I turn to Thane, my breath catching. “You . . . planned this?” My voice comes out softer than I expect.
His eyes slide to mine, steady and sure. “I did.”
I blink at him. “You? The Fire Warlord.Planned a picnic.”
His lips twitch. And then, echoing his earlier words, he murmurs, “Do you always ask this many questions?”
I shake my head, fighting the smile already tugging at my lips. “I just—I don’t even know what to say.”
“Then don’t say anything.”
His words are simple, but the way they settle over me is softer. Like something brushing my skin, light as the kiss of a butterfly.
The air wraps around us, warm and fragrant with flowers and fading sunlight. The last streaks of gold melt into twilight as the lagoon shimmers at our feet.
But I don’t care about any of that. Not right now. Not when Thane is standing in front of me, watching me like he already knows how this night is going to end.
His eyes flick down to my lips, then back up—steady. Waiting. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move away.
He’s waiting formeto move first.
I step closer and wrap my arms around him, pressing my lips to his.
Thane doesn’t hesitate. The second my lips touch his, he grabs me—hard—pulling me flush against him, his grip unyielding, his body so warm, so solid.
And he kisses me back. Desperate. Devouring. Like he’s been waiting for this as long as I have. And now there’s nothing left to stop him.
A low, gravelly sound rumbles from his chest.
His fingers dig into my waist—anchoring, dragging me closer.
Deeper.
More.
I melt into him. My hands tangle in his hair, my body pressing into every inch of him like I can’t get close enough.
The world narrows to this.
His hands on me.
My hands on him.
The heat curling between us—thick and unrelenting.
Thane doesn’t hold back. He kisses me like he means to ruin me. Like he’s starving—and I’m the only thing that will ever satisfy him.
And gods help me—I kiss him back just as fiercely.
His fingers roam, explore, sliding over my spine, my waist, pressing into my skin like he needs to memorize every inch of me. A low sound escapes him, a mix between a growl and a groan as he pulls me tighter, closer, deeper.
I fist his shirt, tugging. Needing more. Needing to feel him.Allof him.
His hands slide lower—gripping my ass. Firm. Possessive.
Then he lifts me, effortlessly—like I weigh nothing.
I gasp into his mouth, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. My body moves with his like we’ve done this a thousand times in another life.
