THIRTY-EIGHT #2
Wind stirs first, spiraling around us in soft, whirling currents. The candles flare brighter, their flames stretching higher as fire pulses outward in shimmering waves. Beneath us, the stone floor hums with a deep, steady vibration, the earth answering in its own quiet way.
And then the water rises.
It lifts from the bath in delicate ribbons, weightless and gleaming, swirling around us in a slow dance of liquid light. Droplets catch the candlelight as they drift through the air, suspended between breaths, between heartbeats.
The energy hums through my veins, singing beneath my skin. As my breathing begins to calm and the aftermath washes through me, the water settles. The ribbons drift downward, slipping back into the bath as though they had never left it.
I’m still gasping, still undulating, lost in the pleasure he just gave me.
But Thane? Thane is watching me like he has only just begun.
By the gods, can I take more?
His fingers are still inside me, moving lazily, stroking, playing, dragging me back to the edge before I’ve even caught my breath. I whimper, my hips shifting, my thighs tightening around his wrist.
“Sensitive?”
The question is gentle.
The look accompanying it is not.
I try to answer, but the attempt dies somewhere between my lungs and my tongue. Instead, my body responds, arching against him, chasing more, even as the pleasure builds to consume me all over again. His other hand wraps around the back of my neck, holding me in place.
“You think I’m done with you?”
The words are low, almost disbelieving. As though the very idea is absurd.
His thumb brushes against the most sensitive part of me and I let out a sharp, broken cry.
“You think I could ever be done with you?”
Before I can beg or plead or demand, his hand reaches for the drain.
The water begins to lower, spiraling away until only a shallow layer remains at the bottom of the bath.
Steam still hangs in the air, curling around us, but now there is nothing between us except heat, breath, and the look in his eyes.
I shiver, my skin cooling in the sudden absence of water. My body aches. For more. For him.
And then he moves.
I expect him to strip. Expect him to take his time, to tease, to drag this out. But he doesn’t. Instead, he walks down the steps and into the tub—boots, leathers, everything.
His broad frame fills the space between my legs, water still dripping from his half-soaked tunic and dark leathers. The wet fabric clings to him, emphasizing every hard line of his body, while his jaw remains tight as he kneels before me.
I swallow hard, my heart slamming against my ribs.
“What are you—”
He grabs my knees, spreading me wider, gently guiding me down. Pulling me to him like I already belong there. His fingers stroke up my thighs, his grip possessive as he leans in.
“You’re not done yet,” he says, his voice a velvet promise.
His hands slide beneath my ass, and in one effortless motion, he lifts me. The cords of muscle in his forearms flex as he shifts me to the edge of the tub, swift, sure, completely in control.
He lifts a hand. Fire flares to life around us in hovering orbs, their heat brushing against my wet skin like my lover’s touch. Water trails down my body in glistening rivulets, catching the light as it drips from my thighs, my breasts, my fingertips.
“You are . . . breathtaking,” he breathes, his gaze raking over every inch of me.
He drinks me in hungrily, as though he’s memorizing the way the firelight catches the water on my skin.
My breath stutters. My nipples harden, my chest rising and falling with every breath, caught between anticipation and ache as I wait for whatever he’s going to do next.
Thane is kneeling before me, and gods, I’ve never wanted anyone like this. I’m flushed, breathless, desperate to be touched. There is something devastating about the way he looks at me from below, like he’d worship every inch of me if I let him.
Thane places a hand on each of my knees and gently parts them. His gaze drops between them, to my center. A flicker of shyness tightens inside me. The instinct to close myself off. But another part of me aches for him to see me like this.
All of me.
So I shift. Spread my legs just a little wider. Offer him everything.
He swallows hard, his teeth catching his lower lip. Droplets of water cling to his chest, glinting in the firelight as they trail over the broad expanse revealed by his open collar.
His voice rolls over me like distant thunder.
“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, his gaze locked between my legs, his expression feral and reverent all at once.
After a moment, his eyes lift to mine.
“Tell me to touch you.”
My breath is shallow, almost as if I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
“Tell me I can put my mouth on you.”
He swallows hard, gaze dark and unblinking.
“I need the taste of you on my tongue.”
The Warlord, asking for permission instead of taking what already feels like his, melts whatever resolve I have left.
I thread my fingers through his thick hair and pull him closer. He growls, low and guttural, then hooks one of my legs over his shoulder and buries his face between my thighs.
His tongue plunges into me. I gasp, my head falling back, hips arching toward his mouth.
Gods. He’s not just tasting me. He’s devouring.
The bond sparks beneath my skin, radiant and alive. It hums through me with every stroke of his tongue, every breath he takes against my center.
Thane licks and sucks, his tongue sliding in and out of me. One hand grips the curve of my hip where my leg rests over his shoulder, his fingers digging in. The other slides upward until it finds my breast. He cups it, his thumb brushing over my nipple.
I cry out as pleasure crashes through me like a wave drawn taut by the bond. My pulse hammers. My breathing turns uneven.
I swallow hard. “Gods—”
A triumphant hum rumbles against me, and I teeter on the edge of losing all control.
“I told you, Amara, darling . . . you’re not done yet,” he says into my mind.
His mouth feasts on me. A ragged cry tears from my throat. My back arches. He takes his time. Teasing. Circling. Drawing me higher and higher until I’m gasping, shaking, coming apart.
A groan reverberates through me, rich with satisfaction, sending heat skittering along every nerve in my body. The pressure begins to build again, sharp and unbearable.
I feel myself splintering beneath the sheer force of what he is doing to me.
“Thane,” I gasp, my fingers tightening in his hair.
But he doesn’t stop. His tongue plunges into me again and again, mercilessly. No slowing. No escape.
“Let go,” he growls against my folds, his voice rough with need.
I feel it building like a tidal wave gathering beyond the shore. Rising. Growing. Larger and larger until it’s all I can see. A wall of water blocking out the horizon.
Then the pleasure crashes over me, sharp and blinding, fire and ice and lightning exploding in my veins.
My magics surge with it, wild and untamed.
The torches burn higher, shadows flickering and stretching across the walls.
Air whips through the chamber, curling around us like an invisible current.
The last of the water rises in delicate strands, reaching, reacting, answering a force greater than control.
Stone hums beneath me, holding me to this world while I completely fall apart.
I cry out.
Trembling. Wrecked. Shattered.
And Thane—Thane groans as though he’s the one drowning in the feeling.
Even then, he doesn’t pull away, refusing to let me escape it. He draws out every last aftershock until I am sobbing from the unbearable intensity of him.
Finally he pulls back. His lips trail soft kisses along my inner thigh. I’m still trembling, still lost in the aftermath of him. Thane kneels back, his hands still resting on my hips, his breath still uneven.
I lean back on my hands, both feet planted firmly on the bathtub floor. I feel weightless. Boneless. Like I could stay here forever.
But I need air. I need to remember how to breathe.
I settle against the wall of the tub. The marble is cool beneath my spine, grounding and solid. The only thing tethering me to this world. My legs remain propped up, my body still trembling.
Thane’s lips brush my knee. Soft. Unthinking. A gesture not meant to be seen, one he likely doesn’t even realize he’s given. When he finally speaks, his voice is hoarse.
“Now, do you understand?”
I swallow, barely able to form words.
“Understand what?”
His fingers tighten on my legs.
“That this was never about power, Amara. This was never about control.”
His thumb traces another lingering path along my skin.
“This,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on mine, “was always about you.”
My heart squeezes with the overwhelming love I have for this man. Not long ago, getting him to share what he felt was like drawing water from stone. Now, he offers those truths freely, and every one of them feels precious.
Sitting up, I cup his face between my hands. Pressing a kiss to his lips, I taste . . . me.
I pull back with a breathless laugh.
“I didn’t expect the afternoon to turn out like this.” My gaze drifts toward the door. “I’m going to be late to meet Valen.”
Thane grunts, clearly displeased.
“Or we could stay here,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing languid patterns up my thigh.
“Forever?”
“Mmm.” His mouth quirks slightly, but his hand doesn’t stop moving.
“Tempting.” I laugh softly, then lean forward and press a kiss against his shoulder. “I like you like this.”
He tilts his head slightly, brows narrowing. “Like what?”
I smile, brushing my fingers through the damp strands of his hair. “Relaxed. Playful. Silly.”
A subtle shift moves through his expression. One I don’t think he even realizes is there. His smoke-gray eyes darken, revealing a glimpse of something raw and unguarded. A glimpse I know he’ll try to bury the moment he becomes aware of it.
But before he can retreat, before he can lock himself down, I hear it through the bond. A whisper, quiet enough to feel accidental.
“You’re the reason for that, Amara.”