"The only pain I feel," he growls, "is from weeks of not having you. Not touching you. Not being able to hold you the way I've been dying to."
His mouth crashes against mine before I can argue further.
The kiss is desperate and consuming—all the frustrated longing of so much time apart channeled into the press of lips and teeth and tongue. He kisses me like he's starving for it. Likehe's been holding back for so long that now that the dam has broken, he can't control the flood.
I melt into him, my hands sliding up to tangle in his short brown hair. The familiar taste of him fills my senses—salt and earth and something uniquely Rakk that I've missed with an intensity that borders on pain.
His hands drop to my waist, pulling me flush against his chest despite the bandages and bruising. I can feel the hard planes of muscle beneath the wrappings. Feel the heat of his skin burning through the thin fabric of my tunic.
"Missed you," he mutters against my mouth between kisses. "Gods, I missed you so much."
"I'm here now." I kiss along his jaw, finding the sensitive spot just below his ear that always makes him groan. "I'm not going anywhere."
His grip tightens. One hand slides up my spine while the other drops lower, cupping my ass and pressing me against the growing hardness trapped beneath his trousers. Even injured, even wrapped in bandages, his body responds to mine with an urgency that makes heat pool low in my belly.
"Serah." My name comes out rough. Desperate. "I need?—"
"I know." I pull back just enough to meet his eyes. "But you're injured. We should be careful?—"
"I don't care." His expression is fierce. Wild with want. "I need you. Now. Please."
The please breaks me.
I kiss him again—slower this time but no less intense—while my hands explore the familiar territory of his chest and shoulders. I'm careful to avoid the worst of his injuries, mapping the unmarked skin with reverent touches that make him shudder beneath me.
Then I start kissing my way down.
Down his throat, where his pulse hammers against my lips. Down to his collarbones, tracing the ridges with my tongue. Down further to the bandages wrapped around his ribs, where I press gentle kisses against the fabric like I can somehow heal him through touch alone.
"What are you—" He breaks off with a groan as I reach the trail of dark hair leading below his waistband.
"You deserve a real apology," I murmur, working at the ties of his trousers with practiced efficiency. "And I'm very, very sorry for how I've treated you."
His cock springs free as I pull the fabric down—thick and hard and already leaking at the tip. The sight of it makes my mouth water. Makes heat and anticipation coil tight between my thighs.
I've missed this. Missed him. Missed the weight of him on my tongue and the sounds he makes when I take him deep.
"Serah." His voice comes strained. "You don't have to?—"
"I want to." I wrap my hand around his length, stroking slowly from base to tip. "Let me take care of you."
Then I lean forward and take him into my mouth.
The groan that tears from his throat is deeply satisfying. His hips buck involuntarily, driving himself deeper, and I have to press my hands against his thighs to keep him still. The last thing we need is him injuring himself further because he got too enthusiastic.
I work him with lips and tongue and the suction of my throat, relearning the taste and feel of him. He's hot and hard against my tongue—pulsing with need and slick with precum that I lap up eagerly. I hollow my cheeks and take him deeper, relaxing my throat the way I've learned he likes.
"Fuck." His hand tangles in my hair, not pushing or pulling, just holding on like he needs the anchor. "Gods, your mouth. I forgot how incredible?—"
I hum around him, sending vibrations through his length that make his thighs shake. His fingers tighten in my hair. The muscles of his abdomen flex and ripple beneath the bandages as he fights to stay still, to not thrust up into the wet heat of my mouth.
I pull back until just the head rests on my tongue, then swirl around the sensitive crown before sinking back down. Again and again. Building a rhythm that has him panting and cursing and making sounds I've never heard from him before.
"Serah—" His voice is wrecked. "If you keep doing that, I'm going to?—"
I pull off with an obscene pop, looking up at him through my lashes. His face is flushed darker green, tusks gleaming, eyes blown wide and dark with lust. He looks absolutely ruined.
"What do you want?" I ask, keeping my voice low and teasing while I stroke him with one hand. "Tell me."
