“Bite me,” I whispered, desperate.
His head lifted, golden eyes burning up at me. Hunger warred with restraint in the sharp set of his jaw—before he gave in. His fangs pierced the inside of my thigh, sinking deep. I gasped, the pain drowned instantly by heat as he growled low in his chest, the sound more pleasure than threat.
Then his mouth softened. His tongue swept over the punctures, sealing what he had undone, the sting fading to warmth before he lowered his mouth back between my thighs. The ache there sharpened, unbearable, as he took me into his mouth again.
When he finally rose, mouth slick and eyes burning, a low sound tore from him. One hand dragged over himself through the leather of his pants—a brief, rough stroke that sent heat flooding me anew—then he returned, fingers finding that achingcenter.
“More,” I gasped, the word leaving me like a prayer.
He gave it. Two fingers sank deep, curling with devastating precision until stars edged my vision. He leaned closer, hips pressing to mine, his body mirroring the rhythm his hand carved. His mouth found the hollow of my neck, breath ragged.
He could break me if he wanted. And I would let him. Instead, he drew back just enough to meet my eyes.
“Look at me,” he whispered. “I want to see your face when you fall apart.”
Something split open inside me, not just the tension, but the years of being feared, pitied, handled.
He was giving me back to myself. And I needed more of it.
“More, Malachi. I want all of you.” The need clawed through me. I had to feel him, all of him.
He rose, gold eyes never leaving mine. “If I give you all of me,” he murmured, stepping between my legs, “can I keep you?”
My fingers fumbled at his belt, looking up as leather slipped loose. “For as long as the moon chases the sun.”
He pulled back just enough to search my face.
“Please,” I breathed, no hesitation.
His trousers were gone in a rough, impatient motion, and then he was above me, braced on his forearms, careful despite the hunger in him. The heat of him pressed against me, heavy, demanding.
The first push stole my breath. A sharp stretch, then a fullness that made my nails dig into his shoulders. He stilled at once, his chest rising and falling against mine.
“Breathe,” he whispered, forehead resting against mine. “Let me in slow.”
I forced air into my lungs, and as I did, the ache turned to something else—something deeper, fuller. My body adjusted, opened, and when I nodded, he began to move.Slow at first, each thrust a deliberate claiming. His mouth found mine again—hungrier, desperate, pulling me into the rhythm of his body.
The pain bled away, giving rise to fire that climbed higher with every movement. Each deep drag of him struck something inside me that made my back arch.
“Gods, Aurelia,” he rasped, voice fraying. For a heartbeat his rhythm faltered, as though he was holding back more than he could bear. “You… undo me.”
His hands locked at my hips, grounding me as he thrust once more, deep and devastating. The world shattered around us, and in that breaking, we unraveled—together.
49
Malachi
She slept like the dead.
No—gods, poor choice of words. But she did. Heavy, unmoving, draped in a calm that felt unnatural on her.
I sat at the edge of the bed, boots beside me, shirt forgotten. My fingers curled loosely over the mattress where her curls spilled. She’d turned toward where I’d been lying, one hand still outstretched, begging me not to stray too far.
And I didn’t want to.
That was the problem.
I’d promised myself that. Promised I’d protect her—sure—but from a distance. As duty. A shadow trailing her steps, not a man tangled in her sheets.