Page 21 of Beneath the Desert Bloom (Of Beasts and Bloom #1)

Because with him—with this ancient, impossible man who was more land than flesh—she felt like she’d finally found a place she belonged.

He pulled back just a little, then pushed in again.

Hard.

She screamed.

The sound echoed. The earth hummed. The air shifted.

Her cunt clamped around him, desperate to keep him in. Her body trembled with the pleasure of it. Sharp, raw, blooming out from her center like a second sun rising in her core.

His pace built, harder, deeper, messier. Like his restraint was gone, and all that remained was need.

The sound of their bodies meeting was wet and rhythmic, raw and sacred. It echoed in the small space around them.

He fucked her harder, faster, deeper as her body took him. All of him.

She was close. So close it hurt.

Her thighs shook. Her breath hitched. Her whole body arched like the desert beneath her had turned inside out.

Then—

He dropped his mouth to her neck.

Found the curve of her shoulder.

“Let me make it real,” he growled, reverent and raw. “Say yes.”

“Yes,” she gasped. “Yes—do it.”

His teeth sank in.

Not enough to break skin. Just enough to claim.

Her orgasm hit like a wildfire.

Bright. Blinding. Burning everything she thought she was.

Her skin flared once, like starlight cracking through stone, the light shimmering beneath her skin, casting them both in glow.

She came hard, sobbing his name, her body clenching around him, holding him, demanding.

He followed instantly.

With a growl that shook the floor, he locked his hips against hers and pulsed inside her—hot, endless, holy.

She moaned again, hips still moving with him, her pleasure rising in new aftershocks, like her body didn’t want to stop answering his.

Each surge filled her deeper.

Each pulse felt like the land itself binding them.

He stayed inside her, panting, trembling, forehead pressed to hers as the desert outside bloomed.

Moonflowers opened.

Cacti unfurled.

The earth remembered them.

“You’re mine,” he whispered. “The one the land kept me waiting for.”

She smiled, flushed and radiant.

“And you’re mine.”

He collapsed over her, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer.

His breath shuddered against her neck.

She stayed silent, the meaning thrumming between them.

She wasn’t alone anymore.

Something sacred had happened.

And she was never going back.

They lay in the charged quiet that follows something too big for words.

Asher’s weight was still half on top of her, his body trembling against hers with the shivers of release, of restraint finally undone.

Nora’s hands were splayed across his back, fingertips brushing the curve of his spine, still feeling the tension wound tight in his muscles, even now.

Like he couldn’t let go all the way. Like he was afraid of what would happen if he did.

The scent of sage and salt lingered in the air, hers and his, tangled. And something else. Something floral. Faint. Sweet. Blooming in a place where nothing should bloom.

Nora’s mind was still somewhere far off, floating on the tail end of an orgasm that had felt more like a rite than a release.

Her limbs tingled. Her chest still fluttered where her heart beat just a little too fast. And between her legs, a deep, satisfied ache pulsed where he’d filled her, still slick, still open, still raw.

He hadn’t moved since he came.

Just breathed her in. One arm wrapped around her waist, the other braced beside her head like he was scared she might slip away.

She shifted a little beneath him.

His breath caught.

“The land,” he murmured, voice rough against her skin, “it takes. It doesn’t let go. I don’t want it to take you the way it took me.”

He was trembling.

She answered without thinking, her hand sliding up to the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered.

The words surprised her. She hadn’t planned them.

But they were true.

Because something had happened. Something neither of them could undo. This wasn’t just sex.

This was binding.

Of breath.

Of blood.

Of bone.

Asher lifted his head to look at her. The glow in his eyes had dimmed, but hadn’t disappeared. They were still gold. Still vast. But now there was something softer in them.

He reached out and brushed his thumb along her jaw.

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, right above the mark he’d bitten, and closed his eyes.

She felt something surge where his mouth met her skin.

A pulse.

A heat.

A low thrum rising from the soles of her feet into her chest.

She tilted her head toward the window.

Outside, the wind stilled and she saw something shimmer in the bright moonlight. A bloom. White, wide, open to the night. A desert flower that shouldn’t be in season.

She gasped.

Asher lifted his head to look at her, eyes wide.

“You’re… glowing,” he said softly.

She looked down. Her arms shimmered faintly, light flickering at her fingertips.

“It happens when I want you,” she said softly. “But also when I feel… different. When I’m not sure who I am anymore.”

He met her gaze.

“It’s not just a response,” he said. “It’s a recognition. The land sees you.”

He hesitated.

“And that scares me.”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

And she wasn’t afraid.

She rose slowly, Asher watching her like she might vanish if he blinked.

She wrapped herself in a blanket and stepped outside barefoot.

The night was warm. Still.

And the yard was blooming.

Not just a single flower now, but dozens.

Moonflowers. Cactus blossoms. Ghost blooms edged in lavender and silver.

Impossible. Wild. Alive.

She dropped to her knees in the dust and stared, her chest tight.

Behind her, the door creaked.

He stood there, bare, beautiful, and unashamed.

Their eyes met.

She didn’t speak.

She reached out and picked one of the blossoms. Delicate, soft, white.

When she looked at her palm, her breath caught.

Blood dripped down her wrist, bright and thin, from the center of the bloom. As if the flower had given part of itself to her.

She looked up at him, trembling.

“What does it mean?” she whispered.

His face twisted, grief and awe tangled into one.

He stepped closer.

“It means you’re becoming.”

She blinked.

“What?”

“You’re not just mine,” he said. “You’re the one the land chose. You woke something that hasn’t stirred in lifetimes.”

She looked down at the flower.

At the blood.

At her glowing skin.

And felt it then. Deep in her bones. In the thrum of her chest.

She was awake.

“The land won’t want you to leave,” he said.

She nodded.

“I don’t want to,” she said softly.

And the desert listened.