“Listen to me—I give you my trust,” I continue, daring to look him in the eyes, daring to let him see everything I’ve held inside. “All of it. I’ve never given anyone that before, and I choose to give it to you. My loyalty, my…my willingness to follow you, to be with you—not because anyone has told me to, not because I have to, but because I want to.”
He blinks, caught off guard, and I feel the weight of his surprise.
“In return,” I press on, voice firmer, “I want a promise. A promise that you will be honest with me. That you will not lead me on. That, when you are ready to share your truths, you will. And until then…you will not let me be lost in your world without me knowing where you stand.”
He swallows again, and I can see the conflict flicker across his face. His jaw tightens, his hands clench at his sides, but he doesn’t speak.
I don’t falter. “This is my bargain,” I whisper. “I give you my trust. You give me the promise to be truthful with me. That is all I ask. That is all I want.”
The church falls still, except for the rain hammering against the roof and the storm’s threatening roar. I watch him, my pulse pounding, waiting, and finally—he nods, slowly.
“I will agree to this,” he says, in a whisper that trembles justslightly. “But know…you are giving me far more than you realize.”
I cross the distance between us and rise to the tips of my feet, crashing my mouth into his. He bends over and hooks his arms under my ass, lifting me up and carrying me toward the end of the church. Our kisses are frenzied, full of desire and a quiet understanding that what has transpired between us, is more than what we both bargained for.
He sits me down on a table and lets his mouth trail down my throat, biting and sucking in an agonizing rhythm. His breathing is uneven, his hands splayed across my back, holding me up. I reach for his shirt, and move to pull it over his head. The wet garment falls to the floor with a squelching sound, and I can’t help but stare. His chest is covered in dark hair, scars running along his skin in several places. His sculpted chest and abdomen are heaving, wet from the rain.
His lips find mine again as his hands make fast work on the binding on my back. Ever so slowly, he lowers my dress over my breasts. They are large and heavy after giving birth twice; gone are the perky mounds that I was once so proud of. He does not seem to mind. His huge hands cover them both, rolling my nipples between his fingers and trailing kisses down my chest.
When his tongue finds my nipple, he groans, a sound so deep it rumbles through me, the vibration shooting straight down between my legs.
“Malric, I—” I breathe when his head shoots up.
“Say that again,” he whispers, his eyes pleading.
I huff out a laugh. “What?”
He growls. “Say my name, again,please.”
That last word undoes me, a plea so solemn and fromsomewhere deep inside of him.
“Malric,” I whisper and he shudders, eyes closed, like listening to a prayer.
When he opens them again, a smile tugs at his lips.
I slowly lower myself back down, heart hammering, and look up at the vaulted ceiling. The stained-glass light flickers across the walls, splintering into colors that dance on the stone floor. And then it hits me—Malric has not placed me on a table or in some secluded corner. He has laid me on the altar at the front of the church.
“This…this is the altar, Malric. We can’t…”
He pauses, fingers brushing my skirts for a heartbeat, giving me just enough time to notice how close he is. His eyes lock on mine, dark and stormy, unflinching.
“We can, and we will,” he says, controlled, yet charged. He leans closer.
“This is your altar, Ayna’vael…and I have come to worship.”
His words strike me like lightning. My chest tightens, my pulse races. It feels…holy, and utterly intimate. A claim, but not one that binds me—it honors me.
I swallow hard, words caught somewhere between fear and desire. My fingers press into the stone beneath me, grounding myself, as I realize just how utterly he has made me the center of this storm.
His gaze does not waver. The thunder outside seems to echo the quickening of my pulse. “Do you want me to stop?” he whispers.
I shake my head slowly, even as a shiver runs through me. “No. Don’t stop.”
A small, taut smile curves his lips. There is devotion there, and something feral beneath it. He leans closer,and the world narrows to him, to the altar, to the storm raging outside—and to the secret, undeniable bond that has drawn us to this moment.
He lets his hand travel from my cheek, over my breasts and lower still.
I cover my face with my hands. “You don’t think God would mind?” I laugh.
