Chapter 44 #3
When he finally looked down at me, hair disheveled, lips parted, eyes blown wide with disbelief and hunger, the expression on his face stole whatever breath I had left. He looked undone. Astonished. Devastated by pleasure.
“As if I could’ve survived wanting you any longer,” he rasped.
Then he moved.
Hard. Deep. Shuddering. As if that first thrust had shattered the last piece of restraint he’d ever had. His hands clamped onto my hips, dragging me into every pounding stroke, and I met him with desperate, shaking abandon.
Magic crackled around us. The threads tightened. My nails raked down his back. His breath broke on every thrust. And the tent filled with the sound of two people coming completely, irrevocably undone.
“Yes,” I gasped, wrapping my legs tighter around his waist. “August, don't stop. Don't you dare stop.”
A broken sound tore from his throat. “Mine,” he snarled against my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. “Say it. Say you're mine.”
“I’m yours,” I sobbed as he drove into me again, striking a place so deep and devastating that stars burst behind my eyes. “Always yours.”
August’s breath broke. Then he bit down on my shoulder—hard enough to brand, to claim—and the shock of it detonated through me. My climax tore free with a scream, my body gripping him so tightly he gasped against my skin, cursing through clenched teeth.
The threads reacted instantly.
Light spiraled in wild arcs above us, gold and silver flaring like a storm made of fire, and somewhere beneath all that bliss—beneath the magic wrapping us in a blinding cocoon—I understood with perfect, terrifying clarity: This was what it meant to be wanted by a man who would burn the world before he ever let me go.
“That’s it,” he growled, voice so wrecked it was nearly unrecognizable. His rhythm never faltered. If anything, he thrust harder, deeper, like he craved the way I was falling apart for him. “Let go, Lily. Let me feel you come undone around me.”
His words pushed me into a second shattering—raw, helpless, overwhelming—while the threads tightened around our bodies like fate itself had decided to bind us together.
But he didn't let me recover. Didn't give me a moment to catch my breath. He flipped us—a blur of motion and supernatural strength—until I was straddling him. His hands on my hips pulled me down as he thrust up into me.
“Take what you need,” he commanded. “I want to watch you.”
I braced my hands on his chest, feeling his heart thunder beneath my palms, and began to move. Slowly at first—rising until only the tip of him remained inside me, then sinking back down in one slow, torturous glide that had us both gasping.
From this angle, I could see everything. The flush spreading across his chest. The cords of muscle stood proud in his neck as he threw his head back. The sheer masculine beauty of him laid out beneath me, undone and wanting.
“God, Lily—” His hands clamped around my hips, trying to guide me faster.
“No.” I caught his wrists and pressed them above his head, leaning over him. His eyes flew wide—surprise, yes, but hunger too. That deep, dark hunger he’d tried so hard to hide.
“My turn.”
I rolled my hips in slow, deliberate circles, savoring the way he groaned beneath me. The delicious drag of him inside me made my toes curl, made heat pool low and deep. I set the pace I wanted—slow, then deeper, then harder—until pleasure coiled tight in my belly like a drawn bowstring.
“Please—” His voice broke on the word, his hips thrusting up helplessly. “I need—”
I bent to his ear, my lips brushing his skin.
“Then take it.”
He snarled, the sound ripped from somewhere primal and tore free of my grip.
In a blur he flipped us, the sudden motion pulling a cry from my throat.
His hands were everywhere at once—cupping my breasts, gripping my waist, sliding to my throat—like he couldn’t decide where to touch first, only that he needed all of me.
“Don’t stop,” I gasped into his mouth.
He didn’t.
“Look at me,” he growled, bracing above me. “I want to see your eyes when I make you come again.”
He thrust into me harder, faster, each stroke hitting so deep my breath broke. The quiet tent filled with the obscene sound of our bodies meeting—wet, frantic, desperate—and pleasure spiraled through me in waves that stole my ability to think.
“August—I can’t—it’s too much—”
“Yes, you can.” His voice was a raw command, strained and hungry. “One more. Give me one more.”
His thumb slid between us, finding that sensitive, aching point with devastating precision. He circled once and I shattered.
The orgasm tore through me like wildfire, blinding and brutal, so intense it blanked out the world. I screamed his name. My body convulsed around him, squeezing him so hard he groaned like it physically hurt to stay inside me.
August roared out his release as he slammed into me one more time before sinking down onto me.
He buried his face in my neck and came with a roar, his entire body shuddering through the force of it.
The threads flared so bright I had to close my eyes against the light, and in that moment, I swore I could feel his soul touching mine.
For several heartbeats, neither of us could move. Couldn't speak. He was still buried inside me, still half-hard, both of us trembling in the aftermath. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple.
Then I felt him go rigid.
His breathing changed—still ragged, but now edged with panic. He pulled out carefully and shifted to the side, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at me.
The expression on his face made my stomach drop.
His eyes traced over my body—not with desire now, but with dawning horror. I followed his gaze and saw what he saw: bruises blooming purple on my hips where his fingers had dug in. The bite mark on my shoulder, already darkening. Faint impressions around my wrists where he'd pinned them.
“Lily. God, what have I—”
“Don't.” I reached for him, but he pulled back, sitting up fully. “August, don't you dare.”
“Look at you.” His hands were shaking as he ran them through his hair. “I marked you. Bruised you. I was—” He couldn't even finish the sentence, jaw clenching so hard I heard his teeth grind.
“You gave me exactly what I asked for.”
“I lost control.” The words came out strangled, desperate. “For the first time in my entire life, I completely lost control, and I—” He looked at me then, and the anguish in his eyes was devastating. “What if I'd hurt you? What if I couldn't stop? What if I'm more like him than I thought?”
My heart cracked at the genuine terror etched across his face.
“You're nothing like your father,” I said firmly, sitting up and reaching for him again. This time I caught his wrist before he could pull away. “August, look at me. “
He did, reluctantly, and I saw the boy he must have been—the one who'd been taught that any loss of control meant failure.
“These aren't injuries,” I said, gesturing to the marks on my skin. “They're proof.”
“Proof of what? That I'm violent? That I—”
“Proof that you're capable of feeling something real.
That you're not the cold, controlled hunter he tried to make you.” I moved closer, cupping his face in both hands and forcing him to hold my gaze.
“You didn't hurt me. You gave me pleasure.
You made me feel alive. There's a difference between violence and passion, August, and what we just did. That was passion.”
He closed his eyes, a muscle jumping in his jaw.
“Maybe you've been caging the wrong parts of yourself.” I stroked my thumb across his cheekbone, feeling the tension there.
“Maybe the control isn't what makes you different from him.
Maybe it's the fact that you care whether you hurt me.
That you're sitting here terrified you might have, when all you did was make me feel wanted.”
He opened his eyes, searching mine like he was desperate to believe me but didn't know how.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked quietly. “Tell me the truth.”
“No.” I held his gaze, letting him see the honesty there. “You didn't hurt me. You marked me, yes. But August—” I leaned in until my forehead rested against his. “I wanted you to. I wanted all of you, not just the controlled, careful version. I wanted to see who you are when you stop pretending.”
His breath shuddered out against my face. “I don't know who that person is.”
“I do.” I pressed a soft kiss to his lips.
“He's someone who feels deeply. Who loves fiercely.
Who's terrified of becoming his father because he has a conscience.” Another kiss.
“He's the man who chose to save Mira instead of following orders. The man who held a dying Weaver and wept for her. The man who just made love to me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.”
“Lily—” His voice broke completely.
“Stay with me,” I whispered. “Don't run from this. Don't run from what we just shared.”
For a long moment, he didn't move. I could feel the war raging inside him—the instinct to flee warring with the desire to stay. His hands trembled where they rested on my waist, like he was physically holding himself in place.
Then, slowly, he exhaled.
“I'm terrified,” he admitted, barely audible. “Terrified of losing you. Terrified of hurting you. Terrified that I'll wake up tomorrow and realize I've become everything I hate.”
“Then don't let go,” I said simply. “Hold onto me. Hold onto this. Hold onto the fact that you're capable of caring this much.”
He stared at me for another heartbeat, and then something in him seemed to break—not his control this time, but his resistance. He pulled me against his chest, wrapping both arms around me like he was afraid I'd disappear if he loosened his grip.
“I don't deserve you,” he whispered into my hair.
“That's not your choice to make.” I pressed my palm over his heart, feeling it thunder beneath my touch. “I choose you, August. All of you. Even the parts you're afraid of.”
He held me tighter.
We stayed like that for a long time—wrapped around each other in the golden lamplight, the threads still glowing faintly around us. Eventually, he shifted us both down onto the bedroll, pulling the blanket over us and tucking me against his side.
“Thank you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to my temple. “For not letting me run.”
“Always,” I whispered back, already feeling sleep pulling at me. “I'll always pull you back.”
His arm tightened around me, and he buried his face in my hair.
His lips brushed my forehead, his body warm and solid along mine.
And in the space between heartbeats, one last thread remained.
Thin as silk, bright as captured sunlight, still glowing faintly from the place where his hand rested over my heart.
I didn't know what it meant. But I knew I never wanted it to fade.