40. Esme #2
“But that’s not the point. I want you because when everything in my life feels like manipulation and strategy and survival, you feel like the one thing—deep down—I don’t have to second-guess. Even when I should.”
I step closer, close enough that I can feel the heat of him.
“I want you because somewhere along the way, you stopped feeling like danger and started feeling like choice. My choice.” I lift my chin. “And maybe that’s the most reckless thing I’ve ever done. But I’m done pretending it isn’t true.”
A breath passes between us.
“I want you, Dayn. Not because Helena told me I should. Not because it might save the world.” My voice softens. “Because somehow, impossibly… it’s you. And I think, on some level, it’s been you for a while.”
The words spill out, raw and unfiltered, and for the first time, I don’t try to rein them back.
His touch on my neck remains, but his thumb is stilled against my skin as if he’s afraid moving might shatter this moment.
Those amber eyes lock onto mine, intense and unblinking, like he’s seeing straight through to the core of me—the parts I’ve kept locked away even from myself.
He inhales quietly, his hand sliding to cup the back of my neck, fingers threading into my damp hair. The heat of him seeps through my robe, making my skin flush.
“Esme,” he breathes. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear that.”
A smirk tugs at my lips. “Oh? How long, exactly? I’d love to hear the specifics of your timeline.”
Dayn’s gaze darkens, his thumb tracing a slow path along my pulse point, sending sparks dancing down my spine.
“Long enough that I’ve imagined this conversation a dozen times,” he says, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through me.
“But never quite like this. Never with you looking at me the way you are now.”
I tilt my head, the smirk holding even as heat builds under my skin. “And how am I looking at you?”
“Like you mean it.” His free hand comes up, fingers brushing my collarbone, slipping just beneath the edge of my robe. The touch is light, deliberate, and it steals my breath. “Like whatever Salome couldn’t fix doesn’t truly matter… Like you’re not holding back anymore.”
“Maybe I’m not.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel, but inside, everything’s a storm—racing pulse, tingling nerves, that strange hum from earlier intensifying, like the coven’s energy is feeding into this moment.
I lean into his touch, my body making decisions my mind hasn’t fully caught up to.
“But if we’re doing this, Dayn, if we’re going to try… no more games. No more half-truths.”
His eyes flash with something raw, almost relieved. “No games,” he agrees, pulling me closer until there’s no space left between us. His heat envelops me, chasing away the lingering chill from the room. “Though I can’t promise I won’t enjoy watching you unravel.”
Before I can retort, his mouth claims mine in a kiss that’s all fire and certainty, his lips firm and unyielding against mine.
Heat explodes through me, racing from my lips to my core, igniting every nerve like dragonfire catching dry tinder.
I gasp into his mouth, my hands fisting in his shirt as I pull him closer, desperate for more of this consuming blaze.
His tongue sweeps in, tasting of smoke and something deeper, ancient, like the heart of a forge, and I meet him with equal fervor, my body arching against his solid frame.
Damn, this is what I’ve been denied—this raw, electric pull that makes my blood sing and my shadows stir restlessly beneath my skin.
His hands slide down my sides, fingers digging into my hips with just enough pressure to blur the line between pleasure and possession, holding me like I’m the only thing anchoring him to this world.
I break the kiss for a shuddering breath, but he doesn’t let me go far, his forehead pressing to mine, his amber eyes molten and wild.
“Esme,” he murmurs, voice rough with need, “tell me this is what you want. All of it.”
I nod, words failing me as I capture his mouth again, fiercer this time, my fingers tangling in his hair.
The room spins, or maybe it’s just us, stumbling backward until the bed hits the back of my knees.
We fall together, his weight pinning me deliciously to the mattress, and I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him down until there’s no space left between us.
His growl vibrates through my chest, and I feel his control fraying, his kisses turning urgent, almost desperate.
My robe slips open under his touch, my skin igniting wherever his fingers graze.
The fabric parts like it’s been waiting for this, and cool air rushes over me, contrasting with the furnace of his body.
I arch up to meet him, my hands roaming the hard planes of his chest, the ridges of his muscles, while his mouth finds my neck, teeth grazing just enough to send sparks racing along my skin.
A gasp escapes me, unbidden, raw, utterly uncontrolled.
“Gods, Esme,” he growls against my skin. “You’re going to be the end of me.”
I laugh breathlessly, fingers tangling in his hair to pull him back to my lips.
“Promise?” But the word dissolves into another kiss, deeper this time, our bodies pressing together in a rhythm that’s all instinct and heat.
His hands explore, mapping me with a possessiveness that should terrify me but only fans the flames higher.
I tug at his shirt, needing to feel more of him, and he obliges with a low chuckle, shrugging it off in one fluid motion.
The sight of him—bronzed skin etched with faint rune-scars, muscles coiling with barely restrained power—steals what’s left of my breath.
His skin is fever-hot under my palms, every ridge and scar a map I suddenly want to memorize with my fingers, my lips, my everything.
Dayn’s weight presses me deeper into the mattress, his body a perfect, overwhelming cage of muscle and heat that makes my pulse thunder in my ears.
Our hips align in a way that draws a guttural sound from his throat, his mouth crashing back to mine in a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue and desperation, like we’re both chasing the same fire.
He rips off my robe completely, discarding it in a damp heap somewhere, but the cool air of the room does nothing to temper the blaze building between us.
His hands keep roaming—bold, possessive—sliding down my sides, tracing the curve from my waist to my hip, and the touch is electric, sending jolts straight to my core.
I gasp into his mouth, my nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks on that bronzed, rune-etched skin.
He rasps my name against my lips, his voice rough and broken, like he’s unraveling just as fast as I am.
He shifts, his thigh nudging between mine, the friction deliberate and devastating, making my breath hitch and my body respond in ways that feel instinctive, primal.
I rock against him without thinking, chasing that spark, and he groans, deep and low, his free hand tangling in my hair to angle my head back, exposing my throat.
His mouth descends there, hot and insistent, teeth grazing my neck’s pulse point before soothing with his tongue, each nip and lick building the ache inside me to something unbearable.
I whimper—actually whimper—and my hands slide down his back, feeling the powerful flex of muscle, lower still until I’m tugging at the waistband of his pants, desperate to eliminate every barrier between us.
He helps, shifting just enough to kick them free, and when he settles back over me, skin to skin, the full, heated length of him pressing against my thigh, I nearly come undone right there.
“Dayn,” I breathe, my voice a ragged plea as his hand slips lower, fingers teasing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, inching closer to where I need him most. The anticipation is torture, every brush of his touch making me tremble, heat pooling liquid-hot between my legs.
He’s taking his time, damn him, his amber eyes locked on mine, watching every reaction like it’s his new favorite obsession. “Please—”
A sharp knock echoes through the room, piercing the haze like cold water.
I freeze, my body still humming, every nerve screaming in protest as Dayn goes still above me. His hand stops moving, fingers curled possessively against my thigh, and for a second, neither of us moves, both breathing hard, the interruption hanging like a curse.
Another knock, more insistent.
“Shit,” I hiss, shoving at his chest—though my body betrays me, not wanting him to move an inch.
He rolls off reluctantly, a low growl rumbling from him as I scramble for my robe, heart pounding from more than just the near-miss.
My legs feel like jelly, my skin flushed and sensitive, and I nearly trip over the discarded fabric in my haste to wrap it around myself.
The tie slips through my fingers twice before I manage a sloppy knot, my cheeks burning as I stumble toward the door.
This better be life-or-death, or I’m hexing someone into next week.
I yank the door open, ready to snap—and freeze.
Jax stands there, chest heaving like he’s sprinted across the entire coven, his hair disheveled and sweat gleaming on his forehead. His eyes light up when they land on me, a grin breaking through despite the obvious stress etching lines around his mouth.
“Esme! I heard you were back.” He pulls me into a crushing hug before I can protest, lifting me off my feet for a second. “Gods, it’s good to see you. You’re okay? You look... flushed. Wait, are you sick?”
I squirm out of his arms, my face probably the color of a tomato as the awkwardness hits me like a brick.
Here I am, robe barely tied, hair a mess, lips swollen from Dayn’s kisses, and my little brother—awake, healthy, gods, he’s really okay—shows up at the worst possible moment.
Inside, to my left, I catch Dayn lounging against the bedpost, arms crossed, looking like he’d rather kill my brother than welcome him inside.
“Uh, yeah, just... hot shower,” I stammer, tugging my robe tighter and praying Jax doesn’t notice the state of the room—or the brooding, naked dragon-king in the background.
“I’m fine. Better than fine. And you—you’re awake!
Healthy! I mean, obviously, look at you, running around like a maniac.
” Relief floods me, genuine and overwhelming, cutting through the embarrassment.
He’s here, solid and whole, not comatose or worse.
I punch his arm lightly, grinning despite myself.
“Don’t scare me like that again, you idiot. ”
He laughs, but it’s strained, his eyes darting around. “Listen, Es, can I come in?” he asks. “We should talk.”