24. Raea
Raea
It’s late when we reach the cottage. The space is small and inviting, filled with the scent of old wood and the ocean air. It feels like a world where 'Princess' and 'Prince' are words we left at the door. I glance at my ring—the verdant moss stone catching the firelight—and my heart squeezes.
Choice.
He has given me the one thing I was born without.
Ryker brings my hand to his mouth as the door clicks open, revealing a small yet inviting space. There’s well-worn furniture and shelves laden with books and trinkets. It looks like a cozy space that’s been well used and well loved.
Ryker leads me to the bathroom and turns on the faucet. “Take a quick dip to warm your muscles, and I’ll be back in a moment.”
I do as he says, slipping from my dress and sinking into the warm water, quickly scrubbing myself. I can’t help but stare at the ring.
My mate just proposed to me.
Ryker has never pushed or forced anything with me. Again and again, he’s proven it has always been my choice. He’s always given me one, even from the beginning. A moment later, Ryker returns with a bag and that smirk on his face that brings out that adorable dimple.
“I had Mera pack you a bag in case we decided to stay the night.”
“She knows you were proposing?”
He nods, his hands slipping into his pockets as he leans against the door frame. Gods, I want him so much.
“The only one outside of our parents, Julianna, and the jeweler, of course. I’ll let you sort through what’s in there. I’ll just be in the bedroom to the right.” As he turns to leave, he pulls his shirt from his waistband and over his head.
I don’t waste a minute searching for my toothbrush.
I dry off quickly, finding a short, silken gown.
It’s a piece I recognize from the wardrobe for after the Ceremony.
Heat floods my body as I slip into the soft gown, noticing how short it is.
A black lace trim hangs from the hem, and the back is open with a deep plunge.
I slip on a matching robe over me, brushing out my hair, then my teeth.
With shaky legs and nerves leaving me with a buzz, I exit the bathroom, finding Ryker in his room.
He’s sprawled out on his bed in nothing but sleep pants.
The room is dark aside from the glow of the fire in the hearth and some strategically placed candles.
The windows are open, allowing for a breeze to float freely through the room.
As Ryker saunters toward me, his muscles rippling with a restraint that makes my breath catch, the Aethermark doesn't just hum—it purrs. His heart beats within my own chest, a rhythmic reminder that our souls aren't just aligned—they are somehow fused.
“Hi,” I whisper shakily.
He stops before me, slides a hand to my nape and brings my forehead to his lips. “Hi. You sure about this? We can just sleep.”
I shake my head. I don’t want to think anymore. I don’t want to overanalyze the way my heart is racing or how my breath keeps catching in my chest. I let the robe slip from my shoulders, watching it pool at my feet.
Ryker’s nostrils flare as he drinks me in. “Fuck,” he groans.
The way he looks at me—like I’m something rare, something treasured—makes my courage bloom. I loosen the tie holding up my hair and let it fall freely around my shoulders. When I place my hand on his chest and gently guide him backward, he goes without hesitation, settling onto the edge of the bed.
His hands slide to my waist, warm and steady, drawing me closer until I’m standing between his knees. “If you want to stop, say so and we will, okay?”
I meet his sapphire gaze, seeing the storms of silver glittering like the stars outside. In response, I pull him to me. I want every smile, every laugh, and every touch of this night committed to memory.
This is my choice.
Not the Bond’s.
Not fate’s.
Mine.
My fingers trace over his tattoos. The Okenen octopus on his left bicep, the waves that crest on his neck, then with deliberate slowness, I follow the same path on his neck with my tongue, tasting him.
He shudders beneath me. I remember on the first day of school, I had imagined doing exactly this. Even back then I felt drawn to him without fully understanding why.
Now I understand completely.
His hands slide up my thighs, steadying me, grounding me. The way he touches me isn’t rushed or demanding—it’s careful, reverent, like he’s memorizing me.
My fingers draw into his hair, and I pull back, sucking in a sharp breath. His unleashed desire gazes back at me. His mouth finds my breasts through the fabric, his hands sliding up my thighs. His hands slip under my nightgown, gripping my bare ass as his fingers toy with my soaked core.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he says with pure reverence. His mouth works over a tender spot on my neck, and I know without a doubt, it will be bruised tomorrow.
Gone is the careful prince. Every touch is both holy and possessive.
“I believe you’ve left your scraps of lacy underthings behind.”
My grin widens as I slap his shoulder.
Keeping his eyes locked on mine, he slips a single finger into me. My eyes flutter closed on a soft moan.
“Eyes on me, love.”
Using every bit of restraint I have, I peel my eyelids open, finding him studying me, devouring me, pouring his heart and soul into me as he deftly works me into a frenzy. I dig my nails into his shoulders as I hold onto him for support.
He alternates between lazy strokes and swirling motions, building me up and up until my legs tremble.
When I beg, he smirks and sinks a second finger into me, hooking them and flicking.
My legs buckle, but he steadies me with his other hand, letting me lean on him as he works me through my orgasm until I’m nothing but putty in his arms.
“Good girl.”
My heart races.
When his lips find mine again, the world narrows to the space between us. Every fear, every doubt, every lingering worry about the war, the magic, the future—it all fades beneath the warmth of his presence.
“I love you,” he whispers against my mouth.
My chest tightens. “I love you too.”
Standing and lifting me to his bed, he commands me to lie on my back in the center. He settles himself between my thighs, his pants barely constraining his arousal as he brings his mouth to mine.
For long minutes, we kiss, pouring everything we cannot say into the press of our mouths. What begins slow and tender soon turns desperate—biting kisses and roaming hands. The Bond between us flares, hot and insistent, urging us closer.
“I need you,” I say, slipping my hand into the waistband of his pants, finding him swollen and dripping already. “I’m sure,” I communicate, keeping my eyes locked on him so he can see the sincerity of my words.
This isn’t just desire. It’s trust.
He sits back on his haunches, pulling me with him and tugging off the silky gown, leaving me completely bare to him. His nostrils flare. “I’m the luckiest man in the whole damn galaxy.”
I sink into the soft sheets, letting him take me in. Not just my body, but my nerves, my emotions, my uncertainty. I allow him to drink in every inch of me. The way he looks at me—like I’m something he’s been starving for—makes my chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with fear.
He kisses me slowly, tenderly, like he’s afraid to rush something sacred. When he finally draws closer, I cling to him, breathing through the nerves, trusting the way he guides me, the way he listens.
Every touch feels like a promise.
When my mouth feels raw, and my need is too strong, I wrap my legs around him, drawing him closer to where I need him, my hands desperately trying to free him.
With that cocky grin I love so very much, he sits back once more as he slips out of his pants. He plants his knees between my legs, and pumps himself.
His eyes swirl with excitement, and my core clenches in anticipation.
“You’re in control, Raea,” he whispers.
I nod, letting my legs fall open.
He groans, bringing himself over me once more. I’m too hot and too cold, and something has to give because I’m seconds away from taking over.
Holding himself up on his forearms, he kisses me tenderly, brushing my hair from my face. “I love you. Just take deep breaths. I’ll go slow.”
I nod, wrapping my hands around his nape and bringing our mouths together in another kiss that threatens to undo existence as I feel him notch himself at my entrance. He waits a heartbeat, his tongue hungrily tasting me before he moves.
He reminds me to relax and breathe. I find myself lost between pain and pleasure, both of them melding together into a confusing mixture.
He tells me to take one last deep breath and sinks into me, burying himself at the hilt and filling me so fully.
He doesn't move, he only kisses me while his hands knead my full and aching breasts.
After a bit, I rock my hips, signaling that I’m ready.
He doesn’t hesitate. It isn’t long before I’m drowning in the throes of pleasure, an inescapable heat building in my core.
When his teeth clamp down on my nipple, I come apart for the second time tonight, shocked at how heat floods my body, pulling an obnoxiously loud moan from my lips.
He demands I open my eyes. When I try to bury my face behind my hand, he pulls it away, telling me his room is sound shielded and he wants to hear all of me.
Minutes become hours, hours become a blissful eternity. One orgasm turns to three, then four. With every high, the fall is harder as Ryker learns my body, becoming a master at pleasuring me.
We sit in the center of the bed, me on his lap, our gazes locked. With every roll of my hips, I fall more in love—as if it is even possible. My mate. My perfect other half.