And when he does?
My body is no longer mine.
I pant, barely catching a breath before the rhythm steals it again.
Every thrust rocks me forward against the bed, deep and slow and devastating.
My nerves are lit like a storm of sparks beneath my skin.
My pulse is a drumbeat in every inch of me.
The feeling is unbearable and exquisite, all at once.
My fingers curl into the sheets.
My toes flex.
My body arches under his, desperate for more, greedy for every drag and glide and claiming press.
I try to speak, to say something—his name, a plea, a vow—but the words dissolve in my throat.
Because this isn’t just sex.
It isn’t even just passion.
It’s possession.
It’s devotion.
It’s love.
A love forged in fire and bound by flame.
His fire.
Mine now, too.
Because this is our zareth—our bond.
And he is mine.
My Demon.
My Thorne.
Mine.
This is so much more than anything I could ever have imagined my life would be.
This is me giving myself to a man who—God help me—might just be the other half of my soul.
“Mine. My viyella,” he murmurs, voice breaking.
“Yours,” I whisper.
And I mean it. So fucking much.
I’m his.
