FORTY-SIX #2
And gods, I want everything he’s offering.
I shiver beneath him, breath shallow, skin lit with anticipation. His touch speaks without words. Of trust. Of promise. Of all the things neither of us has ever needed to say aloud.
His finger moves lower, but his eyes remain locked on mine. When his hand finally finds me, the world narrows to that single point of contact.
I gasp, my hips lifting instinctively. A tremor moves through me, stealing the breath from my lungs. But I don’t look away. I hold his gaze, open and unguarded.
Thane catches his lower lip between his teeth, a sound rumbling in his chest as he watches me react. He draws back, just to the edge of his finger, before pressing forward again with measured precision. My hips follow the movement instinctively, chasing his touch, desperate for more.
Gods, I need more.
He takes his time, relishing the way I writhe beneath his hand. Every breath. Every sound. He wants it all.
The pressure builds, winding tighter and tighter until I can barely hold a coherent thought. My body already trembles beneath him.
I reach for him, my fingers curling around the back of his neck as I pull him down. Our mouths meet in a rush of heat and need. He groans against my lips, and it vibrates through me.
And then he changes the pace.
The kiss softens. Coaxes. His mouth moves with maddening restraint, drawing the tension higher instead of granting relief. Making me wait. Making me feel every second of it.
And then he pulls back. Just enough to make me follow—but he catches my mouth with a breath, his lips grazing mine as he speaks.
“Tell me what you want, Amara, darling,” he murmurs, voice strained with restraint. “What do you need me to do for you?”
His finger remains where it is, unmoving, and the lack of motion is maddening. My body aches, the need wound tight, demanding release.
Still, he waits, wanting me to say the words.
“More,” I breathe, barely louder than a whisper. “I need to feel more.”
A fierce heat flashes through those smoke-gray eyes.
“Anything you desire,” he answers. “I will give it to you.”
He thrusts two fingers into me.
I cry out, my back arching as the sudden stretch sends rapture coursing through me. My hands find his hair, thick and tousled, and I grip tightly, desperate for an anchor.
Thane groans as his hips grind forward. I feel the thick heat of his cock press hard against my thigh.
“No one else touches you like this,” he growls against my skin as his hand continues its measured pace. “Say the word, and I’ll give you everything.”
I ride the rhythm he sets, meeting every stroke with a rising desperation. The pressure builds, winding tighter and tighter until it feels like I can barely contain it. Gods, it’s not just pleasure.
It’s surrender.
His mouth finds my breast. The sensation draws a sharp breath from me as he lavishes attention on it before moving to the other with equal focus. His lips trail across my skin as though he can’t get close enough.
“Gods,” I gasp, my hands tightening in his hair as I pull him closer and press into his touch.
He growls against my chest, the sound rumbling through me as he answers my urgency in kind. He follows my lead, giving me exactly what I’m asking for without a single word.
Everything inside me feels stretched taut. Every nerve sings. Every sensation lands harder than the last. The pressure builds until I can barely think around it.
But even now, it isn’t enough. Not when it’s him. Because this has never been only about desire alone.
I want the look in his eyes when we’re old. I want every version of him. Every ordinary day between the ones that make history. I want the life we’ll build in the quiet moments no one else sees.
I want all of it.
Emotion swells so quickly it nearly steals the words from me.
“Thane,” I gasp, my voice shaking. “I—”
“Anything,” he breathes against the curve of my breast. “Just say the word, my love. Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.”
His attention never wavers. Yet beneath it, I can feel the tension in him, wound tight and waiting. One word. That’s all it would take.
But not yet. First, this.
“Curl your fingers,” I whisper, breathless.
His head lifts. Heat flashes across his face, and he obeys immediately.
“Yes, Amara.” His voice is ragged with need. “My fucking queen.”
His fingers curl, and the moment they find that spot, a cry tears from my throat. My spine bows as I cling to him, holding on with everything I have.
“You bring me to my knees,” he breathes, pressing a kiss to the swell of my breast, then another to the hollow between them. “You always do.”
And gods, the way he says it.
Not as a confession.
As a truth he believes.
My head tips back as the sensation builds, sharper and deeper with every passing second. My body trembles, every breath catching as the storm inside me gathers strength.
Thane leans in. His breath brushes the curve of my throat. His tongue traces a path up the side of my neck before his mouth finds the spot just beneath my jaw. I gasp, arching into him, unable to hold back.
“This spot,” he murmurs, his lips grazing the place where my collarbone meets my neck. “Right here . . . ”
Another kiss follows, lingering this time.
“This is where I inhale your scent.”
The words land just as deeply as his touch. And with his mouth against my neck, I’m helpless to stop the sound that escapes me, pulled from a place I only ever seem to reach with him.
He grinds his hip into my thigh, the thick length of him throbbing.
“What do you want me to do now?” he murmurs, his voice threaded with promise. “What do you need?”
He draws out the last word, making it sound like a sin he’s aching to commit.
He already knows. But he wants me to say it.
“I want you to fuck me, Warlord,” I whisper, my voice carrying everything I can’t put into words. Desire. Trust. Need.
The confession hangs in the air like a fuse waiting to be lit.
Without breaking eye contact, I reach between us and curl my fingers around him.
“With this,” I add.
Thane groans, the sound deep and guttural. His eyes drift shut for a single breath, his head tipping slightly back before he blinks them open again. His eyes blaze.
So, so beautiful.
I stroke him. Once. Twice. Taking my time.
His hips buck into my hand, his cock twitching against my palm. A sharp breath slips through his teeth. Every muscle draws taut, balanced on the edge of control.
His gaze meets mine, molten and full of intent.
In a single fluid motion, he’s above me, bracketing my body with his. Heat radiates from him. Tension ripples through every line of his frame, as though he’s holding himself together through sheer force of will.
He kisses me hard, full of urgency and need, then shifts his weight.
With careful pressure, he uses his knees to part my thighs.
I gasp at the stretch, at the way his body settles between my thighs as though it belongs there.
Then he lifts one of my legs, folding it back along his side and opening me even further.
The movement is seamless. He looks down at me, his chest rising faster now, every ounce of restraint balanced on a knife’s edge.
With one powerful thrust, he steals thought and breath alike. I cry out, my hands fisting the sheets as though they’re the only thing anchoring me to this moment.
“Gods,” I gasp, my head falling back.
It isn’t just the intensity. It’s the way he gives himself over to it. To me.
Thane leans in, his breath hot against my neck.
“You wanted this,” he growls. “Now feel what it means to be mine.”
He drives into me again, harder this time. The bed rocks beneath us. The pace is brutal, perfect, each movement carrying a purpose that leaves me breathless. I arch into him, wanting to be closer, wanting every part of him.
His muscles flex above me, every movement sculpted in tension and fire. His jaw clenches. Sweat beads at his temple. But his eyes never leave mine.
And then shadows rise.
Dark mist unfurls from his skin like smoke, curling around us in silken ribbons. My skin prickles where it brushes against me, alive with the weight of his power, but I don’t flinch. Neither does he.
For once, he doesn’t retreat from them. He lets them come.
“Don’t look away,” he breathes.
“I won’t,” I breathe.
And I don’t. I can’t.
Because this—him, the shadows, the fire between us—it’s terrifying. Beautiful and real.
With the thought he’s mine, I let go. Pleasure crashes through me, bright and overwhelming. The tension finally breaks, and a storm erupts from within.
Water pours down around us in a sudden torrent. Sheets, skin, hair—soaked in an instant. The air fills with the scent of rain, fresh and wild, magics alive in every drop.
Thane’s eyes widen. His hair clings to his face, water tracing paths down his chest. And then he laughs. The sound hits me almost as hard as the storm itself. Wonder flashes across his face, open and unrestrained, as though he can’t believe what he’s seeing.
But he doesn’t stop. Nothing about him hesitates. He keeps moving through the rain and shadows, completely unshaken, as though the storm belongs here with us.
“Gods, Amara,” he groans, voice rough with awe. “Your fucking magics.”
A groan tears from him as he drives into me, the rain-slick glide of our bodies heightening every sensation. My hands roam over his soaked skin, gripping the hard lines of his back and shoulders, feeling the strength in every movement.
The shadows swirl through the falling rain, dancing with the water as though they belong together. The Elements twist and merge around us, the air thick with magics and longing. We’re drenched and breathless. And gods, it only makes everything stronger.
The sensation builds again, gathering force with every passing second. Wild. Untamed. Impossible to hold back.
Every climax I experience is different. The way the magics answers—the way it rises to meet me—is never the same.