Chapter 12
Diarvet
“Mine.”
The word echoed through my soul, reverberating in the deepest chambers of my being, the truest thing I’d ever spoken.
Jolie glanced up at me, her honey-colored eyes shimmering with an intensity that stole my breath. Not with regret or anxiety, but with raw, undeniable want. The same kind of want that thrummed through my veins, burning away everything except this moment, this female.
Slowly, deliberately, I lowered my head and captured her lips with mine.
A faint moan broke from deep within her throat, soft and needy, and then Jolie was leaning forward, parting her lips beneath mine.
Her breasts pressed against my chest, soft and warm, the sensation sending electricity racing along every nerve ending.
It was the most wonderful feeling in the universe—like coming home after centuries of wandering.
I deepened the kiss, letting my mouth claim hers with a hunger I could no longer contain.
My tongue swept against hers as I tasted her sweetness, memorizing every texture, every flavor.
Jolie met me kiss for kiss, giving and taking with equal fervor, her fingers threading through my hair.
“Fuck, zeihava,” I growled when we broke apart for breath, our foreheads pressed together, both of us panting. “You have no idea how much I want you.”
She couldn’t know. I didn’t even realize how much I craved her until this moment—more than the air flowing into my lungs, more than the blood pumping through my heart.
Jolie tilted her head, studying me for a long moment with those luminous eyes, a faint grin playing at her kiss-swollen lips. “What does zeihava mean?”
“It means mate in the Zarpazian language,” I told her, my voice thick and roughened with the weight of raw emotion. Each word scraping past the tightness in my throat as the confession settled between us. “But more than that. It means my mate, my heart, my everything.”
A single tear slipped down her cheek, catching the light as it traced a path along her flushed skin, and then she was in my arms again, pressing against my chest, her hands linked around my neck, fingers tangling in my hair as she kissed me with wild abandon.
“I want you too, Diarvet,” she whispered against my lips. Her breath was warm and sweet as it mingled with mine, each syllable dripping with longing, before she claimed my mouth again with renewed hunger.
Something low in my gut tightened and coiled at the sound of her voice—that breathy, desperate quality that spoke of needs matching my own.
Her words hung in the air, charged and electric, and my fingers brushed over her skin, feeling the slight tremor beneath them.
Her breath mingled with mine, warm and inviting, as a soft breeze stirred the leaves around us, carrying with it the scent of earth and promise.
To hear her say those words, to know she wanted this as much as I did, poured through me like a rush of adrenaline, a current that set my heart racing.
It was validation, permission, and a gift all wrapped into one perfect moment.
I felt a little unsteady on my feet as I stood, the world tilting slightly as desire made my head swim.
Lifting her in my arms, I cradled her against my chest, feeling the warmth of her body seeping through the fabric between us.
I carried her to a nearby patch of earth covered in thick, soft moss, nature’s own bedding.
Part of me felt bad that there was no proper bed on which to lay her, no soft sheets or plush mattress worthy of this moment.
But another part of me—the primal, desperate part—knew I didn’t have the restraint to wait until we returned to the village.
She kept kissing me as I walked, her lips moving against mine, uttering those breathy little noises that went straight to my cock, making it throb and strain against the confines of my pants.
Lying her down on the soft moss, I watched as the verdant cushion compressed beneath her weight, cradling her body.
I settled beside her, my heart hammering in my chest, elated at how she immediately turned to me, pressing her curves against the hard planes of my body.
One of her legs wound around my hip, pulling me closer.
Her body radiated heat, warming me from the outside in, while desire burned me from the inside out.
“I’ve wanted you for so long,” I growled against her throat, letting my mouth explore the delicate column of her neck, tasting the salt of her skin, feeling her pulse flutter wildly beneath my lips.
Jolie didn’t answer with words, just a faint moan that rumbled in her chest as she wrapped herself around me, her body molding to mine. Her mouth sought mine desperately, and I gave her what she wanted, what we both wanted.
It was everything I never knew I needed—having her in my arms. Wanting me.
And yet, a part of me was hesitant, despite the desire coursing through my veins like wildfire.
Jolie had been part of Qurbaga’s harem for so long, trapped in a nightmare I could only imagine.
There was no telling what type of depravity she endured at his hands, what horrors were inflicted on her body and spirit.
I would cut out my own soul before doing anything that brought her back to that dark place and made her remember even a moment of that trauma.
“Are you sure?” I murmured, pulling back slightly to search her face, letting my lips trail feather-light kisses along the curve of her cheek, across the bridge of her nose.
“I know what you went through with Qurbaga, and I would never do anything....” The words caught in my throat, the imagining of what she might have suffered, too terrible to speak aloud.
Jolie cupped my face in her hands, her palms warm against my skin, brown eyes soft and loving as they held mine.
“Yes. I’m sure.” There must have been something in my expression, some lingering doubt, some shadow of concern, that made her smile, gentle and reassuring.
“It’s my choice.” Another deep sigh colored her words, her chest rising and falling against mine.
“In the harem, I didn’t have a choice. With you, I do. And I choose you.”
I kissed her deeply, pouring everything I felt into that kiss—gratitude and desire and something deeper, something that felt too dangerous to name. I reveled in her words, in the gift she was giving me, in the trust that shone in her eyes.
My zeihava. And she wanted me.
I let my fingers trail down the V-neck of her tunic, tracing the delicate line of fabric with deliberate slowness, pausing at the hollow of her collarbone where I could feel her pulse thrumming beneath my fingertips. “Can I see you, my heart?” I asked. “I’ve dreamed of seeing you—all of you.”
A saucy little smile danced across her lips, her eyes sparkling with mischief and desire as she nodded, the movement both shy and bold.
I rolled away from her just enough to let my fingers grasp the edge of her tunic, the rough-spun fabric bunching in my hands. She lifted her arms, helping me tug it over her head in one smooth motion, her hair cascading down around her shoulders as the garment fell away, leaving her bare before me.
She was exquisite.
Her breasts were perfectly rounded and full, the weight of them calling to my hands, nipples a deep dusky pink as they stood at attention, already pebbled with arousal.
Her skin was creamy and luminous, like polished ivory, soft over the gentle curve of her waist and the flare of her hips.
Her belly was taut and lean, the muscles beneath the surface defined but feminine.
She watched me as I stared at her, unmoving, barely breathing, my eyes drinking in every inch of exposed flesh.
Her chest rose and fell with her breathing, breasts undulating slightly with the movement, hypnotic and mesmerizing.
She looked beautiful, laid out before me on the emerald moss, like some ancient goddess of the forest offering herself to a mortal supplicant.
When my hands found the fastening to her pants—a simple tie at her waist—she lifted her hips slightly, the movement fluid and encouraging, helping me as I slid the fabric downward over the curve of her hips, down the length of her thighs, revealing more of her warm, silken flesh inch by tantalizing inch.
Her legs, while not long, were lean and muscular.
Her hips curved enticingly, the dip of her waist flowing into the swell of her pelvis, begging to be traced with my fingertips.
The small thatch of honey-colored hair at the juncture of her thighs was both adorable and enticing.
A golden triangle that drew my gaze like a beacon.
The scent of her arousal filled the air, heady and unmistakable, mixing with the earthy scent of the moss and surrounding vegetation, intoxicating as any liquor I’d ever consumed.
“You’re stunning,” I whispered, my voice thick with desire, the words barely more than a rasp.
Jolie smiled, a faint blush creeping onto her cheeks, spreading down her neck and across her chest, painting her skin with a rosy glow that made her even more beautiful.
Still gazing at her face, memorizing the way she looked at me with such trust and want, I let my hands glide down her sides, fingers splayed wide to touch as much of her as possible.
Her skin felt softer than the finest silk, warm and alive beneath my palms. Her muscles trembled slightly beneath my fingers, tiny quivers that rippled across her flesh, not with fear, but anticipation, her body responding to mine.
“You smell so delicious, zeihava,” I murmured, my mouth watering at the scent of her arousal. Sweet and musky, with undertones of something floral and feminine that made my head spin. “Can I taste you?”