In these moments, I thought of what Raihn’s dead body had looked like in the colosseum sands, and I couldn’t breathe.
A wrinkle formed between his brows. His thumb brushed my cheek, then the corner of my mouth.
“What’s that face for, princess?”
I didn’t know how to answer that question. “I’m scared” didn’t say enough and said too much.
Instead of answering, I leaned forward and pressed my mouth against his.
The kiss was more than I had intended it to be. Deeper, softer, slower. He met it with equal fervor, lips melting against mine, tongue caressing me with gentle strokes. So easily, my hands found his face, pulling him closer as his touch fell to my sides. He lowered me to the ground, his body moving over mine, natural as the movement of the ocean over the shore, our kisses never parting.
We’d never been quite like this. I wanted to feel him from every angle before I died.
My fingertips ran down over his bare torso, tracing the lines and valleys of his muscles and scars with something akin to reverence. His played at the hem of my undershirt, and I whimpered my approval against his lips. Heat built between us, in the small sliver of flesh where my stomach met his. But it wasn’t the raging, out-of-control fire of our previous encounters. It was the heat of a fireplace in a comfortable home, warm and familiar.
And yet, dangerous. Dangerous in its safety.
I shifted further beneath his body, my thighs opening around his hips, so his erection pressed against my core.
He pulled away just enough to break our kiss, his nose still brushing mine. His hair dangled around his face, tickling my cheeks. Those magnificent eyes searched mine. They seemed pained and full—full of words that matched the ones I couldn’t bring myself to say.
“Oraya,” he murmured.
“Sh,” I whispered. “We don’t have to.”
And I kissed him again.
Again.
I felt his entire body melt with his acquiescence. His weight settled over me. I yanked at my camisole and he reached down to loosen my trousers. We shimmied out of our remaining clothing, shedding it between kisses, before his weight settled over me again, skin against skin.
I’d never had him like this before.
Never had anyone like this, since the night I lost my virginity and nearly lost my life for it. Even in fantasies, the idea of being so trapped had been inconceivable. And yet, now I craved so deeply the very thing that I’d found repulsive for so long—I wanted him to surround me. I wanted to feel his weight over me. I wanted as much of my skin against him as I could offer him.
Those kisses, soft and searching, never broke. I reached down and aligned him with my entrance.
One push, and he was everywhere.
I gasped against his mouth, capturing his groan. My legs folded around his waist, opening more to ease him deeper. His first stroke was slow and deep, as if he wanted to savor what it felt like, before he withdrew.
“Oraya,” he murmured.
“Sh,” I whispered against his mouth, and kissed him again, languidly, exploring every angle.
And that was the pace he kept, too, each thrust patient and deep and thorough, like he wanted to sear it all into memory—my skin, my body, and what it felt like to be inside me.
How did I know that was what he was doing?
Maybe it was because I was doing the same. Committing him to memory. Making sure that every movement, every breath, every sound he made was marked onto my soul. I wanted to capture him like rainwater. I wanted to savor him like blood. I wanted him to open me and touch everything within me that I’d hidden away from the world. How could there be so much pleasure in vulnerability? How could there be so much pleasure in fear?
My hips rolled with him, wringing that slow pleasure from every stroke of his cock, drowning in the way his breath hitched against our kisses with each movement, each contraction of my muscles.
The slow fire was building, building, into something overwhelming, consuming us both. But never out of control. Never terrifying.
My exhales became moans, matched by his, swallowed in each other’s breaths. I wouldn’t let him go, even when our pace quickened, even when breathing through our kisses grew clumsy and desperate.
I wanted to feel it through my entire body when he came, feel the way his muscles strained, hold him against me in those final moments.
He pushed deep into me now, hard. Goddess, I wanted more. Needed more. And yet, I never wanted this moment to end.
The need to tell him something, everything—Mother, I didn’t even know what, only that it was so big, so important, so overwhelming—rose in my throat.