"Say it."
"If I want you to stop, I'll tell you." Her hands slide up my chest to curl around the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair. "But I won't. I want this. Wantyou."
The words shred what's left of my restraint.
I kiss her again, slower this time but no less intense, pouring everything I can't say into the press of my mouth against hers. My hands map the curve of her waist, the dip of her spine, learning the shape of her through the damp towel.
She whimpers—soft and wanting—and the sound goes straight through me like lightning.
"You're so beautiful," I breathe against her throat, trailing kisses along the column of her neck. "So godsdamn beautiful and you have no idea what you do to me."
"Show me." Her voice is ragged now, edged with need. "Please, Lorenth. Show me."
So I do.
My fingers find the edge of the towel where it's tucked against her chest. I pause there, giving her one last chance to change her mind.
She doesn't. Just holds my gaze, pupils blown wide with desire, and nods.
I tug the towel free.
It falls to the floor in a whisper of fabric, leaving her bare before me.
And gods.Gods.
I had her that night at the Masquerade—sank deep inside of her—but this feels different. More real. Because she's not some beautiful stranger anymore. She's Senna. My mate. The woman I'd kill for. Die for.
Live for.
And she's bare before me in my bed and smelling of my soaps. Because she's not going to run this time. And I'm going to take my time with her.
I lay her back on the bed with a care that borders on reverence, watching the way her dark curls spread across my pillows like ink spilled on snow. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, nipples peaked and begging for my mouth, skin flushed with arousal and anticipation.
She's perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect.
And she's mine.
The bond thrums in my chest, fierce and possessive, as I settle over her. Not covering her—not yet—just hovering close enough that she can feel the heat radiating off my body.
"Last time," I murmur, brushing my lips against hers, "we didn't even undress. Barely got our hands on each other before we had to rush."
Her breath hitches. "I remember."
"I'm not rushing this time." I kiss the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, working my way down the column of her throat. "I'm going to take my time with you. Learn every inch of you. Make you feel so good you forget your own name."
She whimpers—soft and needy—and her hands come up to tangle in my hair, holding me to her skin.
I take that as encouragement.
My mouth moves lower, trailing open-mouthed kisses along her collarbone, over the swell of her breast. When I close my lips around one nipple, she gasps, back arching off the bed. I lavish attention there, sucking and licking until she's squirming beneath me, then move to the other side to give it the same treatment.
"Lorenth..." My name on her lips sounds like a prayer. Like a plea.
"I know." I kiss my way down her sternum, hands sliding along her ribs. "I've got you."
The bruises Darian left are gone now—healed by my magic—but I can still see the ghost of them in my mind. Can still imagine her cowering under his fists, trying to make herself small enough to avoid his wrath.
The rage threatens to surge again but I force it down. This isn't about him. This is abouther. About showing her what it feels like to be worshipped instead of brutalized.
