Page 19 of The Moon’s Fury (Moon & Sands #2)

S he inhaled deeply, the air rich with sandalwood and spice.

Groggily, she opened her eyes, finding herself in an unfamiliar bed, the warm glow of sunlight dancing through sheer curtains.

She was lying on a bare chest, solid and warm, marked with the unmistakable Medjai tattoo.

Glancing upward, she saw the peaceful, sleeping face of Zarian, a tranquility in his features she had never witnessed in waking life.

The length of her body was pressed against his, her leg slung over his waist. Her blood ran hot as she blinked away the last vestiges of sleep and became increasingly aware of their intimate position, separated only by her thin nightgown and his sleep trousers.

She chanced another look at him—still sound asleep.

Propping herself on her elbow, she studied his handsome, chiseled face. The purple bags had significantly lessened, and his skin had returned to its healthy, tan color.

Let him sleep, you wanton woman , her mind lectured, but she found herself helpless against the need to touch him.

With fingers as light as a raithbee, she skimmed the sharp contour of his cheekbone, trailing down over his stubbled jaw.

Her gentle fingertips moved lightly across his thick collarbones before tracing the dark whorls of his tattoo.

With every exploring caress, molten desire pooled in her belly and shot through her limbs, her heart racing in her chest. Her hand traveled lower, tracing the ridges of his abdomen and—

His body tensed against her.

She froze, slowly looking up at him, cheeks warm.

Bright hazel eyes were fixed on her, full, sensuous lips curved into an amused smile. She reluctantly removed her wandering hand, but before she could pull back completely, he grabbed it, pressing her hand to his cheek.

“Someone’s having a good morning,” he teased. His smile widened as she glowered.

“Zarian, I swear by the moon, if you don’t make love to me this instant, I will combust.” A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest and sent vibrations through her.

In the next heartbeat, he had flipped her onto her back and climbed atop her.

The delicious weight of him was all-consuming.

She swallowed deeply, her mouth suddenly dry.

The power beneath her skin hummed louder, and for a moment, Layna thought she might actually combust.

But then he buried his face in her neck and groaned, a ragged, pained sound, and all her thoughts fluttered away. Her chest heaved beneath him as he trailed kisses from her neck to her temple.

“You always smell so intoxicating,” he growled in her ear. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” Zarian nudged her legs apart and settled his weight between her thighs.

“I don’t,” she breathed, her eyes meeting his as he pressed their foreheads together. She raked her fingers up his muscled back and tangled them in his silky locks. “I can’t imagine it’s much of anything since you’ve deprived me all these months.”

She arched her body into his, and his eyes snapped shut, a deep groan rumbling through him. He sucked in a sharp breath, and when he opened them again, they were dark with desire. He ghosted his lips across her cheeks, then her nose, before finally skimming her lips in the faintest of kisses.

When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “Anything I’ve deprived you, I’ve denied myself tenfold.

” He captured her mouth in a searing, punishing kiss.

“Do you know how hard it was resisting you?” he murmured against her lips.

“Whenever your hand would find my thigh, I knew I had only minutes to leave before you climbed into my lap and drove me mad with desire.”

“What did you do?” she breathed. “When you got back to your room?”

His smirk was made of sin, and she wanted it imprinted on her flesh. “What do you think I did?”

“I want to hear you say it.”

Another deep groan rumbled, vibrating through her chest. He pressed his nose to her temple, dragging it down to her neck.

“I imagined what you’d look like spread out before me like a feast. What you’d”—he licked a hot stripe along her neck—“taste like.” A loud moan escaped her.

“The sounds you’d make.” He sucked her earlobe into his mouth, tugging at it with his teeth.

“Your turn. What would you do after I left?”

“I—I would imagine your weight on me.” Layna hitched her leg over his hip, pressing him harder against her. His breathing grew ragged. “How you’d feel … inside me.”

She was too far gone to feel any embarrassment. Pure need crackled through her, heady and wanton. Her hands felt hot against his cool skin, but he didn’t seem to mind.

His hazel eyes swirled with untamed want. He gathered her wrists in one large hand and held them above her head. His other hand gripped her side, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

His voice was rough when he spoke. “If we do this, Layna, you’ll never be free of me.

Even if you change your mind about us, I’ll haunt you until the end of your days and leave you with no choice.

Except. To be. Mine. I will be your shadow, one you can’t ever escape, not even in the dark.

Not even in death, because I’ll follow you there, too. Do you understand?”

“Zarian, I am yours,” she whispered against his lips. “My heart has always been yours, even when my mind muddled things. But it’s finally caught up now. I am yours .”

She closed the distance between their lips, melding their mouths together until there was no more room for doubt.

They lay panting, tangled in the sheets, skin slick with sweat. She nestled closer against him, head resting on his heart. “I can’t believe you kept that from me for so long,” she teased, tracing the contours of his muscled chest.

He chuckled, his fingers leaving scorching trails along the length of her back. “I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

“Every day?” she asked with narrowed, playful eyes.

He pressed his lips to hers, slow and languid. “Yes, every day.” Between each kiss, he added, “My. Insatiable. Needy. Love.”

His kisses were so tender, she didn’t object to being called needy—it was true, anyway.

They lay in contented, satiated silence until she murmured, “I’ll need to drink silpharoon tea.”

Zarian hummed in agreement. “Good thing you packed the leaves when you thought I wasn’t looking.”

Layna gaped. “Do you have eyes on the back of your head?” she sputtered. He only laughed, brushing his lips against her forehead.

“I’ll make it for you.”

She sat up, holding the sheets to her chest, and watched shamelessly as he rose and tugged on his discarded sleep trousers. He quickly found the dried leaves in her pack.

Her gaze lingered on the rippling muscles in his back as he reached for a small pot, measuring out water for the tea. Once he lit the wood stove and set the water to boil, he deftly used the hilt of his dagger to crush the silpharoon leaf into a fine powder.

As she watched his practiced movements, a cold, sinking realization washed over her, sweeping away the haze of pleasure and replacing it with burning jealousy.

“You’ve made silpharoon tea before,” she said flatly. “Often.”

A brief stilling of his hands was the only indication he’d heard. He dropped the fine powder into the pot, dusting off his hands.

“I have,” he said slowly. He was silent while the tea steeped, and her jealousy steeped along with it.

When steam began to rise, wispy, white plumes mocking her, he carefully poured the bright purple liquid into a teacup. Fuming, she watched as he searched the cabinets for something, and when he didn’t find it, he shrugged on his tunic and left the room.

He was back within minutes with a small jar of honey. After scooping a heaping spoonful into the teacup, he finally sat beside her on the bed.

Scowling, she turned her face away, but he easily hauled her against his side with a muscled arm, practically into his lap.

He held the teacup in his other hand, blowing cool air over the top, sending ripples dancing across the bright, purple surface.

His hazel eyes shone with affection as he brought the cup to her lips.

She pinned him with a glare, vicious tendrils of jealousy still writhing in her belly.

Undeterred, he patiently waited with quirked lips until she finally took a sip.

Before she could register the bitter taste, he stole a kiss from her, lips insistent.

His tongue swept in, plundering her mouth and stealing her breath.

A surprised “ Oh! ” escaped her as they parted.

He pressed the teacup to her lips for another sip, and again kissed her so soundly afterward that she barely noticed the foul taste.

He repeated this—sip and kiss, sip and kiss—until half the tea was gone. Setting the cup aside, he cradled her face.

“Yes, I’ve made silpharoon tea before,” he admitted.

“But that was because I didn’t trust my partners to drink it on their own.

With you, it’s out of a desire to care for you.

Because I am in love with you. And I can assure you, in the past, I never bothered with honey.

I never held anyone in my arms, pressing a cup to their lips.

And I certainly never kissed away the taste. ”

“But you were with them. And you refused to be with me. For months,” she said, her voice quiet.

He sighed, and so much sorrow flitted through his eyes that she almost regretted her words.

“Layna, I couldn’t allow myself to be with you—not when I didn’t know if I’d lose you.

Every time I left your chambers, I lay awake for hours, fantasizing about all the things I wished I had done.

” He glanced away. “But more often than that, I imagined what I’d do if you married someone else.

I would have killed him. I had it planned out, even.

I would have never let you move on and live your life.