Viktor’s hands shook as he reached the ribbon at her nape, easing it loose. His fingers grazed her skin, and a shudder went through him so fierce he had to steady himself on the wall.
I want her. I don’t know how to stand here and not take her. Not lose myself completely in her. I’m fecking shaking.
“Thank you.” She drew in a breath. “Give me one moment.”
She stepped away, and his hands hovered where she had been. A heartbeat ago she was within his reach, pressed to his chest; now distance stretched between them like a wound.
He stripped off his tunic in a single pull, belt next, boots last. He didn’t reach for nightclothes—what madness would put linen between her skin and his? Not tonight. He stayed in his smallclothes, bare chest rising against the ache.
She’s in the next room. And she… stars help me, she might actually mean to come to me. Like that. As my wife.
He raked his hands through his hair, fists locking at his nape the way he once steadied his helm before battle.
She trusts me. If she falters—if she isn’t ready—I cannot break that trust.
He turned—and the world stopped.
There she was.
His bride.
Her gown lay pooled at her feet, a ripple of silken white. Torchlight caught the curve of her shoulder, her hair spilling down her back, her breath unsteady but unafraid. All that adorned her now was the amethyst at her throat, the sapphire glint at her navel, and her wedding band—hiswedding band.
Her hair tumbled like something meant for his hands, framing her every breath, her every heartbeat.
And for one fractured moment, Viktor forgot how to breathe at all.
Mine. Dask—she’s mine.
His chest tightened, his blood roaring hot. He couldn’t just look—his body wouldn’t allow it. She was his. And she had never given herself to anyone.
He crossed the space in two strides, one hand cradling her face before sliding back, tangling in her hair, tilting her head just enough to bare her throat. His thumb swept the line of her jaw.
“Amerei…” His voice came low, ragged.
She stood before him, unflinching, her breasts rising with each uneven breath. Her eyes lifted, steady on his. Then she took his hand and pressed it over her heart, bare skin to bare skin, her pulse thundering against his palm.
“I’m not afraid anymore.”
The words detonated inside him.
His restraint burned to ash.
He seized her mouth in a kiss so deep it felt like claiming a vow with his tongue, his soul, his fire. His hands roamed lower, mapping every line, every curve of her body as though he had the right to memorize what no one else had ever touched.
She gasped against his lips—the sound sin and salvation—snapping something primal loose.
With one fierce motion he caught her thighs in his arms and lifted her as though she weighed nothing, crushing her chest to his. Her laugh broke on a cry when his strength stole her breath, when she felt just how badly he needed her.
He tore the sheets back with a desperate hand and lowered her onto the bed, his body following until she was caged beneath him—heat and muscle and hunger pressing in until her whole body quaked. His breath seared her lips, eyes dark and blazing.
“Tell me, Amerei,” he rasped, voice raw, unrestrained.
“Tell me you’re mine. Tell me you want me to ruin you.”
Her fingers clutched at his shoulders, dragging him closer.
“I want you, Viktor,” she panted, eyes fierce even through the tremor of her voice. “All of you. Only you.”
