And still—he kisses me. Deep. Slow. The kind of kiss that leaves no space. No thought. Nothing except the feel of him.
I feel his heartbeat against mine, his breath hot against my lips. The tension between us pulling so tight I don’t know if I’ll survive it.
But I don’t care. I don’t care about the war. I don’t care about anything except this. Because this—this was inevitable.
Thane’s grip is unrelenting, his hands firm as he carries me toward the picnic blanket. His lips are on my neck now, trailing slow, kisses along my skin, and my brain is rapidly losing the ability to function.
Heat coils between my legs.
My fingers find his shoulders—his hair—anything to ground myself.
I should be thinking about the lagoon, the stars blinking into existence in the evening sky. The fact thatthis—all of this—washisidea.
But all I can focus on ishim. The way he’s touching me. The way his mouth is making me completely unravel.
And before I can stop myself—
“Tell me you thought ahead. You know . . . about the wholenot making tiny Warlordssituation.”
Thane pauses, his breath warm against my neck. I feel him smirk.
Gods help me.
His teeth graze my skin, just enough to make me suck in a sharp breath before he presses a slow, burning kiss to the same spot.
And then—into my neck, voice low, rough, completely unbothered, “I take a fertility preventative.”
My brain short-circuits. Not because of what he said. Buthowhe said it. So easily. So casually. Which means—
Oh.
My mind spirals. How long has he been on it? How often has he needed it? With who?
The thought sends a sharp, unexpected heat through my chest, something territorial and ridiculous clawing up my spine before I can stop it.
I’m not jealous. I am absolutely not jealous.
But now I’m thinking about all the women before me, the ones who came so easily to him, the ones who had their hands on him, their mouths on his. The ones he didn’t hold back for. The ones who had this version of him; the one where he is kissing me senseless, holding me to him like he can’t get enough.
I hate that I’m thinking about it.
I hate even more that I want to be the last one he needs it for.
I swallow hard, dragging myself back into the present—back to the heat of his body, the way he feels under my hands.
Because while I’m spiraling—he’snot. He’s here, focused completely and utterly on me.
Then his lips are on mine again, and I stop thinking altogether.
Thane moves with effortless strength, his sculpted warrior’s body, every motion honed by years of training. He lowers me to the blanket with ease, one arm bracing me, the other supporting his weight as he hovers above me—close enough to feelevery inchof him, but never crushing.
And I can’t stop touching him.
My hands roam over his shoulders, his arms, the hard planes of his back, fingers tracing the muscles beneath his skin. I want to feel all of him. Every shift. Every breath. Every piece of tension still lingering between us.
His eyes drag over my face, dark and hungry, like he’smemorizing this moment. And then, he kisses me again. Slow, deep.
And I need him. Not just like this. Not just his hands, his mouth, his weight over me. I need to feel him. Skin to skin. Unrestrained. Unfiltered.
