I lean into him before I can think better of it, his arms wrapping me in warmth and steel. He bends his head, breath shuddering as he pulls me in, and his lips press to mine in a kiss soft, restrained, a vow unspoken.
Restraint shatters the instant I answer. My hands slide upward, gripping his shoulders, and the kiss deepens—no longer silence, but surrender.
Heat ripples through me, want overtaking reason. Every part of me aches to yield—to him, to this.
What was I protecting myself from anymore? I am not some maiden waiting to be married off; I need not cling to a virtue I have no need to protect. I have no vows to guard, no illusions of being untouched. I have long since made peace with solitude… until he made solitude unbearable.
In this moment I am merely a woman standing before a man, choosing to no longer fight something my heart knows is right.
My hands find the hem of his tunic and free it, letting the fabric fall carelessly to the floor. The planes of his chest are cut from shadow and firelight; I trace them greedily, memorizing the shape of his strength. His answering groan thrums low in his throat, his palms skimming down my sides—mapping, claiming, revering.
When his body presses to mine, the solid length of him unmistakable, I arch instinctively, desire coiling tight and hot. My hips shifting against him, a wordless invitation.
“Mira,” he growls into the hollow of my neck, voice roughened with need. “You make me forget I was ever meant to be anything but yours.”
The sound of my name in that tone nearly breaks me. He lifts his head, eyes searing into mine. When he senses no hesitation from me, his own surrender blooms.
“I thought I’d known fire before you,” he murmurs. “But this—this is what it means to burn and still crave the flame.”
My breath hitches, a shudder running through me. Our mouths collide again, desperate and consuming, each kiss deeper than the last.
He tugs my bodice loose, careful yet hungry, stepping behind me as the laces give way one by one. His lips trace each new inch of exposed skin, kisses low and deliberate. By the time he turns me back to face him,my gown is slipping from my shoulders and pooling at my feet. His gaze takes me in, and I feel no scrutiny despite standing so bare. Nervous energy I’ve often worn as a second skin is cast aside as fully as the beautiful gown.
I step free of the fabric and into his waiting arms. His fingers tangle in my hair; his mouth finds mine again, hungrier now. The taste of wine lingers between us. He catches my lower lip between his teeth, teasing, asking permission without words.
“Yes,” I breathe, already lost.
His hands trail lower, coaxing the last barrier from my body. The fabric falls away, forgotten. My hair spills across my back as he bends to taste my skin—throat, collarbone, the curve of my breast. His tongue flicks, his teeth graze, and a moan escapes me before I can stop it.
He kneels as his lips trace down, down, until his hands rise along my thighs, spreading warmth wherever they linger. When his fingers brush the slick heat between my legs, a sound tears from his chest—half growl, half prayer. Though no words break from my lips, one resounding yes after another rolls through me.
The next heartbeat blurs. He sweeps me up in his arms, one beneath my knees, the other braced along my spine. I gasp, clutching his shoulders as he carries me to the bed. The silken sheets whisper beneath me as he lays me down—slow, reverent, worship more than an act.
For a moment he simply looks at me. I am bare but for the talisman at my throat—the amber gem flickering in the firelight. His gaze catches on it, some unspoken recognition flickering in his eyes.
“It suits you,” he says softly, the hint of a smile breaking the tension.
I bite my lip, desire twisting through me as he unbuckles his belt. The sound of leather sliding free cracks through the quiet like lightning before the storm. He strips the rest of the way, every motion deliberate and unhurried.
When he climbs onto the bed, I reach for him. My hands roam the expanse of his back, nails dragging lightly across muscle and scar.
At last, there is nothing left between us but breath.
The air trembles—charged, waiting.
“Now, now, little flame,” he murmurs against my mouth, teasing. “What’s therush?”
“I’m tired of waiting,” I confess. Though I have only known him for a short while, I feel as though I have been waiting all this time forhim.For this. “I want you,” I say, voice hitching with honesty. “I need you.”
The intensity of the days spent so close with him, a stark contrast to those spent alone before, it all falls away. Time turned on its end; nothing exists beyond this moment.
He kisses me hard then, swallowing the confession, his tongue tracing mine as if tasting the truth of it. One hand finds me again, following the curve of my body lower still, sliding between my thighs, his fingers parting me until I tremble. His groan vibrates against my lips as he feels how ready I am.
Coiled tightly in anticipation, I grip him harder. He smirks, and I feel my eyes blaze in answer. Before I can speak, he slides a finger inside me—slow and deliberate—until thought itself vanishes. My hunger, my protest at his delay, all dissolve as he curls his finger within me, finding the place that makes the world fall away.
I lose myself—allowing myself to melt into his touch. His name is the only word I know.
“Vale,” I moan as he moves in rhythm. When his thumb finds that sensitive place, I nearly collapse; thank the gods I am already lying down.
