“Gods—” His voice is raw. “Your mouth feels so fucking good on me.”
The words land like a promise . . . like a warning.
I don’t just want to taste him. I want to remind him—this body, this moment—it’s real. I slide my mouth up, then down, slowly, savoring the way his body reacts beneath me.
Thane gasps, his breath ragged, his grip tightening on the sheets.
I do it again.
His thighs tremble, his muscles flexing beneath my hands as I take him deeper. I grip the base of him, stroking in time with my movements, my tongue gliding over him as I slide my mouth over him again and again.
A deep, shattered groan escapes him, his fingers twitching like he wants to touch me—to thread through my hair, to pull me closer—but he’s fighting it.
And gods, I love watching him unravel at my touch.
Thane’s breath shudders, his body taut beneath me, trembling with restraint. Then, a rough, desperate groan.
His eyes meet mine, wide, his pupils so big I see only a trace of that smoke gray ringing them. But beneath the heat, I see it: awe. Like he still can’t believe I came back to him.
“I need to be inside you.Now.”
His hands find me, firm but careful, gripping my arms as he pulls me up to him. His touch is gentle, careful where he placeshis hands, mindful of my healing wound even as his desire burns.
I barely have time to catch my breath before his lips crash against mine, hot and demanding, stealing what little control I had left.
We’re sitting up now, his hands framing my face as his mouth claims mine. The kiss is deep, tongues tangling, reaching, searching—like he’s trying to drown in me.
I kiss him back just as hungrily, just as desperately.
Then he pulls away—breath ragged, lips wet and swollen from mine. His eyes burn into me, dark and unwavering, anchoring me to this moment. But then . . . he frowns. Just slightly. His gaze shifts as he looks at me, something shadowed flickering behind it.
And I can’t help but wonder—why? Why here, now, when I’m straddling his bare body, skin pressed to skin? Why does he suddenly feel . . . distant? Like there’s something he hasn’t said. Something he’s still afraid I’ll see.
But before I can say anything, he moves.
Slow. Deliberate. Worshipful.
He slides down the thin strap of my sleep gown, fingers grazing my skin, dragging trails of fire. Then, his lips follow, pressing a slow kiss to my bare shoulder, like I’m something holy.
A shiver rolls through me, my breath catching in my throat.
He takes his time, easing the fabric down, pulling it away, exposing me inch by inch. When my gown slips to my waist, his eyes flicker back to mine, checking to see if the pain is too much—if this is okay.
I nod, wordless, aching for him.
Thane pulls it over my head, his hands gentle. He lets my sleeping gown fall to the floor, forgotten. One hand settles on my hip, the other cups the back of my neck.
Then, with a feather-light touch, he traces his fingers down past my collarbone, then along the outer curve of my left breast, soft, reverent.
I tilt my head, a question in my eyes. Why the shift in energy?
I know I’m still healing, but he’s being more careful with me than necessary. The healers cleared me yesterday. Valen already has plans to put me back into training today.
But Thane doesn’t speak. His gaze drops—to my breasts. His fingers trace the curve of one—light, exploratory. Goosebumps rise in the wake of his touch. Then his hand closes around it—firm, warm. Slow. Measured.
I inhale sharply, my back arching, head tipping back as sensation rolls through me. I feel the wetness gathering at my slit and lose myself in the sensation of his hand on me.
His hand glides from my hip to my back, bracing me just before his mouth closes over my breast. I bite my lower lip, a gasp caught in my throat—every nerve sparking, alive beneath his tongue.
