He pulled back for a second, just to look.
His gaze travelled over me—slow, worshipful, devouring. It touched my breasts, my stomach, the curve of my hips. Where his eyes landed, my skin tingled, the magic rising to the surface in glowing waves.
“Beautiful,” he rasped.
He settled between my legs, his weight heavy and perfect. His hands slid up my torso, capturing my breasts. He squeezed—firm, possessive—thumbs circling the hardened peaks.
I gasped, arching into his touch.
He dipped his head, his tongue tracing one nipple then the other, while his hand drifted lower—past my navel and into the damp heat between my thighs. He found my centre, slick and swollen, and stroked it once. I cried out, my hips bucking off the mattress in an involuntary spasm.
He moved down, his lips ghosting over my ribs and stomach. He spread my legs, hooking one of them over his shoulder, and looked up at me. His face was stark with hunger, the silver swirls in his eyes spinning with a frantic, liquid speed.
“I have wanted this since the moment I saw you,” he growled.
Then he lowered his mouth.
The sensation was blinding. His tongue was relentless, hot and skilled. He tasted me, his fingers sliding in. The pleasure went deeper than the physical; it was a magical resonance. Every stroke sent a joltof golden light shooting through my veins, making the very air in the room feel charged.
I tangled my hands in his hair, my head thrashing against the pillow. “Riven—please?—“
He didn’t stop. He increased the pressure and the rhythm, driving me towards the brink.
I unravelled.
My magic flared outward, a sudden, brilliant wash of light that flooded the room. My body clenched around his fingers, spasms of ecstasy rolling through me. He stayed with me through every tremor, his presence a steady anchor as I found my breath.
When I finally settled, limp and panting, he moved up my body to hover over me, bracing his weight on his forearms.
He was magnificent.
Lean, corded muscle shifted beneath his pale skin. The tattoo on his chest seemed to throb in the fading magical light—dark ink stark against the glow of the scar beneath it. I reached up, tracing the lines of the ink and feeling the hard ridge of muscle, the frantic beating of his heart.
He growled—a low, animal sound of desire vibrating in his chest.
I reached down between our bodies and wrapped my hand around him. He was thick, hard as iron, and he lurched in my grip as a hiss escaped his teeth.
“Now,” I whispered. “I need you now.”
I guided him to me. He pressed against my entrance, stretching me open as he began to sink inside. Inch by inch, he filled me completely, the sensation so intense I felt full to bursting. I gasped, my nails digging into the muscle of his shoulders.
He paused when he was fully sheathed, his forehead resting against mine, our breath mingling in the quiet. Then, he began to move.
A slow, deep rhythm. Withdrawal and return. Friction and heat.
With every thrust, the magic in the room reacted. My goldenlight swirled with his shadows, twisting together in the air above us, a canopy of starlight and storm.
We remained silent in the face of it. The magic spoke for us.
It vibrated with a song of connection, of two halves finding the whole. I could feel his desperation, his need, bleeding into me. He could feel my surrender.
The pace quickened. The sound of skin against skin echoed in the quiet room.
He hit a spot deep inside me, and I moaned, my legs tightening around his waist, pulling him deeper.
He stopped suddenly, freezing mid-thrust, cords standing out in his neck. He was fighting for control. Trying to last.
I panted, bucking my hips, forcing him to move. “Don’t stop.” I demanded. “Give me everything.”
