Page 34 of We Were Meant to Burn (Ashes and Ruin Saga #1)

“Are you done making up excuses, love?”

he asked, his voice hoarse, ragged like he’d been holding his breath for too long.

I looked at him—really looked at him. At the hope barely masked behind the steel. At the man who saw every ruined part of me and still reached out.

My mouth parted, but the words tangled in my throat.

Was I done?

Because if I said yes, there was no undoing it. No turning back.

And goddess help me, I was tired of running.

I nodded before my brain could catch up, before reason could remind me why this was reckless, why this was dangerous. But it was too late. My heart had already decided—pounding so loudly in my chest that I was sure he could hear it.

Malakai’s lips parted slightly, his breath warm against my skin as he searched my face. His violet eyes flickered with something I couldn’t name, something deep and unguarded. And then, with a voice so soft it could have been the wind itself, he whispered, “I love you.”

The words hit me like a blade to the ribs. Sharp. Sudden. A blow I hadn’t seen coming.

And then his lips crashed into mine.

The world tilted, spun, narrowed down to the searing heat of his mouth on mine. This wasn’t soft or delicate—it was fire and electricity, raw and consuming. Malakai kissed like he fought, with precision and certainty, but there was something desperate beneath it, something that made my bones tremble. As if he was afraid I might disappear.

I parted my lips, and he moaned into the kiss, the sound sparking something molten in my core. His hands gripped my waist, rough and needy, and I gasped as he pulled me flush against him. I clung to him like he was the only thing keeping me from drowning, my fingers threading into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp.

His heart pounded against mine, the same frantic rhythm, the same reckless urgency. Heat burned under my skin as his hands roamed up my spine, over my shoulders, down the curve of my back. I melted into him, pressing closer, and he let out a shuddered breath, his grip tightening like he had no intention of ever letting go.

I had been kissed before.

But never like this.

Never like I was something fragile and indestructible all at once. Never like I was something irreplaceable.

A sound escaped me—somewhere between a sigh and a groan, every nerve ending sparking to life under his touch. For a moment, there was no pain, no doubt, no future waiting to destroy us.

Just Malakai.

And me.

And this.

I pressed my forehead against Malakai’s, my breath coming fast and uneven. My body hummed, every nerve alive, every inch of me burning for him. I tugged him closer, nails digging just slightly into his skin, grounding myself in the heat of him.

“You have no idea,”

I whispered, my voice rough with want, “how long I’ve wanted this.”

Not just the kiss. Not just the touch. Him.

The way he looked at me, like I was more than a weapon. Like I was something worth wanting.

“I tried to fight it,”

I admitted, dragging my mouth along his jaw.

"Tried to bury it. But I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

My hand fisted in his shirt.

“I’m done pretending I don’t want you.”

The words barely left my mouth before he crushed his lips to mine, his hands tangling in my hair, tugging just enough to send a sharp thrill racing down my spine. He tasted like fire and something sweet, something uniquely him, and I was drowning in it. His scent—spearmint and fir needles—wrapped around me, intoxicating, dizzying.

I pressed against him, feeling the hard plane of his chest against my breasts, the way his muscles coiled and flexed beneath my touch. He groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through me as his fingers traced down my spine, branding me with his heat.

“Nix,”

he breathed against my ear, his voice rough, reverent. The way he said my name—like it was sacred, like it was something worth holding on to—sent a shudder through me. I felt the way his body reacted to mine, the heat of his skin, the hunger in his touch. It was raw, consuming, and I wanted more.

"If we don’t stop now, you are going to destroy me.”

And maybe that was exactly what I wanted. Not the kind of destruction I was used to. Not the kind that ended in blood and tears. But the kind that transformed. Set free.

“Would that be such a bad thing?” I asked.

His breath hitched, and before he could respond, I mustered my courage and pushed him gently off the dance floor, guiding him through the festival, past the flickering candles and the laughter, toward one of the empty cabanas. His muscles tensed beneath my hands as I led him backward, and when I nipped at the corner of his jaw, his grip on my waist tightened, a low groan escaping his lips.

He hesitated just as we reached the entrance, his violet eyes dark with desire but filled with something else—something deeper.

His lips hovered a breath above mine, his fingers gripping my waist like he was trying to tether himself. His voice came out low, rough—like a man on the edge of something he might not come back from.

“Are you sure?”

he rasped, voice soft and breaking around the edges.

"Because I don’t know if I can survive this if it’s not real.”

“This is real,”

I murmured, pressing my lips to his. I wanted him to feel how real it was. How serious I was.

He swallowed hard.

"If you say ‘yes’, I’m yours. Completely. And I don’t know how to come back from that. Because once I have you, I’m not letting go. Not tonight. Not ever.”

His eyes burned into mine, possessive and reverent all at once.

"If you’re mine—truly mine—I need to hear you say it.”

I had never been more sure of anything in my life.

“I’m yours,”

I breathed, my lips brushing his. It wasn’t just wanton words—it was a promise, a surrender, a battle cry.

He didn’t waste another second.

With a swift motion, he swept me up into his arms, and I gasped, my fingers clutching at his shoulders as he carried me inside. The gossamer curtains fluttered in his wake as he strode into the cabana, his every movement deliberate, controlled, yet charged with an intensity that made my stomach twist with anticipation.

He set me down on the edge of the bed, his hands lingering at my waist before caressing my sides, until his thumbs grazed the exposed skin above my collar bones. The golden candlelight flickered, casting shadows along his sharp cheekbones, his jawline, the sculpted lines of his face. He looked at me like he was trying to memorize every detail, as if he wanted to carve this moment into his soul.

The air between us was thick, charged with something neither of us could deny any longer. Malakai’s gaze burned into me, his violet eyes dark with want, but beneath the hunger, there was something else—something deeper, something that had been building since the moment we met.

I reached for him first, threading my fingers into the silken strands of his silver hair, drawing him down until our lips met in a slow, lingering kiss. It wasn’t rushed or desperate, but something richer, more profound—a surrender. Deliberate, like he was claiming something that had always belonged to him. Like I had been his from the moment we met, and he had only been waiting for me to realize it.

My hands found the hard planes of his chest, tracing the ridges of muscle and the faint, silvery remnants of the runes that had once been carved into his skin. His warmth seeped into me, a slow-burning fire that curled through my belly, flooding my veins with a heady mix of anticipation and something else—something deeper, something I hadn’t dared name.

He kissed me like he had all the time in the world, like he wasn’t afraid of tomorrow or the battles we had yet to fight. His lips coaxed and teased, pulling sighs from my throat, unraveling the tight coil of tension inside me until all that remained was the press of his body against mine and the steady, unshakable way he held me.

His hands skimmed the curves of my waist, over the thin fabric of my dress, fingertips teasing against the laces that held it together. His touch sent fire racing beneath my skin, each stroke making me ache for more. My breath hitched as he slid his hands lower, gripping my hips, pulling me flush against him. I gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound like it was the most precious thing in the world.

Malakai’s lips brushed over my jaw, my cheek, the hollow of my throat.

"Last chance, love. Tell me to stop,”

he whispered against my skin.

"And I will.”

I tilted my head back, giving him better access, my fingers tightening in his hair.

"Don’t you dare, Malakai,”

I breathed.

He let out a shaky laugh, his forehead pressing against mine.

"You have no idea,”

he whispered, voice thick, “how long I’ve wanted this.”

His mouth brushed the corner of mine, and his voice came out low, ragged, as if he were barely holding back by a sliver of a thread that he hadn’t yet let snap.

“You have no idea how many times I told myself I couldn’t have you. That I wasn’t allowed to want you. Or how many times I’ve dreamed of hearing you say my name like this.”

He closed his eyes.

“But I did know,”

I said, pressing my forehead to his.

I had been aching for this moment. For the stupid and impossible hope, that maybe, for once, I could have something that wasn’t carved out of pain.

“I told myself that it was a bad idea,”

I whispered.

"That wanting you would only end in disaster. That I’d ruin it like I ruin everything else. That I couldn’t. That I shouldn’t. You say that I have no idea, but I do, Malakai.”

He exhaled, a sound of something dangerously close to relief, before he kissed me again, deeper this time, like he was memorizing me. This time, when he kissed me, it wasn’t slow. It wasn’t careful.

This time, it was everything.

Like he wanted to make sure I never forgot this moment.

I wouldn’t.

He traced a path down my neck with his mouth, his hands deftly working the ties of my dress until the fabric loosened and fell away, pooling around my hips and exposing my breasts to him.

Malakai pulled back to admire me, his eyes roving over my exposed skin like I was a masterpiece that he’d never grow tired of viewing.

"You are breathtaking,”

he whispered, his voice rough with emotion.

Despite how much I want to believe him, to just be here in this moment with him, I can’t help but feel a flutter of self-consciousness.

I knew he saw me flinch at his declaration, and instead of being upset at my reaction, he cupped my face like he owned it—like I was something he’d fought for and refused to let go.

His voice dropped to a whisper, the truth too sacred to be spoken too loudly.

“Do you even know what you do to me when you look at me like that?”

He reached up, brushing his knuckles along my jaw like I was something fragile. Precious.

"You’re beautiful,”

he said, and it wasn’t just the way the words fell from his lips—it was the way he looked at me when he said them, like beauty had never existed before this moment.

“Not because of your face,”

he added softly, “though goddess have mercy, you take my breath every time I look at you. But it’s more than that. It’s the way you fight, the way you feel, the way you carry your pain like it’s armor and still find the strength to keep going. It’s how you make the world quieter just by standing in it.”

He leaned in, his forehead brushing mine, his breath warm and unsteady.

“You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen . . . and I don’t think I’ll ever recover from it.”

My breath hitched in my throat, and I summoned the courage to reply.

"When you say it like that, I believe you.”

And I did. I believed every word he said to me that night.

“I will spend the rest of my life reminding you of it, then,”

he said before crushing my lips with his.

I shivered as his mouth traced the line of my collarbone, lower still, until his mouth closed around the peak of my breast. My fingers fisted in his hair, pulling him closer as a soft cry escaped me. He groaned against my skin, his hands gripping my waist, holding me steady as his tongue flicked, teased, and then soothed with a slow, sensual drag of his mouth. My body melted beneath his ministrations, the pleasure coiling tight in my core.

I tugged at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against mine, and he obliged, yanking it over his head before pressing me back against the soft cushions of the bed. The flickering candlelight illuminated the ridges of his muscles, the faded remnants of his lost runes. I traced the lines with my fingertips, feeling the way he shuddered beneath my touch.

I wasn’t sure when my dress slipped off my hips and hit the floor, or when I’d managed to work his pants down over those infuriatingly muscular thighs. Time had blurred, frayed at the edges, lost somewhere between heated kisses and the dizzying rush of want clawing under my skin.

All I knew was that the moment his cock sprang free, my breath caught—and goddess help me, my mouth watered.

It was just as unfairly perfect as the rest of him. Thick, long, a shade darker than his skin, flushed and already slick at the tip. I wanted to drag my tongue over him, slow and purposeful, just to see if he tasted as good as he looked.

And judging by the way he was looking at me—like I was the storm he’d been waiting his whole life to be wrecked by—he’d let me.

Gladly.

“Are you wet for me, princess?”

he asked, his tongue darting past his lips as his hands skimmed down my stomach, his fingers trailing lower, teasing, testing. I arched into him, wordlessly pleading for more. He slid his fingers between my thighs, parting me with an aching slowness that made me tremble. When he pressed inside, my breath shattered into a moan, and his lips found mine again, drinking down every sound.

The sounds his fingers made inside me were downright obscene—wet, slick, filthy—and judging by the smug tilt of his mouth, he loved it.

“You’re soaked,”

he rasped against my skin, his teeth grazing the edge of my jaw like he was tasting victory.

And goddess, he wasn’t wrong.

I was drenched. Desperate. Coming apart beneath his hands and hating how much I craved every second of it.

“Malakai,”

I whimpered, his name tumbling from my lips like a prayer I didn’t know I’d been holding back.

"I need more—I want all of you. Please.”

The sound that tore from his throat was pure, feral need—like my words had split him open, like they’d undone something caged inside him.

He shifted, aligning our bodies, the weight of him pressed me into the bed just right—heavy and grounding and perfect. I felt him against me, hard and thick, the heat of him sending a pulse of want through my core.

But he didn’t move.

Not yet.

He pressed his forehead to mine, breath ragged, body trembling with restraint. “Nix,”

he rasped.

"Say it again.”

I cupped his face, fingers curling into his jaw, dragging his gaze to mine so there could be no mistaking it.

“I’m yours,”

I breathed, the words low and unshakable.

"Just as you’re mine.”

Something cracked in him. I saw it. Felt it.

And then he drove into me with a single, brutal thrust.

The air vanished from my lungs. My back arched, my legs wrapped around his hips, pulling him deeper, closer, more.

He filled me to the edge of breaking, and still I wanted more.

He thrust again—hard, claiming—and again, deeper, his body pounding into mine like he couldn’t bear another second of distance. His mouth found mine, savage and unrelenting, swallowing my moans like they were oxygen.

Every drag of him against that devastating spot had me shattering, spiraling, pleasure winding so tight it was almost unbearable.

“Nix,”

he groaned, lips brushing my ear, voice hoarse with reverence and ruin.

"Look at me when you fall.”

And I did.

Eyes locked to his, I let go.

My body broke open around him, convulsing, clenching, burning as the wave crashed over me. I felt him pulse deep inside me, his own release torn from him with a guttural sound—my name breaking from his lips like it was the last word he’d ever say.

And in that moment, with his body inside mine and his gaze tethering me to the earth—I had never felt more undone.

Or more his.

We collapsed together, tangled in sheets, in each other, our breath mingling in the space between us. Malakai traced lazy circles on my hip, his body still pressed close, still joined with mine.

“Stay with me,”

he whispered, the words a plea, a promise.

I twined my fingers into his hair, pulling him in for a slow, lingering kiss. “Always.”

As my breath slowed and the heat between us settled into something softer, something quieter, I curled closer against Malakai, my fingers tracing absent shapes over his chest. The steady rise and fall of his breathing grounded me, his warmth pressing into my skin like a silent promise. I had never felt like this before—anchored, wanted. Not for what I could do, not for what I could offer, but simply for who I was.

Malakai’s arm tightened around me, pulling me against him, his lips pressing a lingering kiss to my temple.

"Are you still awake?”

he murmured, his voice husky with exhaustion.

I hummed in response, too content, too sated to form words.

His fingers drifted lazily along my spine, the glamour having long since faded, tracing over every scar, every ridge, as if memorizing me in the only way he knew how. I closed my eyes, focusing on the slow, rhythmic beat of his heart beneath my cheek. I could have stayed like this forever, wrapped in his warmth, safe in his arms.

And yet, a part of me still feared the weight of what had just happened between us. Not because I regretted it—no, I could never regret this—but because it had changed something. Shifted whatever fragile thing had been building between us into something unbreakable, undeniable.

For so long, I had lived looking over my shoulder, guarding my heart as fiercely as I wielded a blade. But Malakai had slipped past my defenses, settled into the spaces I had left hollow and empty. He had become something I never thought I could have—something I never dared to hope for.

My fingers tightened slightly against his skin, as if holding onto this moment could make it last just a little longer.

He pressed another kiss to my forehead, his lips warm and lingering.

"Sleep, Nix,”

he whispered, his voice threading through the darkness like silk.

"I’m not going anywhere.”

I believed him.

And for the first time in a long, long time, I let myself rest.