Page 42

“Lie down,” I tell her quietly, my voice pitched low, like it’s just for her.

She hesitates, but only for a breath, before moving, her limbs languid, her body folding back against the pillow like she’s already surrendering to me. It’s that effortless trust that guts me every time.

I kneel beside the bed instead of standing over her, because this isn’t about power—it’s about need. Mine. Her eyes track me warily, curiously, as I settle on my knees like a supplicant. I glance at her bare thigh, at the curve of her leg folded over the other, and then back at her.

“Can I touch you?” I ask, deliberately careful, because the hunger scraping under my ribs is barely leashed. “Just here—” I nod toward her thigh. “It’ll help me anchor it.”

She licks her lips, and it’s so soft, so unthinking, I almost curse aloud.

“Okay,” she breathes, her voice catching, her pulse fluttering visibly in her throat.

I slide my hand over her knee, fingers curling gently around the line of her leg, and the second my palm touches her skin, the bond flares bright in my chest. My power aches toward her like a starving thing, and I exhale sharply, focusing hard not to let it pour too fast.

“Breathe,” I murmur, almost to myself.

Then I let go—slow, deliberate, pouring the first thread of it into her.

She gasps, her back arching just barely, her fingers curling into the sheets like the spark has already burned too sweet.

It’s a slow, excruciating thing. Like bleeding light into her veins, like every ounce of hunger I’ve ever buried under charm and snark is crawling out of me and into her skin. I watch her eyes flutter closed, her lips parting, her breath hitching as the pulse of my power slithers deeper.

And gods, she’s beautiful like this—strung up on nothing but the sheer weight of what I’ve denied myself, her body softening under the force of it, her thighs shifting unconsciously beneath my hand.

I drag my thumb over her skin in a lazy circle, grounding myself there, pouring more of myself into her, until she’s trembling, her breath coming sharp and quick.

“Caspian,” she whispers like it’s a curse and a prayer.

I lift my gaze to her face, voice low, rasped. “Good, sweetheart. Let me give it to you.”

I push more, steadily, and her hips shift helplessly, a choked sound slipping from her throat like she can’t bear how much she wants it. I can feel it—how her pulse is racing, how her body is unraveling under the press of every desperate, obscene thing I’ve ever wanted and buried.

The sound she makes isn’t soft. It’s sharp, broken open, the kind of sound that hits somewhere behind my ribs like a punch, and her legs jerk beneath my hand like she’s just touched flame.

I know the exact second her body hits that first edge and goes under—I can feel it ripple down her bones, crack through her bond like lightning striking water. She shudders hard, her hands twisting in the sheets, her breath torn from her lungs, and the pulse of it hums down my spine like a live wire.

But I don’t stop.

I can’t.

This isn’t mercy. It’s necessity.

I drag more of my power out of me, pouring it into her like wine, like venom, like everything I’ve been holding too tightly, too long. It curls inside her, and I watch her fall apart under it, her body arching again as another wave takes her—a second climax tearing through her too soon, too much.

Her eyes flutter open, glassy and wild, her mouth falling open on a soundless gasp as her body fights to keep up, and I murmur something I don’t mean to, something low and filthy that makes her moan like it hurts and feels good at once.

“Good girl,” I breathe, my voice gone rough, thumb tracing lazy circles on her thigh even as her hips twitch helplessly. “You’re taking me so well.”

She shakes her head, but it’s not no—it’s too much, too fast, and she doesn’t know how to breathe through it. Her fingers reach for me blindly, catching the edge of my shirt, trying to ground herself as I keep feeding her everything I’ve bottled up, every wicked thing I never let myself want until now.

Another surge rolls through her, and she cries out, her thighs pressing together instinctively, but I drag my palm up, soothing her like she’s something fragile even as I keep pushing her past it.

“I know,” I murmur, voice a thread of silk wrapping around her throat. “I know it’s too much, sweetheart. That’s the point.”

Her body jerks again as another climax crashes over her, her breath breaking on a sobbed sound, and I feel it in my chest, in my bones, in the bond singing between us like it’s on fire.

I lean in then, pressing my forehead to her knee, breathing her in like I’m starving.

Because I am.