I want. I want. I want.
A hushed whimper.
A deep, pained sigh.
“You’ll be the death of me,” he murmurs, affection threading his deep voice. The bed shifts again. “Come here.”
Familiar warmth as muscled arms cocoon me, my nose pressing against a bare chest.
I never want to wake up. It’s safe to dream.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
A contented hum. Reverent lips brushing my forehead.
Mine.
Sunlight coaxes me awake as it filters through the large windows framing the bed. My arms are pinned to my sides, Zev’s strong embrace holding me captive.
He isn’t wearing a shirt. Tides, why isn’t he wearing a shirt?
Tanned skin everywhere I look.
A smattering of fine hair darkens the planes of his chest. I have the sudden urge to brush my lips over it, see if it’s as soft as it looks.
Heat coils low in my belly, spreading in a violent tide through my limbs, between my legs. My cheeks flush with damning color, and I burrow my face into his chest, unable to resist inhaling more of his familiar, soothing scent.
“Good morning, wife.” His voice is sinfully low, rough with sleep. I want his deep timbre against my ear, whispering all the things he’d do to me if I justask.
Tides drag me into uncharted depths.
I need to get my raging desire under control. I may be his wife now, but nothing else has changed. I squirm out of his arms, throwing him what I hope is a baleful expression.
“You didn’t have to hold me in your arms like that.”
His lips quirk into a half smile.
Tides damn him. My glare is having no effect.
“No,” he says easily, lips still tipped up. “I didn’t have to.”
He watches me like I’ve already said yes to something I haven’t yet decided.
“What happened after I was sent to bed?” I can’t help the bite that seeps into my tone.
His lips press into a thin line, and a shadow darkens his face at the reminder of last night. “The guards interrogated the guests. It appears he was acting alone.”
“Who was he?” I pluck a rose petal from the bed, absently rubbing it between my fingers. Zev’s gaze darkens as he tracks the movement.
“A nonwielder from a noble family. His brother was a moderately powerful stormwielder. He was killed in battle a few months ago.” His eyes soften. “I’m sorry for what he said to you.” Zev pulls an errant rose petal tucked between the strands of my hair. His knuckles are bruised. I part my lips to ask about his injury, but the words vanish when he drags the petal in a feather-light path down my bare shoulder. Slow. Deliberate.
A shiver ripples down my spine, leaving my toes curled. I gather power in my palm, pressing it to his bruised knuckles, but the act is a distraction, flimsy armor against the desire in his eyes. When I’m finished, I fold my arms over my chest, as if that might conceal the storm of my body—the pebbling skin, my racing pulse.
Breathe, Mayah. Focus.
But focus is impossible when his stare is all heat and hunger, and I know one word from me and he’ll have me on my back.
I swallow hard.
