Page 16

Chapter 15

T his time when he kissed me, it wasn't gentle.

This was heat and want and hunger, the restraint of the first kiss giving way to something far more urgent. His tusks grazed my bottom lip, a delicious scrape of sensation that made me gasp against his mouth. He took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine with a skill that made my toes curl.

I should have been embarrassed by how quickly my body responded—by the way my breathing shortened or how my thighs instinctively parted wider to accommodate him. But there was no room for shame in the narrow space between us, just the overwhelming need for more.

My hands found their way to his shoulders, broad and solid beneath the worn fabric of his shirt. Even kneeling, he was massive—a wall of muscle and warmth that seemed to dwarf me. The reality of his size and his sheer physical presence sent a primal thrill down my spine.

His hand moved from my knee, sliding up my thigh, pushing my skirt up as it went, while his mouth traveled to my neck. The light scrape of his tusks against the sensitive skin there drew a sound from me that I barely recognized as my own.

Kazrek stilled for a heartbeat, then let out a low growl that vibrated against my throat. “That sound—” he murmured, “—stars, I’ve imagined that.”

My breath hitched, my fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt. “Yeah?” I managed, already breathless.

His exhale was hot against the curve of my neck. “You don’t know what it does to me, hearing you like that.” His hand moved to cup me through the thin fabric, applying just enough pressure to make me arch toward him. “Knowing I’m the one who got past your walls.”

He shifted, rising slightly to capture my mouth again while his hand finally slipped beneath the fabric. The first brush of his fingers against my slick heat made me gasp into the kiss.

His movements were patient, learning what made my breath hitch and my thighs tremble. He didn't rush, didn't push. Just steady, mounting pleasure that had me clutching at his shoulders, my hips shifting unconsciously to meet his touch.

But as good as it felt—and stars, it felt amazing—I couldn't quite let myself fall into it completely. Some part of me was still observing from a distance, still worrying about Maeve upstairs, about the shop, about the cracked pendant sitting on the workbench.

About what this might mean tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that.

Kazrek noticed. Of course he did. He always saw too much.

"You're holding back," he murmured, his fingers still moving in maddening circles that kept me right at the edge without pushing me over. His dark eyes were intent on my face, reading every flicker of expression.

I bit my lip, embarrassment and frustration mingling. "I'm not—I'm trying—"

He pressed his forehead to mine, his movements slowing but not stopping. "You're still carrying everything, aren't you? Even now."

The understanding in his voice made my eyes sting. "I can't help it."

His free hand brushed a strand of hair from my face. "Do you trust me, Rowena?"

The question hung in the air, heavier than it had any right to be.

"I..." My throat closed around the words. I wanted to say yes. But trust had always been a risk I couldn't afford to take.

He seemed to read the hesitation in my eyes. "Will you let me hold it for you?" he said gently. “Just for a little while."

My breath caught at the simple request. Not asking me to let it all go—just to share the burden, even if only for this moment.

"Yes," I whispered.

Something shifted in his gaze, a warmth and determination that made my heart stutter. "Then give it to me."

He moved with purpose now, standing and lifting me as if I weighed nothing at all. He set me on the edge of the workbench, papers scattering to the floor as he positioned himself between my legs. His hands were at my bodice, unlacing with steady efficiency.

"You spend every day taking care of everyone else," he said, his voice a low rumble as the fabric loosened. "Let someone take care of you for once."

The cool air of the shop kissed my skin as he pushed the fabric aside, exposing my breasts to his gaze. I should have felt exposed, vulnerable. Instead, the hunger in his eyes as he looked at me made me feel powerful.

His hands were large and warm as they cupped my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples with gentle pressure that drew a gasp from my lips.

"So responsive," he murmured, his voice rough with approval. "And so beautiful."

Before I could respond, he bent his head, his mouth replacing his hands. The warm, wet heat of his tongue against my sensitive skin sent a jolt of pleasure straight to my core. His tusks pressed against the soft curve of my breast, a delicious contrast to the gentleness of his mouth.

I arched into him, my fingers finding their way to his hair, pulling it loose from its tie. The dark strands were surprisingly soft against my skin.

He took his time, lavishing attention on my breasts until I was panting, my hips squirming restlessly against the hard surface of the bench. Only then did his hands move to push my skirts up around my waist, fingers hooking into the waistband of my undergarments.

"Lift," he commanded softly, and I obeyed without thinking, raising my hips so he could slide the fabric down and away.

The night air brushed my skin, but I barely felt it before his large hands gripped my thighs, spreading them wide. He knelt again, his broad shoulders keeping my legs parted as he settled between them.

I felt a flush rise to my cheeks as he looked at me, exposed and wanting. But there was nothing but reverence in his gaze.

"I've imagined this," he admitted, his thumbs tracing maddening circles on my inner thighs. "How you might taste. How you might sound when you come apart for me."

The words alone were nearly enough to push me over the edge. "Kazrek, please—"

His smile was knowing, almost predatory. "Please what?"

My breath caught as his thumb brushed teasingly against my center, just enough to make me shiver. "Please... touch me."

"I am touching you." His voice was a deep rumble that I could feel in my bones. "Tell me what you need."

Words had never been my ally, and they failed me now. But Kazrek didn't rush me, didn't grow impatient. He simply waited, his eyes steady on mine.

"Make me feel," I finally managed, the admission costing me more than I cared to admit. "Make me stop thinking."

Understanding flashed in his eyes, followed by determination. "I can do that."

And then his mouth was on me, hot and insistent, and thought became impossible.

I gasped, one hand flying to the edge of the bench to steady myself, the other tangling in his hair. The sensation was overwhelming—wet heat and gentle pressure and the occasional teasing scrape of his tusks against sensitive flesh.

He didn't hesitate or second-guess. He touched me like he knew exactly what I needed, like he could read the language of my body better than I could myself. His tongue circled and pressed and teased until I was trembling, my thighs tensing around his head.

But even as pleasure built, so did that familiar resistance—that part of me that couldn't quite let go, that had to remain vigilant. My body was racing toward release, but my mind was holding me back, trapped in the familiar cage of control.

Kazrek seemed to sense it. He pulled back, his eyes finding mine. His beard was damp, his expression intense.

"Stop fighting it, Rowena," he said, his voice a low growl that vibrated through me. "You don't have to be in control right now. Not with me." His fingers replaced his mouth, thick and insistent, circling my most sensitive spot with perfect pressure. "Feel me. Just feel."

I wanted to. Stars, how I wanted to. But years of holding tight to control didn't dissolve in a moment, even with his skilled touch urging me toward surrender.

Frustration built alongside pleasure, making me dig my nails into his shoulders. "I can't," I admitted, the words catching in my throat. "I'm trying, but I can't—"

"You can," he said, and the certainty in his voice was a tangible thing. "And you will."

He stood then, his fingers never leaving my body, and his other hand cupped my jaw. "Look at me," he commanded, and I did. Those dark eyes held mine, pinning me in place more effectively than his physical strength ever could. "I'm right here. I've got you. Let go, Rowena. Let me catch you."

The raw honesty in his voice broke something loose inside me. The pressure of his fingers increased, became more insistent, and I felt the tightness in my lower belly coil tighter.

"That's it," he encouraged, his voice a rough caress. "You're so close. I can feel it." His thumb brushed across my bottom lip. "Trust me. Just a little more."

The tension built, higher and higher, my breathing ragged as I teetered on the edge. And then his mouth was on mine again, swallowing my gasps, his kiss deep and claiming.

"Come for me," he whispered against my lips.

And I did.

Release crashed over me in waves, pleasure so intense it was almost painful. I cried out into his mouth, my body arching against his hand, trembling with the force of it. Time seemed to stretch and distort, reality narrowing to nothing but the feel of his fingers coaxing every last tremor from my oversensitized body.

When I finally came back to myself, I was slumped against his chest, my face buried in the crook of his neck. His arms were around me, solid and warm, keeping me from falling. The world felt different—sharper and softer all at once, as if some lens had been wiped clean.

"Breathe," he murmured into my hair, one large hand rubbing soothing circles on my back. "That's it. Just breathe."

I did, drawing in the scent of him—herbs and leather and the faintest hint of musk. It was grounding, familiar in a way it shouldn't have been given how little time we'd known each other.

When I finally found the courage to lift my head, I expected to see smugness in his expression. Instead, there was only warmth, and something deeper I wasn't ready to name.

"Are you alright?" he asked, gently pushing a strand of hair from my face.

I nodded, not quite trusting my voice. My limbs felt heavy and languid, as if the tension of months had suddenly drained away.

With careful movements, Kazrek began to set my clothing back in order—pulling my skirts down, lacing my bodice with deft fingers. The act was strangely intimate, more tender than what had come before. He wasn't pawing or possessing; he was taking care of me, just as he'd promised.

When he finished, his hands came to rest on my thighs, warm through the fabric of my skirt. "You're not alone," he said. "Not with Maeve. Not with any of it."

The words hit me with unexpected force. I'd spent so long convincing myself that being alone was safer—that depending on someone else was a weakness I couldn't afford. But the man before me, with his steady hands and unwavering gaze, made me want to believe otherwise.

My eyes drifted to the cracked pendant still lying on the workbench, and reality rushed back in. The threat was still out there. Maeve was still at risk. The afterglow of pleasure receded, replaced by the familiar weight of worry.

But this time, it felt different. More manageable, somehow.

"We need answers," Kazrek said, following my gaze to the pendant. "Real ones. Not just theories."

I nodded, my mind already turning toward possibilities. "The Archives, maybe."

Kazrek considered this, nodding slowly. "First thing tomorrow, then."

"Tomorrow," I agreed, feeling oddly lighter despite the looming threat. Perhaps because, for the first time in years, I wasn't facing it completely alone.

He stood, offering his hand to help me down from the bench. I took it, steadying myself as my still-shaky legs readjusted to standing. His thumb brushed across my knuckles, the gesture almost absently affectionate.

"Thank you," I said quietly, the words inadequate but sincere.

His eyebrows lifted slightly. "For...?"

I gestured vaguely, heat rising to my cheeks. "For being..." I struggled to find the right word. Gentle seemed wrong for a man his size. Patient was true but insufficient. "Steady," I finally decided. "For being steady when I couldn't be."

The corner of his mouth quirked up, a rare half-smile that transformed his face. "Always," he said simply.

And in that moment, standing in the lamplight with his promise hanging between us, I almost believed him.