And again.
His hips moved on their own now.
Pulling out.
Slamming back in.
Fucking her the way he'd been dying to since the moment he'd seen her standing in that burning city.
Enough.
Gritting his teeth, Korin took back control and pressed his forehead against hers. Even now—beast raging, fire climbing, bed splintering—he needed her eyes.
Needed to see that she was still with him.
Still choosing this.
And then the pleasure became so overwhelming that he couldn't stop, even if she begged. Couldn't slow down. The beast inside him had taken over again, and all he could do was claim her.
Sol's hands flew to his back and her nails raked down his skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake.
The gold thread between them hummed. Every thrust vibrated through it—his pleasure racing to Sol, her pleasure racing back, doubling and redoubling until he couldn't tell whose sensation was whose. The thread was so thick now he could almost feel the weight of it in his chest.
This is what it's supposed to feel like. This is what we waited a century for. Does she even understand what is happening?
"Korin! Oh Gods!"
He slammed into her so hard the bed cracked. Wood splintered. The frame groaned.
And then Korin roared.
The sound tore from his throat.
Primal.
Unstoppable.
Fire exploded from his mouth.
It shot across the bed, across the room, hitting the silk sheets and the carved posts.
Flames erupted.
The bed caught fire.
The walls glowed orange.
But Sol didn't burn.
The fire hit her skin and made the dark brown flesh shimmer to gold and bronze. Like she was made of starlight and flame.
She was beautiful.
Korin fucked her harder.
The bed was breaking beneath them.
The room was burning.
