18. Serah #2
"I'm sorry," I say quietly. "I'm sorry for never hearing you out. For assuming the worst. For punishing you when you were trying so hard to give me what I needed."
"No." The word comes fierce despite his weakness. "Don't apologize. You had every right to be angry. I humiliated you in front of the entire clan. Announced you like property instead of asking you properly. I took away your choice—"
"Did you, though?" I interrupt. The question hangs between us.
"Really think about it, Rakk. If you had come to me that night.
If you'd pulled me aside before the festival and said, 'Serah, I want to mate you.
Not because of my father or clan pressure, but because I want you and only you.
Will you have me?'—what do you think I would have said? "
He stares at me. Something vulnerable and desperate flickers across his features. "I... I didn't know. I thought—"
"You thought asking would spook me." I lean closer, bringing our faces inches apart.
"But you're forgetting something important.
I'd already chosen you, Rakk. Every night by the river.
Every time I let you touch me. Every moment I spent wanting you even when I was terrified of wanting anyone. I chose you over and over."
His breath catches. "Serah—"
"All you had to do was ask," I continue, my voice cracking.
"If I'd understood the pressure you were under.
If I'd known your father was pushing you toward arranged mates and warriors were circling me like prey.
If you'd just told me you wanted me—not because it was politically convenient, but because you actually wanted me...
I would have said yes. I would have mated you willingly. "
A sound escapes him—something between a laugh and a sob. "I was an idiot."
"Yes." I manage a watery smile. "But you've more than made up for it. I didn't know you had magic like that. Or that you soul-bound us. I didn't understand how much you've been sacrificing."
He lifts his hand—the movement clearly painful—and touches my cheek with devastating gentleness. "I'd do anything for you. I'd burn the world down. I'd destroy myself piece by piece. Whatever it takes to keep you safe and whole."
"I get that now." Tears spill over again. "And I'm sorry I didn't see it before."
We stay frozen like that for a moment. Close enough that I can feel his breath against my lips. Close enough that the space between us feels charged with everything unspoken.
"I want to start over," I whisper. "Let go of the past hurts. The misunderstandings. All of it. I want to truly be with you. As your mate. As your partner. Not just... going through the motions."
Something brilliant and desperate flares in his eyes. "I've wanted that since the moment I saw you. Since I touched you and drowned in you and knew I'd never want anyone else."
"I've missed you," I admit. The confession feels like stepping off a cliff. "All this time without you has been miserable. I kept telling myself I was protecting myself, but really I was just... lonely. And scared. And wanting something I convinced myself I couldn't have."
His thumb traces along my cheekbone. "You can have anything you want from me. Everything. I'm yours completely."
The words settle into my bones like warmth after years of cold.
"Did you mean it?" I ask quietly. "When you said you love me?"
"Yes." No hesitation. No doubt. Just absolute certainty. "I love you. I've loved you since before I understood what that meant. And I'll love you until the day I die—which, given the soul-binding, will hopefully be the same day you die because the idea of existing without you is unbearable."
A laugh escapes me—watery and broken but genuine. "That's morbid."
"It's true." His expression turns serious. "I meant every word, Serah. You're everything to me."
I shake my head slowly. The reality of it settling over me like a blanket. "I never thought I'd trust someone again. Never thought I could feel safe with anyone, much less an orc. But here I am..." I pause, letting the truth of it wash through me. "I've fallen in love with an orc. With you."
The effect my words have on him is immediate and devastating.
His entire body goes rigid beneath mine. Those dark eyes widen with something that looks like shock mixed with desperate hope, like a drowning man who just felt solid ground beneath his feet. For a heartbeat, he just stares at me—expression raw and vulnerable in a way I've never seen before.
"You—" His voice breaks. He tries again. "You love me?"
"I love you," I repeat, and saying it a second time feels easier. Feels right. "I think I've loved you for a while now. I was just too scared to admit it."
A sound escapes him—half laugh, half sob—and then he's pulling me closer with a strength that should be impossible given his injuries. His massive hands frame my face, thumbs brushing away tears I didn't realize were still falling.
"Rakk, wait—" I try to protest. "You're hurt. You shouldn't be moving like this. Your ribs—"
"The only pain I feel," he growls, "is from weeks of not having you. Not touching you. Not being able to hold you the way I've been dying to."
His mouth crashes against mine before I can argue further.
The kiss is desperate and consuming—all the frustrated longing of so much time apart channeled into the press of lips and teeth and tongue. He kisses me like he's starving for it. Like he's been holding back for so long that now that the dam has broken, he can't control the flood.
I melt into him, my hands sliding up to tangle in his short brown hair. The familiar taste of him fills my senses—salt and earth and something uniquely Rakk that I've missed with an intensity that borders on pain.
His hands drop to my waist, pulling me flush against his chest despite the bandages and bruising. I can feel the hard planes of muscle beneath the wrappings. Feel the heat of his skin burning through the thin fabric of my tunic.
"Missed you," he mutters against my mouth between kisses. "Gods, I missed you so much."
"I'm here now." I kiss along his jaw, finding the sensitive spot just below his ear that always makes him groan. "I'm not going anywhere."
His grip tightens. One hand slides up my spine while the other drops lower, cupping my ass and pressing me against the growing hardness trapped beneath his trousers. Even injured, even wrapped in bandages, his body responds to mine with an urgency that makes heat pool low in my belly.
"Serah." My name comes out rough. Desperate. "I need—"
"I know." I pull back just enough to meet his eyes. "But you're injured. We should be careful—"
"I don't care." His expression is fierce. Wild with want. "I need you. Now. Please."
The please breaks me.
I kiss him again—slower this time but no less intense—while my hands explore the familiar territory of his chest and shoulders. I'm careful to avoid the worst of his injuries, mapping the unmarked skin with reverent touches that make him shudder beneath me.
Then I start kissing my way down.
Down his throat, where his pulse hammers against my lips. Down to his collarbones, tracing the ridges with my tongue. Down further to the bandages wrapped around his ribs, where I press gentle kisses against the fabric like I can somehow heal him through touch alone.
"What are you—" He breaks off with a groan as I reach the trail of dark hair leading below his waistband.
"You deserve a real apology," I murmur, working at the ties of his trousers with practiced efficiency. "And I'm very, very sorry for how I've treated you."
His cock springs free as I pull the fabric down—thick and hard and already leaking at the tip. The sight of it makes my mouth water. Makes heat and anticipation coil tight between my thighs.
I've missed this. Missed him. Missed the weight of him on my tongue and the sounds he makes when I take him deep.
"Serah." His voice comes strained. "You don't have to—"
"I want to." I wrap my hand around his length, stroking slowly from base to tip. "Let me take care of you."
Then I lean forward and take him into my mouth.
The groan that tears from his throat is deeply satisfying. His hips buck involuntarily, driving himself deeper, and I have to press my hands against his thighs to keep him still. The last thing we need is him injuring himself further because he got too enthusiastic.
I work him with lips and tongue and the suction of my throat, relearning the taste and feel of him. He's hot and hard against my tongue—pulsing with need and slick with precum that I lap up eagerly. I hollow my cheeks and take him deeper, relaxing my throat the way I've learned he likes.
"Fuck." His hand tangles in my hair, not pushing or pulling, just holding on like he needs the anchor. "Gods, your mouth. I forgot how incredible—"
I hum around him, sending vibrations through his length that make his thighs shake. His fingers tighten in my hair. The muscles of his abdomen flex and ripple beneath the bandages as he fights to stay still, to not thrust up into the wet heat of my mouth.
I pull back until just the head rests on my tongue, then swirl around the sensitive crown before sinking back down. Again and again. Building a rhythm that has him panting and cursing and making sounds I've never heard from him before.
"Serah—" His voice is wrecked. "If you keep doing that, I'm going to—"
I pull off with an obscene pop, looking up at him through my lashes. His face is flushed darker green, tusks gleaming, eyes blown wide and dark with lust. He looks absolutely ruined.
"What do you want?" I ask, keeping my voice low and teasing while I stroke him with one hand. "Tell me."
"Ride me." The words come harsh and desperate. "Please. I need to be inside you. Need to feel you."
Heat floods through me at the request. At the desperate need in his voice. I release him and stand, fingers already working at the ties of my own clothing. My tunic falls away first, then my leggings, until I'm standing naked before him in the firelight.