Page 123 of The Alpha King’s Hidden Mute Mate

"Your kissing skills have gotten worse," she said, voice a bit hoarse.

"Five years out of practice," I said. "If you're willing, I can practice every day."

She hummed, leaning back against my shoulder. "In your dreams."

I laughed, tightening my arms, pulling her closer.

The fountain murmured in the night. Moonlight bathed us in silvery-white radiance. From distant hills, wolf howls rose and fell, like singing us an ancient song.

I lowered my head and kissed the top of her head.

"I love you," I said.

She didn't answer. But she covered my hand at her waist with hers, squeezed gently.

That squeeze carried more weight than any words.

Her hand lingered on mine, fingers tracing slow circles against my knuckles. The touch was deliberate, teasing. I felt the shift in her breathing before I saw it in her eyes—that gaze darker now, pupils dilated in the moonlight.

"We should go inside," she said, but she didn't move.

"Should we?" My thumb brushed along her jawline, tilting her face up to mine. Her lips parted slightly, and I felt the exhale ghost across my mouth.

"Lily's asleep. Aila won't bring her back until morning." Her voice dropped lower, took on an edge that made heat pool low in my gut. "And you've been very... patient these last three days."

Patient. Christ. I'd been climbing the walls.

Three days lying in that medical bed, smelling her jasmine scent every time she came to check on me, watching her lean over to adjust my pillows, feeling her fingers brush my forehead when she checked for fever. Three days of wanting her so badly I thought I'd lose my mind, but holding back because I didn't want to seem like an animal who couldn't control himself.

But now—

"You have no idea," I said, voice rough, "how hard it's been not touching you."

Her smile turned wicked. "Oh, I have some idea." Her hand slid from mine, traced up my forearm, over the curve of my bicep. "You get this look in your eyes every time I walk into the room. Like you want to devour me."

"That's because I do."

I stood and pulled her up with me. She came willingly and pressed herself against my chest. I could feel every curve of her through the thin fabric of her shirt, feel the rapid beat of her heart matching mine.

"Then stop talking," she whispered against my mouth, "and do it."

I kissed her again, harder this time. No more testing, no more caution. Her lips opened under mine, and I tasted wine and want and five years of hunger finally given permission to feed. My hands found her waist, pulled her closer until there was no space between us, until I could feel the soft press of her breasts against my chest and hear the small sound she made in the back of her throat.

She pulled back, just enough to speak. "Not here. Anyone could—"

"My room," I said. "Now."

I swept her up before she could respond, one arm under her knees, the other supporting her back. She gasped and grabbed my shoulders.

"Your wound..."

"Is fine." And it was. The ache was nothing compared to this. I carried her through the garden, up the stairs to the private wing. She buried her face in my neck, lips trailing along my pulse point, and I nearly stumbled.

"Trying to make me drop you?" I growled.

"Trying to make you hurry up."

I shouldered my bedroom door open, kicked it shut behind us. The room was dark except for moonlight streaming through the windows, painting everything in shades of silver and shadow. I set her down by the bed, but before I could move, she was already unbuttoning my shirt, fingers quick and sure.