Deep and quiet and wrapped around me like he’s afraid I’ll slip through the cracks if he lets go. His arms are caged around my ribs, one hand resting against my breast, the other splayed across my stomach like a claim. My thighs ache in the best way. My skin is still damp, flushed, tingling from a dozen things I don’t have the words for.
My breath catches when I shift slightly and feel the slow throb of him still nestled inside.
It’s obscene. It’s perfect.
I smile.
“Still here,” I whisper, just to see if he’s awake.
“Of course I am,” Vrok rumbles against my neck, voice lower than I’ve ever heard it.
I hum. “Wasn’t sure.”
“You think I’d fuck you like that and leave?”
“I don’t know what to think,” I admit.
His grip tightens infinitesimally. “You think too much.”
I twist just enough to look at him—golden eyes barely open, watching me like I’m a sunrise he doesn’t trust to come back tomorrow. There’s no mask on his face. No smirk, no sneer, nobravado. Just this raw, open stare that makes my ribs feel like they’re made of rice paper.
“I think I’m in trouble,” I say softly.
He brushes his knuckles down my cheek. “You always were.”
It should scare me. Should make me bolt, snap some sarcastic comment, make a joke to sidestep the panic. But I don’t. I just sink deeper into him, into the heat and weight and scent of him—spice and smoke and sweat and safety.
We don’t move for a long time.
But eventually I shift under him, slow and deliberate, and he groans like he’s being tortured.
“You’re gonna start something,” he mutters.
“I thought I already did.”
His cock twitches inside me, thick and pulsing, and I bite back a gasp as his body rouses from rest. It’s different this time—slower, heavier, more reverent. His hips roll forward, grinding us together in a lazy thrust that lights up my spine.
“Vrok,” I breathe.
“I’m here.”
He moves again. Gentle. Full.
I cling to him, nails sinking into the ridges along his shoulders, my lips brushing his jaw, his throat, anywhere I can reach. He takes his time, each push deeper than the last, each drag of his spurs drawing breathy gasps from my mouth.
“I feel… weird,” I whisper.
He grunts, not breaking rhythm. “Bond’s waking up.”
“What bond?”
“Jalshagar.”
I blink. “That soul mate thing?”
“Yeah.”
I try to keep my voice light. “Shouldn’t there be, like… a ceremony?”
