21
LORENTH
The bond sits quiet in my chest—this muted whisper where there should be roaring certainty. I fucking hate it. Hate the silence, the distance, the inability tofeelher the way I did this morning when we first connected.
But she's here.
In my arms, against my mouth, breathing and whole andmine. The physical reality of Senna pressed beneath me grounds the wild panic that's been clawing through my chest since the bond went silent. I can feel her heartbeat against mine, taste her on my tongue, hear the small sounds she makes when I deepen the kiss.
It's not the bond. But it's enough.
Has to be enough until I figure out how to fix whatever Darian forced down her throat.
I try to gentle the kiss. Try to pull back before I overwhelm her, before I take too much when she's already been through hell today. She just survived a beating. Just watched me kill a man. Should probably need space, time to process everything that happened.
But Senna makes a frustrated sound against my mouth and kisses me harder.
Her fingers dig into my shoulders, nails catching fabric as she arches up into me. The movement presses every inch of her body against mine—soft curves molding to hard muscle, heat bleeding through the layers of clothing between us. She kisses me like she's drowning and I'm air. Like she needs this as much as I do.
More, maybe.
I groan into her mouth, giving her what she's demanding. My tongue sweeps deeper, tasting her thoroughly while my hand slides from her hair to grip her hip. Holding her steady as I rock against her, letting her feel exactly how much I want this. Wanther.
The small gasp she makes shoots straight to my cock.
Fuck.
I should stop. Should give her time to breathe, to recover, to?—
She breaks the kiss first, panting against my mouth. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with something that has nothing to do with fear. Storm-gray turned almost black with want.
"I need you." The words come out rough. Desperate. "Need your hands to replace all the hurt. Please."
The plea breaks something in my chest.
This stunning, brave woman who's survived years of abuse askingmeto give her pleasure. To replace pain with touch that actually matters. That actuallycares.
"I'll give you anything." The promise rumbles through my chest, absolute. "Everything. Whatever you need."
Her answering smile is tremulous but real. Trusting in a way that makes me want to tear apart anyone who ever made her doubt she deserved this.
I shift back onto my knees, giving myself room to work. My hands find the hem of her shirt—one of the new ones we boughttogether, now dusty from the road. I pull it up slowly, watching her face for any sign of hesitation.
She lifts her arms to help.
The fabric slides away and I toss it aside without looking where it lands. Can't look anywhere except at the expanse of warm brown skin revealed beneath. The soft curves of her breasts constrained by the simple undergarment. The flat plane of her stomach that should be covered in bruises but shows nothing except smooth, unblemished skin.
My magic worked.
Healed every mark Darian left on her.
I lean down and press my mouth to her ribs, right where I know his boot connected. She shivers under my lips, fingers threading through my hair as I kiss across her stomach. Trailing my mouth over every place that bastard hurt her, replacing violence with reverence.
"Beautiful." The word vibrates against her skin. "So fucking beautiful."
She makes this small, choked sound that might be a laugh or a sob. "Lorenth?—"
I silence her with another kiss to her stomach, hands sliding around to work the fastenings of her trousers. She lifts her hips to help and I peel them down her legs along with her undergarments, baring her completely.
