His mouth consumes me. He presses inside me until I can't tell if it's his finger or his cock working my insides.
"B-Brax," I stutter, closing my eyes and digging my nails into his shoulders.
"Say it," he orders, working my body like he knows just what it wants, then slowing down.
Another round of adrenaline spikes. It sits on the edge waiting to spill over.
"Say it," he repeats.
I open my eyes, unsure what he wants.
His eyes darken in a way that has nothing to do with anger. The brown I usually see collapses into something deeper, almost black, as if every unspoken emotion he carries gathers behind his pupils at once. They're heavy with possession, hunger, and a razor edge of vulnerability he'll never admit to.
It strips me bare, telling me my words have the power to steady him or shatter him, and he hates that almost as much as he needs it. The question fades, and the answer he wants rolls out of my mouth, "Ti amo."
I just told him I loved him.
Before I can process it, he murmurs in my ear, "Mine," and thrusts hard, skillfully moving another finger inside me.
The next few minutes, I can barely breathe. Every time his cock goes in, his fingers come out. The entire time, his mouth consumes me like I'm his obsession.
The torches keep thudding, the women start moaning, and the men grunt.
It's all too much. I can barely hang onto Brax while convulsing between him and the mirror.
"Mine, Minx," he grits out.
"Yours," I agree, my eyes rolling and the fire turning to a blurry haze of orange and blue.
"Mine!" he growls one more time before his body erupts in a tidal wave so catastrophic that he presses me closer to the glass, and an incoherent sound flies out of his mouth.
For several moments, neither of us moves. The arena spins in a molten blur around us, a vortex of firelight, sweat, and the metallic tang of power hanging in the air. The torches slowly crackle back to life, illuminating the circle of ash and flames, and I realize there's only our breath and silence.
Brax slowly lowers me to my feet, his hands remaining at my waist as though his body hasn't accepted the idea of letting mine go. A sharp tremor runs through my legs, but his grip tightens before I can falter. When I manage to meet his eyes, the darkness inside them hasn't lifted. If anything, it's deepened into something fiercer, more territorial, more certain.
The ritual didn't cleanse us. If anything, it ignited something neither of us can extinguish.
He brushes a strand of hair from my cheek with knuckles still trembling, and the gesture lodges itself in the center of my chest.
The king steps forward, arms in the air, voice cracking through the arena like thunder. "The bond is witnessed. The Omni approves. The cleansing is complete."
The crowd answers with a roar that shakes the stone beneath my feet, but all I hear is Brax's uneven breath against my ear.
He leans in and warns, "It's done, Minx. You're mine, and the entire Underworld knows it." He threads his fingers through mine and turns toward the exit, pulling me with him through the smoke, the ash, and the consequences of our vows.
18
Brax
The gong slams through the arena three times, each strike rolling over my bones with enough weight to rattle the breath out of my lungs. The crowd reacts, their heads snapping up, and new whispers surging into a single shiver of sound. They're hawks, waiting for more prey, and Valentina and I are it.
I lock my hand over Valentina's waist and move her toward the exit. The dry heat and ash burn my throat. Sweat clings to the back of my neck. The chanting still rings in my ears. Every instinct I have demands I get her out of this place before the Underworld decides we haven't performed enough for them.
She staysrigid beside me, eyes fixed ahead. Her palm is damp. Her chest rises too fast.
"Keep walking," I mutter, pushing through more members.
Her heels skid. "Wait!"
