would endure anything for you and anything from you, my merciless Ella.”
Gods, how can his words be so eloquent and intentional when his hands move with nothing but instinct and hunger?
He praised her as he pulled his fingers out, quickly tugging his shirt over his head, and pushed them right back inside her, the motion sparking a wave of pleasure. She didn’t know how much longer she could hold back her release. So she focused instead on his body, the firelight gilding the hard planes of his abdomen, each defined ridge a reminder that he was dangerously, stupidly beautiful.
She bent and bit gently at his neck, savoring the heat of his skin, before pulling back just far enough to meet his gaze, his hand moving faster between her legs. He leaned in and kissed her, hard, his low groan rumbled against her lips, vibrating through her as though he wanted her to feel his approval as much as hear it.
“Yes, Ellandria,” he murmured, his voice almost reverent.
He freed his fingers and raised them to his mouth, tasting her arousal in one long pull. Then his hands clamped around her hips, fingers locking like iron, tilting her forward with the ease of a man who knew he had complete control. The sight of his determined jaw, lips set with concentration as though nothing else in the world existed, made her dizzy with want, and in one brutal, fluid motion, he pulled her down onto him. The solid length of him filled her so completely she couldn’t breathe for a heartbeat, the force of it reverberating up her spine until every nerve blazed alive, her body instinctively tightening around him as if she meant to hold him there forever.
Her gasp tore loose, almost a cry, but there was no hesitation. She moved with him, fast and determined, the fire crackling at her back and the man beneath her making the rest of the world disappear. His breath struck the side of her face, warm and rich, his scent wrapping around her like smoke.
“Ride me until you can’t remember your own name,” he growled, as he kissed her neck tenderly. Once again, his words and actions were at war with one another, reminding her that this man was a constant contradiction, and fuck, she loved it.
“Gods,” she breathed, moving against him as if they had been made to fit together, every thrust pulling a sound from her throat, every grind of his hips threatening to break her open. Release built inside her with relentless urgency, each wave cresting higher than the last, until moans slipped from her without her permission, wild and unrestrained.
“Not yet,” Jakobav said, his voice commanding even as his body strained with hers. “You can come apart when I say so.”
His feral words only heightened her hunger.
She bit down on her lip, riding him harder, desperate, every spasm inside him making her dizzy with pleasure, every heartbeat a reminder that she was on the verge of ruin. She thought she might die from the force of it when the first wave nearly broke her.
“Now,” he growled, his voice tearing ragged from his throat. “Fall apart with me.”
Her release hit the moment he gave permission, ripping her name from his mouth in a rough growl as she shattered around him.
Then, with effortless strength, he flipped her, pressing her forward onto her hands, driving into her from behind with a force that left her trembling. His fingers found her clit, drawing endless circles, his other hand cupping her breast as his thrusts drove her higher, closer, breaking her all over again.
“Fuck, Ella. I will never get enough of you.”
“Please,” she gasped, the word slipping raw from her throat, though she didn’t know what she begged for, only that she couldn’t bear for him to stop.
She didn’t want mercy.
She neededmore.
The fire popped, sparks scattering into the night, and the world beyond them had ceased to exist. There was only the press of his body, the sound of his breath, the low rasp of her name as if it was the only word he’d ever known. She came undone again, body bowing to the onslaught of him, their bodies collapsing onto the bedroll. They stayed tangled together, her cheek against his chest, his hand tracing patterns over the curve of her spine.
She knew this would complicate everything. It might even cost her. And still, she would never take it back. She could never un-hear what he’d confessed—that he would endure anything from her and anything for her. It was the most reckless, romantic threat she’d ever received.
This man.
Dawn would come soon, and Orchid’s capital would be waiting. But for now, she wasn’t a princess or a warrior or a pillar of prophecy.
For now, she was only his.
38
BETWEEN WAKING AND THE WORLD
She slept harder than she had in months. No restless tossing, no half-waking to count his breaths, no jerking upright at every whisper of wind—only the steady warmth of his arms banded around her, one palm curved over her spine. His scent wrapped around her, cedar and amber and smoke, grounding her in a way she’d needed.
At some point in the night, his hand moved to cradle the back of her head, fingers buried in her hair. His breathing stayed deep and even against her ear, and she felt his mouth brush her temple once before he leaned his forehead to hers, leaving their heads resting together. She stayed like that until just before dawn, drifting in and out, until she wasn’t sure if she was asleep or not.
It began with light, not the pale blue-gray that bleeds into Orchid mornings, but a pulse that seemed to gather beneath her ribs, a soft tug that was not wind or breath, a pull she recognized from the night she had first Threadwalked into a realm that was not her own. She felt it before she saw anything at all, the draw tightening nearer, and when she opened hereyes, the camp was gone, the fire gone, the bedroll gone, and Jakobav gone with them.
She stood barefoot on wet stone, rain-slick and glimmering beneath a sky so drowned in stars it seemed enchanted. A terrace stretched outward into that sky, its ledge framed in winding silver vines with unfamiliar flowers whose pale petals released a scent of frost, night-blooming jasmine, and rain. Rain tapped softly against the stone, a quiet rhythm under the starlit silence.
