I slow my pace.
“Andrik, no. Don’t you dare?—”
“Stop panicking, thralae,” I rasp. “I’m not stopping, I just need you to do something for me first.”
I withdraw completely, and she makes a sound of pure frustration.
“I’m going to kill you.”
“Shh, Saelûn,” I murmur, releasing the bindings. They unwind slowly, leaving faint frost-etched patterns across her skin.
“I need you to trust me.”
I shift back slightly, giving her space to move. My hands find her hips, guiding her gently as I reposition her, until she‘s facing me.
“Straddle my lap.”
She hesitates, rage flickering in her eyes, tempered by desire.
“Velorin,” I vow, voice low. “I’m going to make you come so hard you forget everything but my name. But first?—”
I ease her into place. Her thighs slide over mine, her molten heat settling against my kaevûn. Even through my pants, I can feel how soaked she is. Her arousal brands me through the layers.
We’re eye to eye now, the mirror behind her capturing the full arc of her spine, the soft tension in her shoulders.
“I want you to mark me,” I rasp.
Her eyes widen. “What?”
I tilt my head slightly, antlers catching and fracturing the firelight. I tap the base of the left one, where it meets my skull, the most sensitive spot.
“Here. Carve your name into my antler. Skarae’n ves kaemorin.” (Mark me as yours.)
“Andrik—”
“And while you do,” I continue, voice dropping low. “I’m going to fill you with my fingers again. And when you’re finished carving—when you’ve marked me permanently—then I’ll let you come.”
I raise my hand. Frost coils around my palm until I’m holding a small ice dagger.
“Ael’tharvin kai vel’morin,” I whisper, guiding it into her hand. (Carve yourself into me.)
She stares at the dagger in her hand, then at my antlers, then back at me.
“You’re... serious?” Her voice cracks.
“Veyr’tharae, Saelûn,” I whisper, pressing it into her palm. (Completely serious, soulmate.) “Mark me. Make me yours the way I’m about to make you mine.”
Her breath stutters. She lifts the dagger, positioning the tip against the base of my antler.
The moment it connects, I feel it—sharp and cold... and unbearably right.
“Start with the ‘L,’” I murmur, slipping two frost-kissed fingers back inside her.
“And don’t stop, no matter what I do to you.”
She presses the blade into my antler. Searing pain lashes through me. My vision flashes white.
I growl low in my throat, eyes flaring. Her body tightens instantly, already fluttering around me.
