He risked his life to free me. Dain and I never would have made it out of there alive without him.
Alive. I’m alive.
And that’s exactly how I want to feel.
I lean forward and press my lips to his warm skin, kissing the scar closest to me, wishing I could undo the damage my mother did to him.
“Mmm. Violet.” His sleep-rough voice makes my lips curve and my blood heat. His muscles ripple as he stirs awake, and I take my time, kissing a slow path up the expanse of his back.
He inhales sharply, his arms tensing when I reach the place his neck meets his shoulder. Rolling, he flips to his back and pulls me astride in one smooth motion.
“Good morning.” I smile, settling my hips over his. My breath catches at the feel of him beneath me, hard and ready.
“I could get used to waking up like this.” He looks at me with a hunger that mirrors my own, and his hand slides from my hip, over the curve of my waist, and up between the peaks of my breasts to cup the side of my neck gently, carefully.
“Me too.” My pulse quickens as I lean down and set my lips to his throat. “But we shouldn’t get used to it,” I tell him between kisses, working my way to his chest. “They’ll probably put me with the other cadets tonight.”
Last night, this had been the most private place for Brennan to mend me, and I’d wanted to sleep next to Xaden too badly to argue against his suggestion of staying after I’d finally gotten the chance to bathe.
“This is my house.” He spears his fingers into my hair, his other hand flexing on my hip when I ghost my lips over the three-inch scar above his heart. “And I sleep where you sleep, which is preferably in this very large, very comfortable bed. You should still be sleeping.”
I slide down his body, my hands roaming and stroking as I kiss every ridge of the incredible abdominals that tighten beneath my mouth. His eyes are my favorite part of him, but damn if the chiseled line above his hip that disappears into his waistband isn’t a close second. I follow it with my tongue.
“Violet.” Xaden’s voice is low.
I melt, instantly liquid when he says my name like that, and right now is no exception.
“Good plan.” I slide my hand under his waistband and wrap my fingers around the thick length of him. How is every inch of this man perfect? There has to be a flaw somewhere.
“You’re not recovered enough for the things I want to do to you,” he growls.
My core clenches at the warning, the promise—whatever it is, I want it. I want him.
“Yes, I am. All mended, remember?” The craving for him overpowers any lingering exhaustion. A heady sense of power floods my system when I stroke my thumb over the head of his cock and his hips buck in response. There’s nothing sexier than watching his control fray, nothing hotter than knowing I’m the one who brings him to the breaking point.
And I need him to do exactly that—break—to lose the gentle kisses and cautious touches and take me with the full force of what he’s capable of. No holding back. No soft and slow.
“Are you trying to kill me?” His grip tightens in my hair, and I drag my gaze to his, finding a satisfying, wild glint in his eyes.
Need coils low in my stomach, my body remembering what follows that kind of look. He hasn’t even touched me and I’m already aching.
“Yes,” I answer honestly, then lower my head, keeping our eyes locked as I swirl my tongue around his tip. His guttural moan sets my blood on fire, and I wrap my hand around his base and take him deep.
“Violet.” His eyes slam shut, and he throws his head back, his neck working as it arches, his body tensing like he’s fighting the pleasure of it even as his hips jerk for more. “That feels so fucking good.”
I hum in approval and work him harder, flicking my tongue along the ridge where he’s most sensitive with every bob of my head.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He tugs at my hair, his breaths coming faster and faster. “You have to stop. Or I’m going to lose it on you.” His stomach flexes as he lifts his head to watch me. “And I’m not sure I can be gentle.”
“Lose it.” Sounds excellent to me. “I don’t want gentle.”
“Mending bones isn’t instant. You’re still heal—”
I suck him deeper.
He growls. “You really want this?”
“I want you feral.”
The thought barely leaves my head before he pounces, lifting me off him and rolling me to my back. Then his mouth is on mine, kissing me hard and deep. It’s all tangled tongues and nipping teeth, carnal and fierce and exactly what I need.
He slides his hand up my inner thigh, and then his fingers are right there, pushing my underwear to the side to stroke and tease before dragging them down my legs. I yank my nightgown over my head as he strips his sleeping pants off.
Yes. Gods, yes. He’s all I can see, all I feel as he settles back between my thighs, the head of his cock nudging my entrance. His hand strokes over my newly mended ribs and his eyes flare, his gaze jumping to mine. “We should—”
“Please, Xaden.” I cup his cheek. “Please.”
He lifts my hand and kisses the palm, then the place on my forearm that had been fractured. His brow knits for a heartbeat as he scans my body, like he’s looking for the safest places to touch me, like he can still see every bruise, every break.
My stomach knots at the thought that he might stop.
“Feral,” I remind him in a whisper.
His gaze finds mine, and the way he smiles, raising the corner of his mouth into that arrogant smirk I love so much, makes my heart pound. Gripping my hips, he flips me over, then yanks my ass into the air, setting me on my knees.
“You will tell me if it’s too much.” It’s not a request.
I nod, my fingers tangling in the sheets.
Then he lines us up and rolls his hips, pushing in and in and in, until he’s so deep that I can feel him everywhere. I moan at the stretch, the fit, the utter perfection of him, muffling the sound in my pillow.
He grabs the pillow and throws it to the floor. “I want them to hear,” he says, withdrawing slowly, stroking every inch of me, then slamming home again. “Gods, you’re fucking perfect.”
I cry out. He feels so damned good. “There are hundreds of people in this palace of a house.” How I can string together more than two words is beyond me.
He leans over my back, then drags his teeth across the shell of my ear. “And I want them all to know you’re mine.”
I don’t argue with his logic. I can’t. Not when he slides almost all the way out of me, then snaps his hips, driving out every thought. He sets a hard, deep rhythm, turning me into pure, burning pleasure.
This is exactly what I needed—for him to take me, to consume me, to breathe life into me.
His fingers dig into my hips, pulling me into every driving thrust, and there’s no way to rock back, to gain leverage, to force him to quicken his pace. I can only accept what he gives, surrender completely, and simply feel.
He winds me up, building the coiling pressure within me tighter and tighter, my cries filling the room along with his growls and whispered words of praise.
It just gets better, hotter, sweeter, until there is no world outside him, no existence beyond us. All that matters is the next thrust.