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“Praise Freia that you have brought such abundance to me and granted me such prosperity.”

His fingers trailed up my spine. His eyes melted, swirling like smoke. I couldn’t help the pulse of vanilla that wove around us both, and his nostrils flared.

“All thanks to Tristyn that he found my life a worthy example to be praised and blessed with such bountiful joy.”

He ran his hand along my throat and across my jaw, pressing his thumb against my lips as he tilted my head back, letting his mouth hover over mine.

“All honor to Persynthia for granting me such favor that I might be found a worthy example of your goodness and faithfulness that lasts forevermore. May my life reflect the beautiful grace you’ve bestowed upon me.”

He let his lips hover over mine, just barely touching. I carefully crushed the bundle of dried herbs over the candle whose flame was still flickering lazily. It leapt toward my hand, consuming the herbs as they fell without ever burning me.

The Votarist said, “You have stood before Freia and given yourselves to her purpose.”

Callum moved fast enough I didn’t see the strike until his teeth were already sinking into the unmarked skin under my right ear. I cried out, dropping the remaining herbs in reflex. He took my weight, ready for it, as my knees gave out entirely. A second rush of emotion filled me: happiness and smug satisfaction and wonder and a pulsing, growing arousal.

I moaned as I went boneless against him, that pulsing arousal blending with the heat burning in my stomach until I knew nothing but the need to be touched and held and filled and claimed. Vanilla exploded from me, more powerful than the oranges portion of my scent when I’d destroyed that tree in Vincent’s garden. Callum’s breath caught.

“May I touch you, omega?” His voice was dark and hungry, and it skated over my skin like the best tease of sensation.

“Yes,” I whispered.

He curled his hand into my hair, undoing the twist with a careful, sudden flex of his fingers. Pins dropped to the stone floor in a shower of metal tinkling. My hair fell around my shoulders and down my back, and he twisted his fingers into it, his palm warming the nape of my neck.

“May I claim you before the Goddess, omega?”

I moaned as need ripped through my veins, so sudden it was as if a ripcord had been pulled. It was a miracle I could remember the proper response that would allow him to complete the second of the rites, the one that required the Votarists to stand as witnesses.

“Yes. Claim me before the Goddess.”

Callum moved at once, faster than even that day in our bedroom. Before I could process anything at all, he had me spread on the mat, his lips lightly caressing up and down my thighs, coaxing them apart. When I let them fall completely open, he pushed the linen fabric aside, baring me completely to his gaze. His eyes melted, molten ore again, and I tilted my hips, needing him to take me, relieve this building ache. He moved to kneel between my legs, undoing the clasp holding the gathered fabric at his shoulder. It fell around him in a mass, becoming almost a blanket around us.

I traced the tattoo along his sternum that marked him a prince, praying he wouldn’t notice the way my fingers trembled. He did, of course. He held my hand to his chest as he leaned over me, kissing me as soft and deep as the first time. By the time he shallowed the kiss and gave me a chance to breathe, I was writhing beneath him, my entire body shaking with need, rational thought fading with each thundering heartbeat.

He palmed my knees, wrapping them around his hips as he closed that last bit of distance between us. His dick sat long and heavy against my clit.

“This is okay?” Even knowing I’d given him the consent needed for the rite, he asked.

His eyes burned with a different fire. Maybe it was the look, maybe it was the still-foreign soul bond connecting us, but all at once, I understood why he’d always done it, always confirmed that his touch was wanted and welcome. Tears lined my lashes for a moment, but I blinked them away. He traced one of the scars, the one he always seemed to find just below where my thighs met my hips, the white line blending with the junction.

He asked again, “This is okay?”

“Yes, Callum.” None of the shaky emotion was in my voice, only the arousal. “It’s okay.”

He adjusted between my legs, moving until his knees pressed into the backs of my thighs. The change had his cock spreading me, pushing into me. I canted my hips, wanting him deeper, needing him all the way inside me.

“Please,” I whispered.

He speared into me with a single, hard thrust. I threw my head back, my nails biting into his thighs, my back arching at the intrusion even as slick drenched my thighs and my scent detonated around us. Every time, it was like I’d never been touched before, never felt the heat and breadth of a cock inside me. He stretched me enough it nearly burned, and yet I couldn’t get enough, never wanted him to stop.

“Holy Persynthia,” he muttered. He set a slow pace that was undercut by just how deep he was, each stroke heavy and full and I swore I could feel them in my throat, in my stomach. He consumed me, surrounded me, and I knew he felt the same, could feel his own arousal and need in that tenuous connection.

I opened my eyes, needing to see him. My gaze caught on one of the robed Votarists, standing immobile against the wall, their hood still up. My heart leapt into my throat, the pleasure building in my body stuttering. Callum felt it, felt the sudden surge of stage fright. He leaned over me, twisting a hand into my hair to keep me from moving across the mat with his even harder thrusts, and hovered his lips over mine, forcing my gaze away from the Votarist.

“Eyes on me, Sterre,” he whispered. “It’s just you and me.”

“You and me,” I echoed.

He nodded, taking his pace faster. I couldn’t help but cant my hips, matching his movements. Each slide hit that spot inside me that had my vision blurring. A surge of satisfaction filled the bond, and I groaned.