“He will never be you.”
His eyes burned, shadowed by fury and longing both.
And still, he whispered, raw as an open wound, “I cannot give you what he can, Amerei.”
She drew in a breath like she might protest—
but instead, her hands slid down his arms, trying to soothe the fire raging in him.
She reached for his belt.
“What are you doing?” he demanded, voice rough with disbelief, pulling her hands away.
She straddled him.
Held his face.
Kissed him like he was life and she was drowning.
“Let me,” she gasped into his mouth, “love you.”
He caught her wrists—gently, but his grip was iron, steadying the blaze in him. His jaw clenched, eyes fierce with something close to indignation.
“I won’t let you do this, Amerei. We forbade it.”
“Yet you deny me now?”
He was stunned.
By her voice. Her boldness. The look in her eyes that needed him—fire and all.
“You… want this?”
“I want you.”
Her voice cracked. Her kiss deepened.
“All I thought of, the whole ride here, was stripping off your armor and dragging you to our bed.”
His eyes dropped—her soaked linen clung to her breasts, her thighs flush to his. The sight made his control fray like torn cloth. His fury gave way to hunger, anger folding into want until his restraint nearly snapped.
“You’re not sore?” he asked, voice ragged.
She smiled.
“Líri gave me silverleaf. I’m well. I promise—”
He kissed her.
Like drowning, and she was the breath.
Like shadow, and she was the light breaking through.
Like water, washing every sorrow from him.
“I am not whole,” he whispered against her lips. “But I am yours.”
Her voice broke in a whimper.
