“Eyes of the moon, Syla, if you didn’t exist, who would have brought me… what did you say that is?”
“A three-day-old apple tart.”
“It’s magnificent.” Vorik gripped her shoulders and leaned back so he could look into her eyes, and the moisture in them touched him. The tears weren’t for Jhiton—she was probably relieved he was gone—but born out of sympathy for him, for his distress. Of everyone onboard, nobody could know more than she what it was like to lose family. “You’remagnificent,” he added. “And I’m going to help you reclaim your throne.”
“I really do love you,” she whispered.
“As you should.” Vorik smirked, then lifted her spectacles from her nose and set them on the table with the dessert. They could enjoy that later. But now…
Syla slid her arms up around his shoulders and kissed him, her thoughts seeming to match his.
Vorik returned the kiss more gently than he might otherwise have, but he was drained after the long night, after losing so much. He sensed the same in Syla, a need for comfort as much as sex. But he enjoyed the touch of their lips as he slid his hands over the curves of her body. He had lost so much, but he had her, and she loved him.
Maybe there shouldn’t have been tears as they kissed, but their lips were salty, their regrets mingling with their passion. Mourning as much as love brought them together, a need for mutual support, something to remind them that they’d lost much, buttheywere still alive.
He trailed his fingers down her throat, then around to rub the back of her neck, to relax her even as he aroused her. And aroused himself. The heat of her body pressing against his made the memories—the horrors—of the last couple of days fade, at least for a time.
They undressed each other, hands roaming, desire growing. Her fingers threaded through his hair, nails grazing his scalp, and his entire body went taut with need.
“Oh, Syla,” he whispered, cupping her with his hands, making sure to please her as he relished her touch on his body.
He slid his fingers from her breasts down her abdomen and lower, brushing her, wanting to thank her for all the times she could have worked against him—could havekilledhim—and hadn’t. Her support meant so much. Now, it meant everything.
“Vorik,” she gasped as he slid his fingers into her, making her twitch toward him, wanting more stimulation, more of him. Thatwas exactly what he intended to give her. “I need—” She gripped his shoulders, fingers tight.
“Me?” He smiled, then lowered his mouth to her breast as he stroked her below, feeling her readiness. Even under the worst of circumstances, she always responded to him, always wanted him. He loved that. He loved her.
“You,” she agreed, arching toward him.
His need growing more intense, Vorik lifted Syla onto the bed. As soon as he came down beside her, he shifted atop her to feel her wonderful curves against his chest, then returned to kissing her, stroking and tasting her mouth as his fingers explored her lower depths. Her heated core throbbed with eagerness, inviting him in.Needinghim in.
Her fingers flexed and tightened on his shoulders as she rocked into his touch. Already she panted, sweat glistening on her skin. It was so hot.Shewas hot.
A part of him wanted to linger, making the moment last, but he’d grown so hard. And when she lowered a hand, wrapping it around his thick shaft, her fingers were electric. He caught himself groaning and pushing into her touch.
“I need you,” she whispered, breathless.
“You’re so demanding, my queen,” he said, realizing he was breathless as well. Her hand on his cock was so intensely arousing as she flexed her fingers around him. “Syla.”
“Vorik.” She spread her legs and drew him to her.
“Syla. My beautiful Syla.” He drank her in with his eyes as he plunged into her, his desire to be gentle waning as lust flared within him. But she took him eagerly, as she always did, her passion-filled eyes saying his powerful thrusts were exactly what she wanted. She even cried out, begging for him to plunge into her again, faster, harder. For a fleeting second, he thought of what the guards in the corridor might hear, but as he sank into her, her hands gripping and rubbing his shoulders and armsas she arched up to meet his every plunge, he forgot them. He forgot his losses and his angst and regrets. He forgot everything but Syla for whom it was all worth it.
Her cry of ecstasy when she came made him so happy that he followed right after, pouring himself into her, wanting to claim her, wanting her to be his forever. Soon, they collapsed together, sated. Wondrously sated.
“Vorik,” Syla whispered, her breathing still heavy, their chests pressed together, their arms wrapped around each other. “Thank you for coming.”
He knew she meant in the mine, but he smiled and nuzzled the side of her neck. “I’ll always come for you. I even come for you when you’re not around.”
“Really,” she said, dryness in her tone as she ran her hands along his back, sliding them over his butt and squeezing him.
“Every night,” he assured her. “Sometimes in the middle of the day as well. I love you.”
He shifted to his side, pulling her over so they remained close upon the sheets, sweaty and spent and satisfied.
“I love you,” he repeated, so she would know he meant it, that it wasn’t his sated lust speaking.
“I love you too.” She kissed him, her eyes glistening again. Not from sorrow this time, he thought, but because his love meant something to her. Maybe it meant a lot. He was glad. But she looked so serious that he had to lighten his tone for his next words.
