“When you’re with me, I can’t think about anything else.” The confession rushed out of me in a breathless stream. “Just you. How you move. How you speak. How it would feel if?—”
I stopped myself, suddenly shy.
His hand, still cupping my cheek, shifted slightly, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw with infinite gentleness. “If?” he encouraged.
I met his gaze, gathering my courage. “If you touched me.”
A quiet sound escaped him—something between a sigh and a groan. Then he was leaning in, slowly, deliberately, giving me every opportunity to stop him. I didn’t. I rose onto my knees on the sofa cushions, meeting him halfway.
The first kiss was impossibly gentle—soft, exploring, full of restrained reverence. I felt the delicate warmth of his lips and the profound tenderness in his touch. One of his hands slid to the small of my back, supporting me as I leaned into him, while the other remained cupped against my cheek, his thumb stroking my skin in a hypnotic rhythm.
When I deepened the kiss, opening my mouth slightly, he responded with a low rumble that vibrated through my entire body. His tongue traced my lower lip before dipping inside to explore, and I tasted the tea we’d been drinking, mixed with that intoxicating wildness. My hands, which had been braced against his chest, drifted upward, my fingers tracing the powerful line of his shoulders, then the base of his horns.
He broke the kiss with a sharp intake of breath, pulling back just enough to look at me. His dark eyes were intense, almost feral, and I could see the war within him—the desire warring with caution. My fingers still rested against the smooth surface of his horns, and I could feel the heat emanating from them, the solid strength beneath.
“Clara,” he said, his voice rougher than before. “You should…”
“What?” I whispered, my thumb stroking the ridge of his horn. “Should what?”
A shudder ran through his powerful frame. “Be careful.”
“I’m tired of being careful,” I admitted, my other hand finding its way to the back of his neck, where the fur was thickest, surprisingly soft against my palm. “I want more.”
“Are you sure?” he said, his gaze holding mine.
“I’m sure,” I said, though my heart was racing. “Are you?”
His answer was to kiss me again, deeper this time, more demanding. His arms wrapped around my waist, lifting me effortlessly until I was straddling his lap, my dress bunching around my thighs. The movement sent my teacup tumbling from the sofa arm to the carpet, but I barely registered the soft thud.
All my awareness narrowed to him—his massive body supporting mine, the warmth radiating from him, the way his hands spanned my back, pulling me closer until my aching breasts rubbed against the hardness of his chest. One of his hands slid down my side, tracing the curve of my hip with a deliberate slowness that made me shiver.
The kiss deepened, his initial restraint giving way to something more primal, more urgent. His other hand slid from my face to my hair, tangling in the strands, cradling the back of my head. I melted against him, my own hands finding their way to his shoulders, feeling the incredible strength coiled beneath my fingertips.
I grew bolder, my fingers exploring upward, discovering the texture of the fur at his neck—thicker there, more coarse—then higher still until I reached the base of his horns. They weresmooth and warm, the bone seeming to pulse with life beneath my touch. He groaned against my mouth, the sound vibrating through me, igniting something wild and reckless in my core.
I felt more than heard the low rumble in his chest, a vibration that seemed to travel from his body into mine, settling somewhere deep and low. His other hand moved to my thigh, the touch both possessive and reverent. The contrast between his careful control and the raw power I could feel barely contained within him was intoxicating. I pressed closer, wanting more, needing to feel the full weight of him against me.
As if reading my thoughts, his powerful arms encircled me, drawing me against the solid wall of his chest. The world tilted as he shifted us, laying me back against the sofa cushions with a gentleness that belied his strength. He followed me down, his massive frame hovering over mine, supporting his weight on one arm to keep from crushing me.
The sight of him above me—his dark eyes hooded with desire, his magnificent horns silhouetted against my ceiling—stole my breath. This was Rion, my Rion, the quiet, reserved builder of labyrinths and baker of bread, transformed by passion into something fierce and primordial. And yet, even now, I could see his careful control, the way he held himself back, mindful of his strength.
“Clara,” he breathed, his voice rougher than I’d ever heard it. “Are you certain? This is…”
“Everything I want,” I finished for him, reaching up to trace the strong line of his jaw, feeling the texture of his fur against my palm. “I’ve never been more certain of anything.”
Something like wonder crossed his features, as if he couldn’t quite believe my words. I answered by drawing him down for another kiss, this one slower, deeper, an exploration rather than a conquest. My hands roamed the broad expanse of his back, feeling the powerful muscles shift beneath my touch. His own hand remained careful, reverent, as it traced the curve of my waist before sliding up to close over my breast. The contact sent a jolt of pure desire through me, and I arched into his touch, silently asking for more.
He obliged, his thumb brushing against my nipple through the fabric of my dress, sending waves of pleasure coursing through me. I could feel the massive length of him pressing against my thigh, a testament to his desire despite his restraint. The realization that this powerful being was holding himself back for my sake was both humbling and incredibly arousing.
“Don’t hold back with me,” I whispered against his lips. “I want all of you.”
A groan rumbled deep in his chest, vibrating through both our bodies. His control began to fray at the edges, the careful restraint giving way to a more primal urgency. His kisses became hungrier, more demanding, while his hands grew bolder in their exploration. One slid beneath me, cupping the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair as he angled my head to deepen the kiss. The other traced the curve of my hip, then down to my thigh, where he hooked my leg around his waist, pulling me flush against him.
The friction of our bodies through the layers of clothing was exquisite torture and I whimpered, desperate for more. His hand slid under my dress, curving over my ass before finding its way beneath the elastic of my panties. I gasped as his large, calloused fingers explored the sensitive flesh, firm and confident.
I arched against him, silently asking for more, and he obliged, one finger slipping between my folds to find the sensitive bundle of nerves already swollen with need. His touch sent jolts of pleasure through me, leaving me breathless and dizzy.
“Rion,” I gasped, my hips moving instinctively against his hand. “Please…”
