I let out a sigh.
Then his mouth moved higher, trailing along my thigh, and all thought evaporated like morning mist.
“Rydian—”
“Shh.” His breath ghosted over my center, and my hips jerked off the bed. “Let me worship you properly.”
He was merciless. Thorough. His tongue traced patterns against my most sensitive flesh while his hands pinned my hips to the bed, keeping me exactly where he wanted me. The shadows around us grew thicker, darker, as if responding to his focus, his intensity.
I fisted my hands in the furs beneath me and held on for dear life.
“You taste like sunshine,” he murmured against me, and the vibration of his voice made me gasp. “I thought you would. I dreamed about this. Dreamed about you spread out beneath me, making those sounds, coming apart on my tongue.”
His words should have been obscene. Instead, they felt like poetry.
He sealed his lips around that bundle of nerves and sucked, and I came apart for the second time with a cry that echoed off the shadowed walls. My fingers found his hair, gripping tight, holding him to me as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through my body. He worked me through it, gentling gradually, pressing soft kisses to my oversensitive flesh until I stopped shaking.
When he finally lifted his head, his eyes were dark with want, and his lips were wet. He looked like a man who had found exactly what he was searching for.
“Come here,” I breathed, reaching for him.
He crawled up my body, shadows trailing in his wake, until his weight settled over me—solid and warm and real. His forearms braced on either side of my head, caging me in, and I wrapped my arms around his neck to pull him down.
The kiss was deep and desperate and tasted like me.
I felt him position himself at my entrance, the blunt pressure making my breath catch. His forehead dropped to mine.
“Look at me,” he said softly.
I opened my eyes. Found his—gray as storm clouds, bright as lightning, full of something that made my heart clench.
“I love you,” he said. “I should have told you before. Should have told you a hundred times instead of pretending I could let you go.”
Tears pricked at my lashes. “I love you too. Even when you're impossible.”
His laugh was rough.
He slid inside me in one long, slow stroke.
My back arched, a gasp tearing free as my body stretched to accommodate him. He was everywhere—above me, inside me, all around me. His shadows curled along my arms, my waist, threading between my fingers like they wanted to hold me too.
“Okay?” he asked, jaw tight with the effort of staying still.
“More than okay.” I rolled my hips, testing, and we both groaned. “Move. Please.”
He did.
Slowly at first—long, deep strokes that hit something profound inside me. His eyes never left mine, watching every flicker of sensation that crossed my face.
“So tight,” he breathed. “So perfect. Made for me, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” The word spilled out before I could stop them. “Always.”
His rhythm faltered, something raw and reverent flashing in his gaze. Then he kissed me, hard, and began to move faster.
I met him thrust for thrust, my nails raking down his back, over the tattoos that marked his ribs. He made a sound against my mouth—half growl, half prayer—and drove into me deeper.
The pleasure built again, impossible and consuming. Every nerve in my body sang where we were connected. His shadows writhed around us, responding to every catch of breath, every whispered word.
