He sucks, nips, the rhythm of kisses driving into me just as surely as the slow, desperate thrust of his hips against mine. I meet each thrust with my own as he grinds against me, only the thin fabric of his pants between us.
Our tongues slide together, a slow dance, breaths coming faster, heavier. The air around us feels electric. He tastes like fire and heat and something that is only him—wild, desperate,mine.
The door slams open.
“Thane—”
Valen’s voice cuts through the haze like a blade.
We pull apart just as Valen strides inside, already fully dressed for travel. His dark riding clothes are clean and fitted, his boots laced tight, a thin cloak hanging from his shoulders.
His gaze sweeps over the both of us—to the way I’m still tangled up against him, both of us still rumpled from sleep. Thane’s drawstring pants sit low on his hips, his bare chest rising and falling steadily against the morning light.
A slow, exasperated sigh. “Of course.”
I clear my throat, sitting up straighter while pulling the blanket up higher. “Morning, Valen.”
He does not look amused. “We leave in an hour. Be ready.”
Without waiting for a reply, he turns on his heel and strides out. The door slams behind him.
A long silence. Then—a low chuckle from Thane.
I blink up at him. “Did you just laugh?”
He smirks—wicked, unapologetic.
“Sorry,” he mutters. “Forgot to lock the door.”
A beat.
His mouth quirks. “You should probably go first.”
I glance down—and by the gods, the sight nearly undoes me.
The tension in his body. The tight clench of his jaw. And, most telling of all—the unmistakable evidence of his arousal pressing against the front of his drawstring pants.
Heat curls low in my belly. Satisfaction slices through me, sweet and sharp.
I bite my lower lip.
“Now, you two! Horses are ready—we leavenow!” Valen barks from behind the door, clearly done with this entire situation.
We sigh in unison.
“Yeah,” I murmur, grinning at Thane. “You should probably let me go first.”
He doesn’t move. And gods, part of me doesn’t want to either.
But the world is waiting.
Reluctantly, I ease from the bed, reaching for my clothes. As I cross the room, I feel it—his gaze.
Still on me, still burning.
Like he’s already deciding when—not if—he’ll finish what we started.
A HIDDEN PASSAGEWAY
