4. Yield #6
Allora's body began to ripple around him, a trembling that started deep in her core and spread outward in waves.
Malec felt it through the bond before her physical response registered—the spike of pleasure in her consciousness, the way her emotions crystallized into a pure sensation.
He knew the instant she lost herself. The tight, rhythmic clutch of her walls around his length, the desperate, ragged sob of a moan that tore from her throat.
Her entire body shuddered in his hands, her back arching, the slick heat of her pulsing so exquisitely around him that it stole the air from his lungs.
Through the tether, he felt her climax as though it were his own, the pleasure doubling and reflecting back between them in an endless loop.
She couldn't hide from him now. Couldn't pretend.
The bond showed him everything: the intensity of her release, her body trembling with satisfaction, that brief and devastating instant when her defenses fell and she felt softness toward him before terror dragged them back into place.
Blessed stars, she was beautiful like this. Wild and unrestrained, a creature made of fire and storm and everything he'd ever wanted.
That was the moment he let go. He could no longer hold back, no longer pretend he had any control left to spare.
All the tension and fury and hunger he'd swallowed over the past weeks surged up and burst like lightning through his veins.
His release caught him in a vicious, rapturous wave that sent his head falling forward to rest against her shoulder.
"Ahh—Allora—nnh—" His hips flexed helplessly as he spilled into her, each pulse accompanied by a guttural grunt.
"Hahh—ngghhh—mmm—" Every pulse of pleasure was so sharp it felt like it would tear him apart from the inside.
"I—nnh—I love—you." The words came out broken between pants, helpless declarations he couldn't contain.
His arms wrapped around her, holding her as though she were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world, his entire body shuddering with the force of his climax and the overwhelming love that consumed him even more completely than the pleasure.
His mind went blank.
Just sensation: her body squeezing every last drop from him, her voice breaking on a choked gasp, his own groan rumbling low in his chest, and through it all, the soul-bond blazing between them like a star being born.
It was as though the entire world had narrowed to this point of connection.
The hot, slick place where they joined. The proof, undeniable and primal, that they were meant for this, meant for each other.
His magic exploded outward in a silver flash, washing over them both before dissipating into the steam. The communion was fully complete. Their souls had touched in a way that would leave an indelible mark on both of them.
He didn't move when the tremors eased. Didn't withdraw, nor did he attempt to loosen his hold on her hips.
He stayed buried in her, feeling every slow flutter of her aftershocks, the way she clenched around him even as her breath came in ragged pants.
Through the tether, he felt her confusion, the satisfaction and anger at herself for enjoying it so much.
And beneath it all, that fragile seed of feeling for him, watered by pleasure and intimacy, growing despite her best efforts to kill it.
He wanted to stay this way forever. To keep her warmth, her scent, her spirit pressed into him so thoroughly there would be no separating them again.
His love was twisted. He knew that, knew he was selfish and too possessive and not gentle enough to deserve her.
But in this moment, with her body still sheathing him so perfectly and the tether showing him the truth of her slowly shifting heart, he felt as though she was beginning to understand him in a way no one ever had.
As though all their battles and all their wounds had been carved to bring them here, to this collision of bodies and hearts and souls.
The bond had shown him everything. She had manipulated him, yes, used her body as a weapon to get what she wanted. And he loved her for it. Loved her cunning and her fire and the way she fought him even while giving herself to him.
Their breathing slowed. He tightened his grip on her hips, thumb stroking the damp skin at her waist, needing that small contact to keep from drowning in the enormity of what he felt. His other hand still braced on the rim of the tub, holding them steady. Neither of them spoke.
Then, slowly, Allora shifted forward, her back arching as she pulled herself off him.
The slick, aching slide of her body leaving his drew a hoarse groan from his throat.
He felt the wet heat of their mingled release trailing down, felt the loss of her warmth as she withdrew inch by torturous inch.
The water around them had gone cloudy with their coupling, evidence of what they'd done together floating between them like a secret.
He watched, helpless and wanting, as she moved away, his seed spilling from her in a slow rivulet—the physical proof that he'd claimed her, filled her, marked her from the inside—sent a fresh wave of heat through his already spent body.
Already feeling the cold absence where she had been wrapped around him, he had to curl his fingers around the tub's edge to keep from reaching for her and pulling her back.
Gods have mercy on him, he thought, staring at the elegant curve of her spine, his heart thundering. She would be the end of him and he would let her.