Page 37

The air shifted.

Flowers bloomed—literally.

Around them, petals opened with a soft rustle. Moonvines curled toward the sky, vines trembled, blossoms glowed faintly in the greenhouse’s enchanted light. The scent of honeysuckle, damp moss, and some new floral note she couldn’t name swirled like incense.

“I think your greenhouse is reacting,” she whispered between kisses.

He grinned against her mouth, eyes gleaming. “You’re the one with magic in her blood.”

She laughed breathlessly, tugging his shirt over his head. Her fingers ran down the broad expanse of his chest, calloused palms meeting warm, wild skin. “You started it.”

“Then I’ll finish it.”

He kissed her again, harder this time, and began to undress her slowly. Reverently. Her dress slipped from her shoulders, caught at her hips before pooling at her feet. He kissed her collarbone, then the top of her breast, then lower, and everybrush of his lips coaxed a memory, every touch an ache she’d buried.

Delilah gasped as he dropped to his knees before her, strong hands gripping her hips as he looked up through those dark lashes and said, “Lay down for me, sweetheart.”

She did.

The moss beneath her was soft, cool, and kissed with sunlight. He hovered above her for a beat, just looking.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured. “Golden and soft and all mine.”

His hands slid up her thighs, spreading them. His breath hit her pussy before his mouth did, hot and wanting. She felt the tremble run through her as he licked her slowly, tongue gliding through her folds like he was savoring every inch.

“Oh gods—Rollo,” she moaned, fingers tangling in his thick hair.

He groaned low against her, the vibration deep and primal. “Fuck, you taste like honey and fire.”

He licked her clit, slow and rhythmic, then sucked it between his lips. Her hips bucked. He didn’t stop. Just pinned her down gently and kept eating her like he needed it to live. Her climax built fast, already too close from how badly she’d needed him.

“Right there—please—Rollo?—”

Her moan shattered into a sob as she came, thighs clenching around his head, cunt pulsing against his tongue.

She barely had time to catch her breath before he stood and scooped her into his arms.

“I’m not done,” he said, voice husky with need, and carried her straight into the bedroom.

She was still shaking, boneless and soaked with release, but there was more in her—more fire, more ache. And from the way his cock jutted heavy and thick between them, Rollo was just getting started.

He set her down on the bed like she was something sacred, then stripped off what little he still wore.

Gods.

Rollo was carved from hunger and devotion. Broad chest dusted with dark hair, his cock thick and flushed, bobbing slightly with each step as he climbed onto the bed and knelt between her legs.

Delilah spread for him, unabashed.

“Your turn,” she said, breathless. “I want you to feel how much I missed you.”

He reached down and ran his fingers through her folds, groaning at the wet heat.

“Fuck, Delilah—you’re dripping for me.”

“Then do something about it.”

He grinned—feral, hungry—and pressed the tip of his cock to her entrance. Slowly, he pushed inside.