Chapter 31
MORGAN
The chill of the ruins had seeped deeper into my bones sometime during the night, pulling me from the shallow sleep I'd managed to find.
My body ached in ways that went beyond the lingering throb of my stump, every muscle stiff from the awkward position, pressed back against Xavian's solid warmth as if he were the only barrier against the cold.
The air in the chamber hung heavy, laced with the faint, earthy scent of moss and stone that seemed to cling to everything here in Velrith, but it was his presence that dominated my awareness now.
His arm lay draped over my waist, not tightly but enough to hold me in place, his chest rising and falling steadily against my back, the rhythm slow and even, suggesting he was still asleep.
I didn't move at first, didn't want to shatter the fragile quiet we'd carved out in this forgotten outpost, but as consciousness sharpened, so did the sensation of him— all of him— pressed against me.
It started as a subtle pressure against my lower back, firm and insistent, but as I shifted ever so slightly, adjusting to ease the crick in my neck, I felt it more clearly: the hard length of him, unmistakable and.
.. substantial, nestled against me through the layers of our clothes.
Heat flooded my cheeks, a flush that had nothing to do with the chamber's chill, and I froze, my breath catching in my throat.
He was huge, the outline of it pressing into me with a weight that made my pulse quicken, stirring a mix of shock and something warmer, more dangerous, low in my belly.
I should have pulled away, should have sat up and put distance between us, but the exhaustion still tugged at me, and curiosity— or maybe something reckless— kept me still, pretending to sleep as I processed the reality of it.
He didn't stir, his breathing unchanged, deep and rhythmic, and that gave me the space to let my mind wander, to feel the full extent of him without the complication of his waking eyes on me.
I shifted again, just a little, a subtle wriggle as if settling in my sleep, and the pressure intensified, his body responding even in rest, growing firmer, longer, until the sheer size of it pressed against me in a way that sent a thrill through my core.
Holy shit, I thought, the words echoing in my mind as awe mixed with the heat building between my legs.
It was impossible not to imagine it, the way it would feel without the barriers of fabric.
Another small movement, barely a shift of my hips, and it swelled further, the heat of him radiating through our clothes, making my skin tingle where we touched.
I bit my lip to stifle the soft gasp that wanted to escape, my body betraying me with a flush of warmth that pooled low, awakening urges I'd buried under survival and pain.
Pretending to sleep became a game then, my breaths measured to mimic the slow rhythm of unconsciousness, even as my mind raced, caught between fascination and the absurdity of the moment.
We were in a ruined outpost in another world, enemies on our heels, my hand severed and preserved like some macabre relic, and yet here I was, pressed against him, feeling every inch of his arousal and responding in ways that made my thighs clench.
It grew bigger still under my subtle movements, a slow, insistent expansion that pressed harder against me, the outline clear and commanding, stirring images I couldn't push away— his hands on me, rough but careful, guiding me as that length filled me completely, stretching and claiming in equal measure.
The thought sent a shiver through me, not from cold but from the heat building inside, my body awakening to possibilities I'd ignored in the chaos of everything else.
He shifted slightly in his sleep, a low sound rumbling in his chest that vibrated against my back, and for a panicked second, I thought he'd woken, but his breathing remained steady, his arm tightening just a fraction around my waist as if drawing me closer without conscious intent.
The movement only heightened the contact, his hardness nestling firmer against me, and I had to fight the urge to press back fully, to feel more of it, to chase the spark it ignited.
Awe washed over me again, mingled with a quiet thrill— holy shit, indeed— as I lay there, pretending, letting the sensation linger until exhaustion began to pull at me once more, the warmth of him lulling me toward sleep despite everything.
As my eyes drifted shut, the boundary between waking and dreaming blurred, the pressure against me fading into sensation without form.
In the dream, it was his hands first, rough and sure, sliding over my skin in the dim light of the ruins, tracing paths that made me arch into his touch.
He was above me, his body a solid weight pinning me down, but not in dominance— in need, his eyes dark with the same hunger I felt building.
His mouth found mine, the kiss deep and consuming, tasting of salt and something wild, his fingers tangling in my hair as he pulled me closer.
I wrapped my legs around him, feeling the heat of him pressing in, that impressive length sliding against me, teasing before it filled me completely, stretching in a way that drew a gasp from my lips.
The rhythm built slow, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through me, his breath hot against my neck as he murmured words I couldn't quite hear, his hands exploring every curve, claiming and cherishing in equal measure.
It intensified, the dream pulling me deeper into the sensation, building toward a peak that promised release, but just as it crested, the edges softened, fading into darkness before the full rush could claim me, leaving me drifting in warmth and unfulfilled longing…