Page 61 of Warlord’s Plaything

The fire crackles low in the hearth, its embers casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. The scent of night-blooming jasmine drifts in through the open window, thick and sweet, mixing with the lingering traces of rain. The world beyond these walls is quiet—no war, no blood, no battles left to fight.

Just her.

Hira.

She stands at the foot of our bed, watching me. Barefoot, dressed in nothing but a thin, ivory slip that clings to her curves like mist, her dark hair still damp from the bath. The candlelight catches in the strands, turning them to liquid ink, shimmering as she moves.

And gods, the way she looks at me—like I am something worth keeping, something worth wanting.

My chest tightens, heat rising beneath my skin, my pulse steady and strong.

I have spent my life fighting, bleeding, surviving.

I have known pain deeper than the marrow of my bones. I have known loss so absolute it hollowed me out from the inside.

But this—this is something I have never known.

Peace.

Love.

A woman who meets my hunger with her own.

She takes a step forward. Then another. Slow, deliberate. The flickering light carves shadows across her collarbone, down the curves of her hips, the swell of her breasts.

"You’re staring," she murmurs.

Her voice is husky, teasing, but beneath it—beneath it, there is something softer.

Something raw.

I push up from the edge of the bed, my body aching in all the ways that do not hurt. She stops just within reach, her breath warm, her fingers brushing my chest, grazing over the scars that mark me.

Scars I once wore like armor.

Scars she has kissed, traced, memorized.

"I’m not staring," I tell her, catching her wrist, turning her palm up. I press a kiss to the inside, just below the joint. "I’m worshipping. "

Her breath hitches.

Her pulse flutters against my lips.

A slow smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth. "Then maybe," she whispers, stepping closer, pressing herself against me, " you should kneel. "

A growl rumbles in my chest, low and dark. My fingers tighten around her wrist as I tug her flush against me, her body molding to mine, heat sparking where we touch. Her head tilts back, eyes heavy-lidded, lips parting just enough to make me think about all the ways I want to ruin her.

I run a hand up the curve of her spine, fisting the fabric of her slip, pulling it tight over her thighs, her waist. "Be careful what you ask for, little warrior."

She tilts her head, challenging, unafraid. "Who said I was asking?"

A wicked little thing, my Hira.

I smile—slow, deliberate. And then, just as she dares to breathe, I drop to my knees.

A sharp inhale.

Her fingers thread into my hair, tightening as I drag my hands up her legs, slipping beneath the silk that shields her from me. My lips follow, pressing slow, lingering kisses along her thighs, feeling the shudder beneath my touch.

"You think you know how this ends," I murmur against her skin. "But you forget—" I slide the fabric higher, inch by inch, letting my teeth graze the sensitive flesh above her knee, " I never do what I’m told. "

A shiver.

A sharp inhale.

And then?—

She breaks.

Her knees buckle, but I catch her, guiding her down until she is straddling my lap, her hands clutching my shoulders, her breath ragged against my ear. I slide my fingers into her hair, tilting her head back, claiming her mouth with a hunger that has lived inside me since the moment I first saw her.

Hira doesn’t just kiss me—she devours me.

She bites, she pulls, she meets every dark, desperate part of me with something just as wild.

I don’t know where we begin or where we end.

I only know that I need more.

I lift her, carry her to the bed, pressing her down against the sheets, caging her beneath me. My weight settles between her thighs, the warmth of her searing through every layer between us.

Her nails rake down my back, her legs wrapping around me, locking me against her. "Xyron," she gasps, and there it is?—

The need.

The plea.

I capture her hands, pinning them above her head, forcing her to meet my gaze. "Say it," I murmur.

She swallows hard, her breath uneven.

My grip tightens.

"Say it."

Her lashes flutter, her pupils blown wide. "I love you," she whispers, the words trembling, raw with emotion.

My heart pounds, something primal, something unrelenting, surging through me. I dip my head, my lips brushing her jaw, her throat, savoring her taste.

"Again," I demand, my voice low, rough, barely more than a growl.

Her breath catches as I move lower, my teeth grazing over the delicate curve of her collarbone, nipping lightly before soothing the sting with my tongue. She shivers beneath me, her fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me closer.

"Xyron—" she gasps, her voice breaking.

"Again," I insist, my hands roaming her body, mapping every curve, every scar, every inch of her.

Her fingers clench in the sheets, her body arching beneath mine, seeking more, always more. "I love you," she breathes, the words soft but fierce, like a vow.

I gaze at my mate, my heart surging with emotions I didn’t know I’m capable of.

I love her with all of me. My soul. My heart. My very being. I kiss her as I spread her legs and brush my cock against her wet entrance.

Then, I claim her—fully, completely.

She gasps as I push inside her, her back bowing, her body molding to mine like she was made for this. For me.

And I lose myself in her, in the way she feels around me, tight and hot and perfect.

I take her slowly at first, savoring the way she trembles beneath me, the way her fingers grasp at my back, pulling me closer, deeper. Her breath comes in short, ragged gasps, her nails digging into my skin, leaving marks that I’ll wear like trophies.

But she is wild, and I am undone.

“Hira, my mate, my love. My soul…” I groan as I try to control myself, to savor this moment and brand this in my memory.

It does not stay slow for long.

Her hips rise to meet mine, her movements desperate, demanding, and I give her what she wants. My hands grip her hips, holding her steady as I thrust into her, each movement driving us both closer to the edge.

Her moans fill the room, raw and unfiltered, and I swallow them with my mouth, my lips crashing against hers in a kiss that’s as much a battle as it is a surrender.

Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me deeper, and I groan, the sound rough, guttural, torn from the deepest part of me.

“Hira…”

“Yes,” she murmurs, sounding more like a vow than anything I have ever heard.

I choke, unable to say the words. Instead, I worship her with my hands, my mouth, my body, giving her everything, taking everything, until there is nothing left between us but raw, aching pleasure.

My lips find her neck, her collarbone, the curve of her breast, her nipples, each touch drawing another gasp, another moan, another broken plea.

"Xyron—" she cries, her voice breaking, her body trembling beneath me.

Her climax crashes over her like a wave, her body arching, her nails digging into my back as she cries out my name. I follow her over the edge, my release slamming into me with a force that leaves me breathless, shaking, undone.

We collapse together, breathless, tangled, her head resting against my chest. My heart is a thunder in my ribs, but she is calm—soft, pliant, utterly mine.

I press a kiss to her temple, my fingers tracing lazy circles along the curve of her back.

"You’re mine," I whisper, the words a vow, a promise, a claim.

She hums, half-asleep, a smile tugging at the edges of her lips. "Always."

The storm outside has quieted.

The world beyond these walls will keep turning.

But tonight?—

Tonight, there is no war.

No blood.

No ghosts waiting to take us.

Tonight, there is only us.

And that is enough.