Yes. We'll try again.
"I would like that," I whispered.
Something shifted in his expression. The playfulness faded, replaced by something raw. Something that looked almost vulnerable on his sharp features.
He stood from his stool and turned me on mine, positioning himself between my knees. His hands cupped my face, tilting it up toward him, and for a moment he just looked at me.
Studied me.
Memorized me.
"I waited my entire life for you. Years of emptiness. Years of wondering if I was broken beyond repair, incapable of the connection that came so easily to others."
I placed my hands over his, holding him against my cheeks.
"And then I saw your photograph, and everything made sense." His thumbs traced my cheekbones. "The waiting. The emptiness. The violence I couldn't explain even to myself. It was all because I was incomplete, Beloved. Half a creature, searching for its other half."
"Rook. . ."
"You made me whole." His forehead pressed against mine, his breath mingling with mine. "You, Willow. My Beloved. My Queen. My other half."
And then he kissed me.
Not the venomous assault from the padded cell. Not the claiming possession from the operating table.
This kiss was different.
This kiss was a sensual conversation.
His lips moved against mine with devastating tenderness, speaking words that language couldn't hold.
I love you. I need you. I will spend eternity proving that you made the right choice.
I responded in kind, my mouth opening to him, my tongue sliding against his in a dance that felt as old as time.
I know. I know. I feel it too.
The kiss deepened, and I tasted salt, coffee, and something that was purelyhim—that dark, addictive essence that my cells now craved like oxygen.
His hands slid from my face to my neck, thumbs pressing gently against my pulse points, feeling my heart race for him. Then lower, over my shoulders, pushing the spaghetti straps of my gown aside until the satin pooled at my waist.
"Beautiful," he murmured against my lips. "So fucking beautiful."
I arched into him as his mouth left mine, trailing down my jaw, my throat, finding the sensitive spot where my neck met my shoulder. His tongue traced patterns on my skin, and I gripped his shoulders, my nails digging into the ink of his playing card tattoos.
Then he sucked.
Hard.
I gasped as pleasure and pain collided, as blood rushed to the surface of my skin, as he marked me in the most primal way possible.
"Rook—"
His teeth sank in.
It wasn't deep enough to break skin.
Just deep enough to claim.
