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Worship

Anya

H e was already moving by the time I made my demand, pushing me back, sliding his rough palm up the side of my neck. His fingers scraped into my hair; his thumb pressed hard under my chin. The touch was controlled yet commanding.

But he did not kiss me—yet. His forearm rested on my collarbone, pinning me to the mattress. The delicious pressure of him holding me down made my stomach flip. For a few excruciating moments, his lips hovered over mine and we shared breath.

“That’s more like it,” I said, challenge still in my tone.

I tried to close the distance, but he held me firm. He wasn’t even on top of me; the bulk of him remained on the mattress, his chest angled above mine but still not touching. Just the promise of contact had me frustrated, thrilled, arching. The tips of my breasts grazed his chest through my chemise, and he sucked a breath in through his teeth. His grip on the side of my neck tightened slightly, his thumb pushing my chin up higher.

“You’re insatiable,” he scolded.

“You’re a tease,” I retorted.

He laughed a single, staccato ha . “ I’m the tease?”

I narrowed my eyes at him and nodded, thoroughly enjoying this game.

His grip slacked ever so slightly, a flash of his earlier resistance entering his gaze. I knew he was thinking about the Mirrors when he whispered, “Are you sure…?”

I couldn’t decide which I liked more: his genuine care or his possessive grip. Maybe it was the combination I found so intoxicating.

Either way, I was getting impatient. “Fucking Fates , Idris, would you just—”

He closed his mouth over mine, swallowing my order.

The kiss was meant to scorch—and it did. Trapped in his hold, all I could do was give in, and— fuck —that’s all I wanted. His lips devoured. His stubble scraped. His fingers that had been tangled in my hair splayed on the mound of my stomach, my waist.

I arched again, desperate to feel his chest against mine, and this time he acquiesced, rolling fully on top of me, hips pinning my hips. The air rushed out of me, and I moaned it into his mouth. He groaned in response, the sound rumbling through me like thunder.

He buried his face in my neck, kissing a hot wet line from my jaw to my collarbone. “You smell so fucking good,” he growled, like he almost hated me for it, but his lips were soft, pliant, worshiping. He cupped my breast through my chemise, squeezing.

He must’ve possessed pheromonal magic. This time, I didn’t feel so self-conscious at the thought. I wanted him to know how much I craved him. I wanted him to smell it on me as plainly as I heard the pounding of his pulse.

I ran a hand up his arm, over his pec, my fingers catching on the thick scar that looped over his shoulder. “You feel so fucking good.” To punctuate my statement, I wedged my other hand between us, skidding over his firm stomach and down, palming his erection through his trousers.

“You’re going to be the end of me,” he said.

“How the tables have turned.”

He laughed, pressing his lips to mine again. I deepened the kiss, sucking and biting. I was fierce as I slid my mouth over his. Starved. Hungry. He was right: I was insatiable.

But he was, too. He cradled my face in his big palm like I was a sacred thing, our tongues sparring. Meanwhile, the hand on my breast moved downward, skating over my waist, belly, leg. He found the hem of my chemise and slid his hand back up my bare inner thigh. I practically shook with anticipation.

But the bastard paused.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He swept his thumb across the crease of my hip, torturously close to where I wanted him. “Just altering the power dynamic,” he said. “You were a little too smug earlier.” He palmed my thigh, squeezed sensuously.

I squirmed underneath him. “Are you going to make me beg?”

He smirked, seeming to consider that idea. Then his expression heated. “Not this time.”

He dipped a finger into my wetness.

Both our breaths caught.

He sunk his finger deeper, only to draw the slickness up to my clit. He circled it, his eyes trained on my face, reading me in the dark. When he hit the right spot, I jerked, and he smiled down at me like he’d learned a coveted secret.

He made the same move again, crossing the pad of his finger over my most sensitive place. A needy little whine slipped out of me, surprising even to my ears, and he bent, kissing the crease of my neck, right by my collarbone.

“I think you’re right,” he murmured against my skin. “I’m not a gentleman.”

With the way he was touching me, pleasure coiling through my belly, I could barely follow his words. I was helpless to his touch.

“If I were,” he continued, “I wouldn’t feel so greedy to hear you make that sound again.”

His fingers repeated the motion, picking up speed, blessedly consistent. I was so close to the edge now—teetering, really, my limbs both heavy and weightless, ready to fall at any moment. I was silent in my anticipation, focused—but apparently that wouldn’t do, because Idris wrenched his hand away. I lifted my head, disgruntled and fearing he’d stopped altogether, but he was ducking under the covers, replacing his fingers with his mouth.

The world disappeared, everything narrowing on the sensations between my legs: the flick of his tongue, the softness of his lips, the stubble scuffing my skin. He gripped my thighs, anchoring me with his strong hands, even as I arched my pelvis up to meet his mouth. His movements were somehow both messy and exact, dizzying me and making my legs tremble.

I whined again, lost in my enjoyment of his touch; he groaned into me in response. Hearing his enthusiasm was my final push. Pleasure swelled in my belly, then burst with a flood of tingling heat. My inner walls convulsed, and I curled forward off the bed, crying out. My hand found his shoulder, and I held on as the sensation rolled through me like a wave.

He kept on feasting, riding out the full extent of my pleasure until I collapsed back against the bed. Only then did he lift his head, and the look on his face—

He looked more victorious now than he had after the heroics in Brine.

I sat up and yanked off my chemise. His victorious expression morphed into one of hunger, dark and predatory.

“Take those off, would you?” I said, nodding at his trousers.

“Anything for you.”

He climbed out of bed and started unbuttoning. I watched unabashedly, eyes widening when he stepped out of his clothes. Everything in me clenched at the sight of him. His body was…big, powerful, perfect.

When I looked at his face again, his smirk was back.

He returned to bed, and I urged him to sit upright with his back against the headboard. He acquiesced, watching me with rapt attention as I knelt between his legs, gripping his hard length in my hand.

I bowed my head, taking him in my mouth. It was my turn to relish his sounds: rumbling, guttural, thunderous. He was always so controlled , and I took pleasure in how undone he sounded as I gave to him what he’d just given me. His fingers curled in my hair, not gripping or even guiding, just holding on—that is, until he tugged gently, a signal to stop.

“Come here,” he rasped.

He was still seated upright. I climbed up his body until I straddled his lap, knees bracketing his hips. My breasts grazed his chest; the dusting of hair across his pectorals was coarse against their sensitive tips. His cock pressed into my thigh, dangerously close to my slickness.

Idris cupped my face in both his hands, staring into my eyes meaningfully. “How did I end up here like this with you?”

“Fate,” I said.

He chuckled as his hands cascaded down my shoulders, gripping my waist. A shiver followed his hands, pebbling my skin.

“You’re the most stunning woman.”

A coy smile spread across my lips. I’d never been complimented like this before, not in a way that made me feel so savored. I didn’t know what to say, so I let my desire lead. I reached between our bodies, gripping him in my hand, guiding him—

“I don’t have an anti-pregnancy tincture,” he said quickly, as if the thought had just occurred.

“I take one monthly,” I told him. Bless Hattie for putting this month’s dose in my pack.

He released a relieved breath.

“May I proceed?” I asked politely.

“I beg you do.”

I angled him toward my entrance, then paused. “Beg, hmm?”

“I am not above begging you.”

I arched a brow, but since I was still staring down at where our bodies were almost joined, the haughty expression was likely diminished. I still could hear his heart beating, a wild, primal drumming in my ears. I gripped him a little tighter, and his abdominals rippled with tension. Anticipation.

I sank onto him. Stars swarmed my vision, and when they cleared, it was his blue-green eyes I saw, staring at me in wonder. I felt impossibly full, stretched.

He gripped my hips and began to rock me against him. I twined my arms around his neck, pulling myself closer to his chest, riding his lap. In this position, my clit ground against him with a delicious friction. Pleasure pulled through me, taut as a bowstring. I picked up speed, chasing the sensation. Idris matched me with his own thrusts, holding me with a hand on my back, the other cupping my breast. He bowed his head, taking my nipple in his mouth, biting down.

The orgasm shot through me like an arrow.

Unlike earlier, he didn’t give me any respite. In one quick, dizzying move, he swiveled me underneath him. I squealed in surprise, clinging to him from my new position on my back. Caging me with his arms, he brought his mouth down on mine, the kiss rough and claiming.

Then he was pumping hard. I hooked a leg over his hip, steadying myself and giving him a deeper angle. He reached between us, placing his hand on my lower abdomen, his thumb pressing my clit. The outside pressure made me feel even tighter inside, heightening the sensation of every thrust.

His movements were becoming less controlled, more fevered. Knowing he was close—it was enough to send me over the edge again, making me scream. His satisfied grin was a lightning-flash in the dark. Then a low, animalistic groan tore out of him as he followed my pleasure with his own. I felt the sound in my core, my extremities; the remnants of it seemed to ring in the silence that settled over the room as we stilled.

I wrapped my legs around his hips, keeping him firmly in place inside me, not ready to let go. We were both panting, shuddering, and sensitive. He rested his forehead against mine, then kissed my nose.

The heady moment dispersed, and then he was leaving to clean himself up. My body felt heavy, warm—but more than that, my heart felt full . It wasn’t just desire and satisfaction, but genuine affection, flowing out of me like an overfull glass.

One night together, and I was already dangerously attached—but I no longer cared about would-be danger. The threat might’ve been foretold, but it wasn’t what stood before me now. The man climbing back into bed, drawing me into his arms, crushing me against him like he was afraid to let me go—he seemed quite the opposite of dangerous.

Idris was safe .