“Wecannotsend those.” Her voice is delicious. Soft, raspy, needy—and I did that.
Her eyes dart to the pictures on the phone, and back to me for an answer.
“Send them,” I order, voice slipping into the dark as the shadows curl around us. Not asking. Not teasing.
She bites her lip and my eyes snap to it. That lip. Those teeth. That mouth.
Sin, right in front of me.
She lowers the phone between us, and I see it. She’s sent them. She listened.
Such a good immaru.
“Turn it off.”
She follows my instruction perfectly, her fingers moving fast over the screen as we watch it turn black.
I know the exactmoment my unit sees those images. There’s a sharp tremor in our bond, a hard tug, a fluctuation in the steady, consistent connection—that’s their response.
Surprise. Hunger. And something else I can’t quite name.
I reinforce my mental wall, blocking them completely, because my darkness is tired of waiting. With her held in my lap, lips parted, eyes glazed—we’ve waited long enough.
I trail my fingers over her soft, flushed cheek. Careful. Gentle. Worshipping.
“Good immaru,” I murmur. I praise.
Her pupils blow wide, streaks of black bleeding into scarlet.
We have her.
“You need to make a choice.” I try to keep the bite of darkness hidden from my voice, but fail. “Back to the apartment, where the others will be, ending our time alone.” She frowns, mouth parting to speak, to reject—I place my thumb over her lips. “Or... we continue.”
Her eyes flare, bright scarlet smouldering against the woven lines of black.
Temptation incarnate.
I brush the pad of my thumb over her lip tenderly, so slowly—and the red of her gaze darkens. But I need her words, I need her to tell me exactly what she wants.
“Words, immaru.”
She closes her eyes, takes a deep, steadying breath, then whispers, “I want more.”
She’s in my arms, against my chest, the position familiar to how I once held her after our first training session. When I apologised.
But now, I’m kissing her as my darkness greedily wraps around us and we flit. I fight to hold it back, I just need her to slip into my touch a little more before I release—
Her body tenses, and I immediately still. When her hold around my neck starts to slip away, cold terror slices through me.
Has she changed her mind?
“We’re at the house?” She sounds concerned.
No. I can’t lose her now. I need her.
I try to kiss her again, pull her back under, but she leans away.
I growl softly. So taut, barely restrained. But even now, I’ll listen, I’ll always listen to her. Maybe she’s truly regretting her decision.
