Gods, I need this. Need him.
While still inside me, with one swift movement, he flips us, pulling me up, over, straddling him. I gasp, hands bracing against his chest, thighs shaking—gods, he’s everywhere.
Deep. Hard. Perfect.
A low, satisfied groan rumbles from his chest as his hands grip my hips, guiding me over him, setting the rhythm. Every movement roots deeper. Like he’s trying to brand something into me.
The friction builds—tighter, hotter, spiraling.
Then he sits up and his mouth is on me.
He tastes my breasts, his tongue flicking, teeth grazing, sucking just enough to make me moan.
“Fuck, Amara,” he murmurs between kisses. “You’re so perfect.”
I shudder, fingers threading through his hair, pressing him closer, needing more.
“So beautiful,” he breathes against my skin. “I could spend all day here.”
His hands tighten—and then henips. Once. Twice. Right overmy nipple. The sharp flicker of pain and pleasure collide—and a cry rips from my lips.
Nothing else exists except Thane’s lips on me, his hands guiding me, the delicious sensation between my thighs.
Pleasure builds and coils, not like a wave, but like the surge of power before a strike. Pulling me higher, closer, to the edge of something devastating and all-consuming.
But there’s something underneath the pleasure. Magics stirring, not at my call—but on its own.
A pulse of heat. A flicker of power beneath my skin. Coiling. Twisting. Not separate from the pleasure—but entwined with it.
I gasp, fingers digging into Thane’s shoulders, my body trembling—not just from him—but from somethingdeeper. Something ancient. Elemental.
Mine.
It’s there—awakening, rising without being called.
I don’t know if I say his name or just think it, but Thane groans beneath me, his hands holding me tight against him.
I’m so close. The pleasure builds like a rising tide—relentless, cresting, ready to break me. I can’t stop it, my magics rising with it. I feel it crackling beneath my skin, unfurling like a storm, surging with every movement, every kiss, every desperate pull of my body against his.
And I’m afraid.
What if I can’t stop it? What if it hurts him again? What if it levels this entire lagoon?
My breath hitches, panic threading through the pleasure, my body trembling with more than just need. I try to hold it back, to pull myself from the edge.
I’m about to say his name—to tell him something’s wrong—but when his mouth finds mine, I lose myself in it.
And let go.
Every thought. Every fear.
All that’s left is him: his body; his hands; the heat of his skin against mine. The way he moves, takes, gives.
It’s too much. Too sharp. Too fast.
Pleasure crests—then breaks—splitting me open.
“Thane!”
