“Beautiful and resourceful too. I may have underestimated you, little one.”
She lifts her chin, eyes sparkling despite the tears still clinging to her lashes.
“You may have.”
I reach out and stroke her hair away from her face, letting my thumb linger against her cheek. Gods, how did I ever think I could let her go?
“Then are you ready to bond with me—really form a full Soul Bond?” I ask.
She frowns slightly, thoughtful rather than afraid.
“I thought we already had a bond or some kind of connection. I felt it—I kept having dreams of you—it’s how I knew you were in trouble.”
Her words strike deep. So she felt it too.
“We have a partial bond,” I tell her gently. “In order to form a full Soul-Bond we’ll need to have our own little ritual.”
“A ritual?” she asks. “Like the one I did with my book club?”
I shake my head, a quiet chuckle escaping me.
“Nothing like that. This ritual would be more…intimate.”
My gaze darkens, heat coiling low in my body as I let the implication settle between us.
“I’ll need to take you and bite you at the moment of climax.”
I lean in, giving her a slow, lingering kiss—one meant to promise all the pleasure I can give her—and then I look into her eyes.
“Can you do that, sweetheart? Can you give me your blood and your body to tie us together forever?”
She gives a little moan, soft and unguarded, and leans forward to kiss me back, her desire unmistakable now, sweet and heady in the air between us.
“Yes,” she whispers, breath warm against my lips. “Yes—I want that. I want all of you.”
“Good girl,” I growl, my control tightening as my body responds instantly. Mine, an ancient part of me snarls—I can’t wait to claim her.
“We won’t do it right away—I need a little time to heal and prepare. But soon, I promise, I’ll bond you to me,” I tell her.
She snuggles close, fitting against me as if she was always meant to be here.
“I can’t wait.”
Neither can I.
As I hold her, I make a silent vow—to myself, to her, to whatever powers still listen.
I will not make her wait for long.
75
Jules
The air in the sex dungeon is cool—scented with leather, polished metal, and the faint, clean smell of masculine spice which makes me think of Lucian.
I’m lying on a wide, padded bench upholstered in deep crimson velvet, the soft material cool against my bare ass and thighs. My heart is drumming against my ribs, a mix of nervous anticipation and pure, liquid excitement that pools low in my belly.
The special outfit Lucian chose for me to wear during our Bonding ritual is a work of art—a black corset made of buttery-soft leather, laced so it emphasizes the curve of my waist and pushes my breasts up into the demi-cups. The cups cradle the full underswells of my breasts perfectly, but the nipples are left completely exposed, tight and sensitive in the cool air, already aching for his touch.
