He hurls a wall of black flames at me and all I can do is throw a barrier up to avoid being scorched. He’s right. There’s no way I can attack him while I have my shield up. But there’s also no way I can drop it without being burned alive.
So, I do what any sane female would do. I start screaming.
He yanks his magic back to him. His eyes are wide, concern and panic etched across every line in his face. Good. “Wh?—”
I hurl my own fire back at him, and it speeds toward him. He throws up his shield and I pour more magic into my fire, the white flames licking at every surface, searching the unyielding shield for some entrance.
They find none. I pull back, letting the fire recede but still surrounding Asmo in a writhing circle. He watches me over the flames, the reflection dancing in his dark eyes. His black locks are now curled at the ends from brushing against his sweat-slicked forehead, and my heart skips a beat.
His words from yesterday have been on repeat in my mind since we left the cabin.Why do you keep pushing this away? Did he kill what’s mine?
What if this male is who I was destined for? What if he’s the one who can heal me? What if I dare to give it a chance? What if I just stopped fighting it and gave in? Would the regret ease? Would the pain of my decisions lessen? Maybe it would help me make sense of it all. Maybe I had to choose Marik to have Asmo.
Maybe my heart had to bleed, a sacrifice for a love worth having.
“Asmo,” I whisper, striding toward him, coaxing my flames to part as I step through them. Heat pulses from them, but they don’t burn me. He drops the shield and I reach for him. For the male who brought me back from the brink of death. For the male who threw away a life for me. For the male who has held a piece of my heart in his hand since I first met him, just as I’ve held his.
“Mae,” he whispers.
I wrap my arms around his neck and press my body to his. My heart riots in my chest. “Nobody could ever kill what’s yours.”
It’s the truth. Despite all that we’ve been through, what I feel for him has only strengthened. It feels immortal. In life, and in death, somehow, I know it will be there.
My hands find their way to the bottom of his shirt. I peel it over his head and toss it to the ground. I toss mine next. Asmo’s eyes drift from my face, down to the peaks and valleys of my chest, the small buds that harden at his stare.
“What’s mine?” he asks, his thumb stroking my cheek.
I nod, my eyes never leaving his. “All of it.”
That’s all it takes. His teeth, his tongue, his mouth collide with mine. His movements are frenzied, every stroke of his tongue forceful and hungry, sending delicious fire down every vein of my body. One hand cups the back of my head, fingers tangled in my hair. The other holds me against him.
Every inch of him is hard and taut.
His mouth breaks away from mine to place fevered kisses along my jaw, my neck, my collarbone.
“Mine,” he growls in my ear.
My blood hums.
I am his. I was from day one. The other princes didn’t have a chance. It was always him.
I fumble with the fastening at his pants, desperate to see all of him. Desperate to have him inside of me again.
He bites down on my neck, then soothes the ache with his tongue. I gasp, trying desperately to focus on unbuttoning his pants, but it feels impossible with his mouth and teeth and his hands sliding lower. His erection strains against the band. His chest heaves and sweat from the fire glistens along his chiseled pecs.
Finally, the button bursts free and I reach to pull them down, but his hand clamps around my wrist. “Wh—” I start, but he swirls me around, bringing my backside flush against him. My mouth dries.
“I need to be inside of you,” he growls against my neck, voicing the urge that’s been throbbing inside of me, too.
He pulls my pants down and rubs my center with his fingers, moaning as he finds the pool of wetness waiting for him. His hardness, now entirely free, nudges against my opening. I gasp, desperate to have him inside me, to be one with him again.
Last time, it felt like I had finally found something I had been searching for—something that I had no idea I needed until it slid into place. It felt like I could breathe, like I could finally see clearly. Despite the way I’ve pushed him away, I’ve thought about that moment countless times. And right now, he’s acting like he has, too.
He gently guides himself inside of me. I tilt my head back and gaspat the utter pleasure that shoots through me at his entrance. One hand holds me firmly against him, while the other hand wraps around my throat.
His hips begin to rock back and forth in slow motions, sending my blood into a heated frenzy. Sweat drips down my back, but I don’t care. I need more. He groans in my ear, and I grind my hips against him in rhythm, already feeling the crescendo build.
“You feel so perfect.” His voice is breathy and low.
