"Say it again," he demanded, his voice dropping to something rough and possessive.
"I love you."
His mouth crashed against hers, and the kiss was desperate and claiming and full of everything he couldn't say. His hands moved to her face, holding her like something precious and breakable, while his tongue swept into her mouth with an intensity that stole her breath.
When he pulled back, his forehead pressed against hers, his breathing ragged. "You're mine," he said, and it wasn't a question or a command. It was a statement of fact, of truth, of something fundamental that existed between them. "Always mine."
"Yes," she agreed, and felt the warmth in her chest surge with recognition and relief.
His hands moved to the hem of her sleep shirt, drawing it up and over her head with careful deliberation. The firelight painted her skin in shades of gold and shadow, and she watched his eyes track over every bruise, every mark, cataloging each one.
"He touched you," Eliam said, his fingers tracing the autumn marks at her throat. "Called to you. Tried to take you from me."
"It didn't work."
"Because of Arion." The name came out like gravel, and she saw murder flash through his eyes before he forced it away. "Because another man put his hands on you, his mouth on you."
"To save me," she said, her hands finding his face. "That's all. Nothing more."
His jaw clenched under her palms. "I should have felt it. Should have known you were in danger. The warmth should have woken me the moment you left the bed."
"You're here now."
"Not good enough." His hands moved to her waist, fingers pressing into her skin with possessive need. "I want to replace every touch that isn't mine. Every kiss. Every moment you spent afraid or cold or thinking I wasn't coming for you."
He pulled her closer, his mouth finding her throat, teeth scraping against the autumn marks with deliberate pressure. She gasped, her hands tangling in his hair, and he bit down harder, marking over Malus's claim with his own.
"This is mine," he said against her skin, moving lower to her shoulder. Another bite, hard enough to bruise. "Every inch of you."
His hands were already working the fastenings of his clothes, stripping them away impatiently. When he settled back over her, skin against skin, she felt the full weight of his need, his fear, his desperate possessive claim.
"Tell me again," he demanded, his hand sliding between her thighs.
"I love you," she gasped as his fingers found her, already slick and ready.
He made a sound low in his throat, something between satisfaction and need, and his mouth claimed hers again. The warmth in her chest was singing now, reaching for him, recognizing its other half, and she felt it flowing between them in waves that made her arch against his hand.
"Eliam—"
"Not yet." His thumb found her clit, circling with maddening pressure while his fingers moved inside her. "I want you desperate for me. Want you begging."
She was already close, her body responding to his touch with an intensity that made her shake. But he knew her too well, knew exactly when to ease back, to keep her on the edge without letting her fall.
"Please," she managed, her nails digging into his shoulders.
"Please what?" His teeth found her earlobe, biting gently. "Tell me what you want."
"You. I want you."
He positioned himself at her entrance, but didn't enter, just pressed against her with agonizing slowness. "Say it again. Tell me who you belong to."
"You," she gasped, trying to shift her hips to take him in, but his hand on her waist held her still. "I belong to you."
He thrust into her in one smooth motion, and they both cried out at the sensation. He didn't give her time to adjust, didn't ease into it, just took her with desperate possessive need that spoke louder than any words.
His hand fisted in her hair, pulling her head back to expose her throat, and his mouth found the marks there again, biting and sucking hard enough to leave new bruises over the old ones. Claiming. Marking. Making absolutely certain that anyone who looked at her would know who she belonged to.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he groaned against her throat, his rhythm becoming harder, more demanding. One hand moved between them, finding her center again, and the dual sensation made her vision white out.
