Page 81

I don’t know which of us moves first, only that my hand finds his, and he doesn’t pull away.

The moment our fingers intertwine, heat rises.

Silver light rises, luminous trails that follow the path of my veins.

In answer, darkness spills from him, shadows gathering along his forearms, reaching across the narrow space between us.

Time seems to stop. The air around us turns heavy. Where our powers meet, they dance around each other—light and dark circling, testing boundaries.

Then his free hand lifts. His fingertips graze my jaw, the touch so unexpectedly gentle it makes my heart ache.

This isn’t the calculating strategist I’ve come to know.

The contradiction draws me in, makes me lean into his touch.

Warmth spreads from that point of contact, melting through me, curling deep, seeping into places I hadn’t realized were cold.

"This shouldn't be happening," he murmurs, but he doesn’t let go, doesn’t stop tracing light patterns over my jaw.

"Probably not," I agree, my fingers tightening against his. “But it is, and I don’t want it to stop.”

His shadows respond to my words, extending from his body to mine—dark tendrils sliding across my collarbone, curling around my ribs, slipping beneath my clothes. They leave trails of sensation in their wake, cool against my heated skin.

Not asking permission. Not hesitating. Claiming.

And I let it.

The light within me rises to meet his darkness, silver streams reaching outward through my fingertips, my wrists, anywhere we touch. They twine with his shadows, bright against dark, creating patterns that shouldn’t exist .

I step closer, testing him, a challenge, waiting to see if he’ll pull back.

But he doesn’t. His eyes darken, the black of his irises bleeding outwards, and his hand drops from my jaw to my waist, drawing me against him until I feel the solid warmth of his body.

The contact steals my breath, sends sparks cascading through my nerves.

His breath fans against my lips, hot, uneven, but he still hesitates for half a heartbeat. A single second of restraint. I see the moment it shatters in his eyes.

When our lips finally meet, my power surges upward, the silvery glow breaking through my skin in intricate, luminous patterns. His shadows race to meet it, wrapping around the light.

The kiss is slow at first. Teasing, searching, testing.

He breaks away just enough to look at me, and the naked hunger in his gaze takes my breath away.

Then his mouth reclaims mine.

No more control. No more restraint. Just raw, demanding need that mirrors the ache building inside me.

His body presses against mine, hard muscle against softer curves, and I’m consumed by the feel of him, the scent of him, the taste of him. My palm slides up his arm, over the tension in his shoulders, feeling the rigid control that’s keeping him from breaking apart.

I don’t want it. I don’t want him in control. I don’t want him careful.

I want to see him break.

A soft sound escapes me, something between pleasure and a plea.

His fingers flex against my waist, pulling it from me again.

It triggers something primitive in him—a growl that vibrates through his chest as he backs me against something solid.

The impact sends a jolt through my spine, but the slight pain only heightens everything else.

His hands slide beneath my tunic, palms hot against bare skin, fingers tracing paths that leave fire in their wake. Where he touches me, my inner light follows, illuminating me from within.

A flash of awareness, of that connection formed at Stonehaven, floods through me.

He needs to touch me. Just as much as I need to be touched .

His mouth leaves mine to explore the sensitive skin beneath my ear, teeth grazing my throat in a way that makes me gasp.

And then he bites me.

Not hard. Just enough. Enough to make me gasp. Enough to make heat pool between my legs. Pleasure-pain radiates outward, drawing a sound from me I’ve never made before. His shadows respond, tightening around me, curling at my waist, sliding down my hips, while the light flares brighter.

I arch into him, my fingers working blindly at the fastenings of his uniform.

Desperate to touch him without any barrier between us.

I need him closer . He lets me, even helps, stripping away his overshirt and tunic in a way that leaves me breathless.

Then he’s against me once more, the heat of his skin searing into mine.

His palms cover my breasts beneath my tunic, thumbs circling sensitive peaks until they harden painfully.

The intimacy steals my breath. His shadows lick at my skin where he touches, spreading out to caress my stomach, my ribs, my hips like possessive hands, touching places his fingers haven’t reached yet.

“I’ve thought about this, Mel’shira,” he whispers against my throat, the confession rough with longing.

“Even when I told myself I shouldn’t. How you would feel.

How you would taste.” His voice drops lower.

“How you would sound when I touch you. The exact moment your control would break beneath my hands … my mouth.”

His words send heat spiraling through me, pooling low in my stomach. The reverence in his tone contradicts the possessiveness in his words. This duality, the ruthless strategist and the man whose fingers tremble against my skin, pulls me deeper into his orbit.

Then he’s pushing up my tunic, baring my breasts, and his head lowers. His mouth replaces his hands, lips closing around my nipple, teeth nipping sensitive flesh, and coherent thought splinters into pure sensation.

I suck in a breath when his tongue flicks, teases, sucks, and my fingers tangle into his hair, while my back arches. His laugh, the first I’ve ever heard him utter, vibrates against my skin—dark with satisfaction, heavy with promise. It makes me shiver, knowing that the sound is for me alone.

His mouth travels lower, while his shadows work ahead of him, untying, unbuttoning, sliding fabric aside. He kisses a path down my stomach, nipping at the sensitive skin just above my waistband.

Then they’re gone. Every item of clothing shed by shadow, and I’m fully exposed to him . Vulnerability washes through me—not fear, but the awareness of being seen completely, nothing hidden.

His hands guide me away from the wall, and turn me until my legs hit the bed, and I fall onto the mattress. He follows, covering my body with his, skin against skin, with nothing between us. His shadows curl around my thighs, easing them apart while he moves down my body.

The silver light patterns my skin where he touches me. His shadows weave between them, creating something new where our powers mingle.

He kisses the inside of my thigh, his breath hot against my skin. His shadows tighten their hold, keeping my thighs open, and the anticipation, the way he’s keeping me bared, sends a new wave of heat through me.

And then his mouth finds me.

The first stroke of his tongue is slow, savoring. Tasting. I strain against his shadows’ hold, but they keep me in place while he devours me with teeth and tongue. A low groan rumbles through him, and his fingers spread me open as he draws my clit between his lips and sucks gently.

Pleasure spikes, my breath stuttering as he licks me again, then again, each pass of his tongue deliberate. Controlled. Torturous . My thighs tense, but his shadows press against them, keeping me wide open, exactly where he wants me.

My back arches off the bed, a cry escaping me that might have been his name, and his hand slides beneath me, lifting me higher against his mouth as he continues to feast.

“Sacha.” I manage to gasp his name, my hands fisting in his hair, hips rolling against him in silent need .

He doesn’t stop me, he encourages it, hands wrapping around my thighs, so he can lick deeper, longer, groaning as if the taste of me undoes him .

He looks up at me then, his eyes dark with hunger, shadows crawling across his face.

“I’m not finished with you yet.”

He slides a finger inside me, curling just right , stroking that devastatingly perfect spot which makes my vision blur with pleasure. A second finger joins the first, thrusting deeper, while his tongue works me in a merciless rhythm.

The pleasure coils higher, tightens harder , unbearable.

I can’t think. Can’t breathe .

Silver light pulses, streaking in wild patterns over my thighs, my stomach, him . His shadows tighten around me, pressing against my ribs, twining up my spine, flicking over my nipples, pinching, twisting, like an extra set of fingers.

The dual sensations push me toward another peak too quickly. My thighs shake against his hold as tension builds, and then the pressure snaps.

I shatter.

Release crashes through me again, more powerful than before. My muscles clench around his fingers as waves of pleasure ripple outward. The room fills with fractured light as my power surges uncontrollably. His shadows move in sync, flowing over every inch of me they can reach.

A scream, a sob, a moan —I don’t know which—it tears from my throat, but he doesn’t stop. He licks me through it, drawing every last wave of pleasure from my trembling form.

Only when I’m gasping, legs shaking, begging for mercy, does he finally rise, dragging his mouth over my stomach, my ribs, my breasts, back to my lips.

He kisses me. Slow, deep. Letting me taste myself on his tongue.

My hands reach down, wrapping around the thick, hard length of him. He hisses at my touch, his whole body turning rigid. Satisfaction curls through me at his reaction, at knowing I can affect him as powerfully as he’s affecting me.

I stroke him slowly, watching his face tighten with pleasure and restraint. His shadows flicker with each movement of my hand, betraying his control.