Chapter 73
JINGYI
This kiss was deeper, hungrier—a claiming that trembled with all the nights they’d gone without. She parted her lips and returned it with equal ardour.
He lifted her, carried her past the swaying curtains, and laid her on the bed beneath the gossamer canopy. She looked up at him, chest rising fast.
He made quick work of her nightgown. His mouth found her neck—a hot, open kiss—then trailed lower, over her throat and collarbone.
He lingered there, breathing her in. Then his lips found the swell of her breast, pressing a kiss just above her frantic heart before taking her nipple into his mouth. She trembled beneath him.
“You are . . .” he murmured against her feverish skin, “ . . .a miracle.”
His mouth dipped lower, down her stomach.
He reached the gentle slope of her hip—the one that often ached—and anchored a kiss there.
Then another, just above her inner thigh.
A sob caught in her throat, but Alexander didn’t stop.
His lips trailed down her wounded leg, worshipping the very source of her limp and transforming it into an altar.
Calloused hands parted her. His palm slid beneath her right knee, nudging a silk cushion into place. The deliberate care of it—this warrior tending to her comfort—unravelled her.
Then he lowered his face between her parted thighs. He groaned—a raw, broken sound. “Gods, JingYi . . . You smell of rain and sunlight.”
He bowed his head and laid his tongue against her in one long stroke. Her spine arched off the bed, fingers twisting into the sheets. He licked again, firmer, dipping inside. The sound he made was pure, desperate need.
“Alexander—” His name shattered on her lips.
He flattened his tongue and dragged it through her seam, then focused on the aching core of her, teasing the swollen nerve with soft, maddening circles. A wave of sensation crashed over her. Her back arched, hips lifting—a movement that sent a lightning bolt of strain through her weak side.
Alexander’s hand pressed to her lower belly, anchoring her. “Shhh, I have you. Let me learn you. Let me worship every part of you.”
He devoured her with patience, mapping her responses with his mouth. When he finally slipped one finger inside her, then two, she clenched around him, so close she could barely breathe.
He lifted his head, lips glistening, eyes burning. “Come for me. Let me watch you fall apart. I will catch you. I will always catch you.”
The coil snapped. Her release tore through her—a searing wave that bowed her body and broke a long, shuddering moan from her throat. He gentled her through it until she lay spent. Boneless. Gasping.
Only then did he rise, crawling back up her body to hover above her. His eyes, when they met hers, held not just satisfaction, but a profound, soul-deep reverence. He kissed her, letting her taste herself on his lips.
“Alexander,” she breathed, her hands slipping down his arms. “That was . . .” Small tremors of pleasure still coursed through her, stealing all her words.
When he pulled back, his eyes were dark, asking a silent question. She reached for the fastenings of his robe. Her fingers, still unsteady from her climax, fumbled on the ties.
“Let me,” he told her. He made quick work of his clothing, tossing them to join hers on the floor.
Naked, he shifted above her, knees settling on either side of her hips. His torso was so broad he blocked the lamplight, casting her in shadows. The sight of him there, hovering, face taut with a need so raw it stole her breath, sent fresh heat through her.
She watched as his hand slid down his abdomen. His breath hitched as his fingers wrapped around himself and gave a slow stroke. The groan that followed was pure agony. His head fell back, the cords of his neck standing out in relief.
“Alexander.”
His gaze snapped to hers, blazing.
“Come here,” she said, reaching for him. “I want to pleasure you.”
A shudder wracked him. He moved as if pulled by her words alone, shifting forward on his knees until he straddled her torso, his hands gripping the bed frame behind her.
He was utterly exposed this way. Her world narrowed to the sight of him—the sweat-sheened muscles of his stomach, the thick length of him jutting toward her.
Her heart hammered against her ribs. She knew the theory, had heard the whispers, but this was all new—the weight, the scent, the vulnerability in his stillness. She leaned in, her breath ghosting over him, and heard a sharp intake of air above her.
She began with a tentative lick from root to tip.
He jerked as if branded, a punched-out grunt escaping him.
Encouraged, she focused on the broad head, swirling her tongue around the crown, tracing the sensitive seam beneath.
A broken whimper fell from his lips. She closed her lips over him and gently sucked.
His answering groan was ragged. The bed frame creaked under the strain of his grip.
“JingYi . . .” Her name was a prayer, a plea. His scent—spruce and iron—erupted around her, wild and desperate.
She ventured deeper, relaxing her throat. She found a rhythm—suck, release, swirl of the tongue—watching his responses. The twitch of his thighs under her hands. The choked gasp when she flicked her tongue. The helpless thrust of his hips he tried to stifle.
“I can’t—I’m losing—” he babbled, voice stripped raw.
When he tried to pull back, her hands on his hips held him firm. He sobbed in relief, surrendering to her hold.
She took him deeper, her pace turning hungry. He was chanting her name now, his control in tatters.
“I’m going to—please—”
One of his hands tore from the bed frame to cradle the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair. She took as much of him as she could, holding him there, swallowing around him, and felt the moment he broke.
A raw cry tore from his throat. His body locked. His climax hit—hot and pulsing—onto her tongue. He shook through it with ragged moans.
Even as he finished, he didn’t pull away. His hand loosened in her hair, his touch softening to a caress. He lingered, spent and shuddering. She soothed him with gentle laps until a final shudder washed over him and he slipped from her lips.
He collapsed to the side, body heaving, face buried in the pillow beside her head. The only sounds were the creak of the settling bed and his shattered breath.
She turned onto her side and slid her palms over his back—muscles flexing beneath his skin, ridges of old scars she didn’t yet know.
He turned his head, eyes wrecked, stripped of all defences.
He kissed her again, deep and searching.
She pressed her hips against him, already slick and humming from bringing him to his knees.
His body answered instantly, growing harder against her thigh, an insistent heat. The Alpha in him would not rest until his Omega was sated.
“Tell me what you need,” he rasped against her lips.
His hand slid between her legs, fingers stroking her, feeling the proof of her desire. She was slick, hot, and she arched into his touch with a sharp cry. Her hand slid down, wrapping around him.
“You,” she said, her voice husky. “Just you.”
A feral sound ripped from his throat. He moved over her, a study in barely leashed power.
“On your side, Wife,” he told her.
He guided her so her spine pressed against the solid wall of his torso, her head tucking just under his chin.
The feeling was one of absolute containment—a warm shelter so complete it felt like the world ended at the edges of his skin.
His hands were all over her, possessive, mapping the fuller curve of her hips, the dip of her waist, the softness of her belly that hadn’t been there when they first met.
Then, he carefully drew her right leg up over his hip, cradling it, keeping her safe.
One arm banded around her waist, locking her against him.
With his other hand, he guided himself to her entrance, the head catching on her slick folds.
She whimpered when he pushed into her—a gradual, stretching fullness, a sensation so profoundly familiar yet completely new.
There was no pain, only the intense, consuming feeling of being filled by him.
Her mind, so often a whirl of worries and memory, went silent.
There was only this: the heat of him, the solidity, the shocking rightness of being opened and claimed.
He sank deeper, and she gasped, her body adjusting, remembering him, welcoming him.
Halfway in, he stilled, his whole body going rigid, reading her every breath.
“Don’t stop,” she breathed, her voice shaky, nails scratching at his forearm.
The rest was no slow, gentle glide. He pulled his hips back and drove into her in one deep, claiming thrust. JingYi cried out, head snapping back against his shoulder. The stretch of him stole her breath—full, overwhelming, anchoring.
He stilled there, in the deepest part of her. Both of them shaking.
Then, he began to move. This was nothing like their first joining. That had been in the frantic, blinding grip of her Heat—a necessary collision driven by scent and instinct. This was a choice. Each powerful thrust was a desperate reclamation. A vow.
I am here.
With you.
Always.
Each drive of his hips struck that same deep place over and over until her thoughts scattered. It was too much, yet her body answered with frantic eagerness, pushing back, fluttering each time he reached that point, as though trying to anchor him there.
His control was fraying, his thrusts more urgent.
His hand slid around her hip, his fingers finding the aching center of her pleasure, twisting, circling.
Her climax broke over her, a silent, searing wave.
Her body bowed against his, a broken cry caught in her throat as pleasure claimed her, white-hot and absolute.
She shook with the force of it, muscles fluttering around him.
The pulses of her release began to subside, leaving her boneless and spent. Yet, within her, he remained unyieldingly hard, a thick, persistent presence. A delirious thought surfaced: He’s not done. But before she could process it, he began to withdraw.
A ragged sound, nearly a growl, tore from her throat at the loss, her body clutching instinctively at his retreat. A pure, undiluted need.
His mouth was quick to cover hers, silencing any protest, tongue tangling with hers.
“I’m going nowhere, Wife.”
He shifted her until her back met the sheets, and he settled between her thighs. His hands were deft, purposeful, wedging a pillow beneath her right hip, lifting her, supporting the old injury without a word. Her throat tightened. He always knew.
Guiding himself back to her slick entrance, he pushed in, this time facing her.
The fullness was different—deeper, more exposing.
She could see his face, feel the tremor in his arms as he braced himself above her.
And he could see hers. All of it. The birthmark, the tears, the wanting she’d stopped trying to hide.
He covered her completely, his chest a hot, solid wall above her, blotting out the world.
In the shelter of his larger body, her own seemed to dissolve, leaving only the profound sensation of being safe, claimed, and utterly cherished.
His mouth was at her neck, his breath ragged against her damp skin.
His rhythm never faltered. A relentless, driving pace bordering on desperation.
Then his teeth found the spot where her neck met her shoulder. Not gentle —deliberate, building pressure until it pierced the skin. A bright, stunning flash of pain.
She cried out, body tensing beneath his.
But in the next heartbeat, the pain gave way to clarity—as if his teeth had sliced through every doubt and barrier she had ever built.
What flooded in was an absolute knowing: this was a vow, a seal.
She felt the totality of him—his protectiveness, his pride, his love—offered not in words, but in sensation.
He was binding himself to her, and she to him.
As his teeth released her, the sensation dimmed, leaving behind a throbbing, warm ache. But the knowing remained, settling into her bones like a fundamental truth. He was a part of her now, in a way that would forever be felt.
He didn’t need to say the word. She felt it resonate in the new space between them.
Mine.
Her entire being answered back.
Yours.