Chapter 21 #3
—and their lips met, as though by an unspoken accord. As though they’d both been waiting for the permission this mark had finally given them.
His lips were warm, more velvet than heat, at first. The moment they met hers, something in her caved. There was no pretence left. No mission, no performance. Just the truth of his mouth on hers and the way her body responded to every touch, every slow stroke of his tongue against hers.
The kiss deepened almost without warning.
One moment, it was soft—like the brush of breath between them.
The next, his hand lowered again to grip her hips, anchoring her, while her own slipped into his collar, brushing against his neck.
Her other hand came up, sliding into the silk of his hair, and then her fingers brushed against it: the solid, ridged, warm base of his horn.
He froze. His body went rigid against hers—breath hitched, kiss stalling. Her instinct was to pull away, to apologize for the intrusion, but his arm tightened around her, holding her in place. A silent plea to stay.
And in that suspended second, the magnitude of it crashed over her.
His horns were the crown of his true self—the symbol of everything he kept hidden from the world. To touch them was an invitation into the most sacred space he possessed. He was letting down the final wall. For her.
Her heart hammered—awed, frantic. Her fingertips traced the ridges slowly, feeling the texture, the warmth, the low thrum of power that seemed to pulse in time with her own heartbeat.
A low, guttural sound came from him, a raw noise of pleasure and surrender that seemed to be torn from a place beyond his control.
The kiss turned hungry again. She pushed against his shoulder and climbed onto his lap, knees bracketing his hips.
The heat between them rose. Her magic stirred beneath her skin, answering his, brushing against his like a match finding kindling.
When they finally broke their kiss, he didn’t go far. Their foreheads touched, their breaths came in unsteady pulls. His thumb rested in the hollow beneath her lips.
Cassia blinked at him—flushed, undone. Her fingers were still tangled in his hair, near the base of his horn.
Ark was silent, his eyes half-lidded, lips parting slightly.
He was trembling. She could feel his muscles quivering beneath her.
His heartbeat thudded through the thin barrier of their clothes, echoing her own.
“Well,” she murmured, voice barely there, “that was . . .”
“Thorough?” he offered, his voice hoarse.
She smiled. “. . . A long time coming?”
He dropped his head to her shoulder and let out a half-groan, half-chuckle. He didn’t let her go. She hadn’t moved either, still perched on his lap.
“You touched my horn,” he whispered, looking up.
Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away. “And when I did, you made that sound.”
“What sound?”
“The one that made me do it again.”
Ark stared at her. Something behind his golden eyes shifted—a last thread of composure, pulled taut to snapping.
He moved before she finished breathing. His good hand caught the back of her neck, claws pressing into her skin just enough for her to feel every single one.
He dragged her mouth to his—barely controlled.
The kiss of a demon who’d kept himself leashed for days and was now letting the chain slip, link by agonizing link.
A growl hummed against her lips—low, possessive, vibrating through her teeth and settling somewhere at the base of her spine.
His claws tightened in her hair, and she gasped into his mouth.
He swallowed the sound like it belonged to him.
He urged her down until she lay flat on the sofa, him on top of her. She kissed him back with everything she had, and he kissed her like she was a secret he didn’t want to give back. His magic still hummed in the place where he’d marked her—a pulse that answered with every beat of her heart.
Her fingers found the edge of his collar, his skin blazing beneath it, and she was about to pull him impossibly closer when—
A yowl pierced the air, followed by a furious scratch-scratch-scratch at the front door.
Cassia blinked, disoriented. Ark pulled back.
A second yowl—longer, indignant, like someone had just insulted him to his face.
Anuck.
She groaned, head falling onto the cushion. “I swear he has the worst timing.”
Ark didn’t respond right away. The warmth and softness had vanished from his expression. He was staring at the door, shoulders stiffening. The scratching stopped, and the silence was somehow worse. It wasn’t the hush of a cat settling, but an ominous warning.
Slowly, he lifted himself off her. The man was gone, replaced by the strategist, his gaze razor-sharp and fixed on the door.
Anuck was still there—back arched, ears pinned flat, his tail a bristled spear. A low, continuous growl vibrated through the room, a sound she’d never heard him make before. Cassia’s heart gave a slow, uneasy beat.
Softly, Ark murmured, “Something’s out there.”