His words gut me. Because they’re a choice: the past or the present?
“I’m here,” I murmur, gripping the furs in my clenched fists to anchor myself here. “I’m with you,” I promise.
“I’ll hold you,” he offers, sitting on the bed next to me, gently squeezing my leg.
“I want a night to remember, Kael. I can’t let the past own me. Will you give that to me?” I ask, conflicted and broken.
“Always,” he promises.
Kael stands, shrugging out of his shirt, and the night air kisses the breadth of him—broad shoulders carved like a sculptor’s obsession, muscles taut with restrained power, veins tracing down his forearms like rivers of strength. Constellations inked across his chest catch the silver wash of Starlight that peeks through the windows, making it seem as though the cosmos themselves were branded into his flesh. He looks less like a man and more like a god unmasked—beautiful, terrible, inevitable.
The Lightborne and Sky must tread as one.
“The Sky,” I breathe, reminding myself that it’s always been him. I swallow thickly at the sight, because gods, he’s fucking beautiful.
His gorgeous smirk returns, and the sight of it turns me molten.
“Will you let me undress you, Elyssara?” he requests, eyes hooded with barely restrained need. The outline of his cock presses against his trousers, and my breathing starts to become ragged, unhinged.
I press into my elbows to sit up on the edge of the bed. “Yes,” I allow.
“Arms up, darling,” he instructs.
I raise my arms above my head obediently, and he unclasps my leather armor and pulls my tunic over my head with a gentleness that contradicts every hard line of his body.
I want to cover myself—to wrap my arms around myself to shield his eyes from my scars. My brand. To spare myself his pity. But I resist. My scars won’t own my present either.
“Don’t even think about hiding yourself from me,” he demands, noticing the way I shrink into myself. “I want all of you, Elyssara.”
I swallow down my discomfort, but force myself to sit taller. To wear my wounds like proof of survival.
“Better,” Kael approves, and his encouragement emboldens me. “My woman hides from no one.” His eyes drink me in like I am nectar of the gods themselves.
My breasts hang low and heavy on my chest, desperate for his touch. His claim.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathes, staring at me as if I am born of Starlight itself.
My chest rises and falls in anticipation, and ripples of arousal bloom in my core.
“Stand for me,” he directs, his voice a heady mix of claim and direction.
I obey. Unable to resist the way he owns the moment. Owns it without pretense.
He unties my leathers with deft fingers that know what to do. I don’t move. I’m under his spell. And I’m glad of it.
He slips my undergarments and leather trousers over my hips, and slowly, he pulls them down, tracing the full length of my legs with his thumbs.
His eyes land on my pussy, wet and swollen with need, heat in his eyes. He rakes his gaze upward, lingering on every curve, every dip, every scar. “You are everything I begged the Stars for,” he murmurs, voice rough and low.
My breath hitches. But I can’t say anything. Not yet. It’s too soon.
“I know you’re not ready, but that won’t stop me from telling you of your beauty. My woman deserves nothing less.”
My woman.
I hate it, but the words push my arousal to the edge—I need touch.
I need to feel something forme.
