But Thallos wasn't other men. Thallos was?—
He kissed her again, and the voice went silent.
She found herself pressing closer, wanting more, wanting everything. Her hips rolled against him without conscious permission, seeking friction, and he made a sound that was half groan, half growl. His hands tightened on her waist.
"Careful," he managed. "If you keep doing that?—"
"What if I want to keep doing that?"
"Marigold."
She loved reducing him to just her name. Loved the way his control frayed at the edges when she touched him. All her life, she'd been the one affected by others, the one knocked offbalance, the one scrambling to adapt. This was different. This was power.
His hand slid up her thigh, beneath the hem of her dress, and she forgot about power entirely.
"Tell me if—" he started.
"Don't stop."
His fingers traced higher, then higher still. She was trembling now, every nerve ending alive and singing, and when he finally touched her—really touched her, through the thin barrier of her underwear—she heard herself make a sound she'd never made before.
"That's it," he breathed against her ear. "Let me hear you."
She couldn't have stayed quiet if she'd tried. His fingers moved in slow, deliberate circles, learning her, and she clutched at his shoulders like he was the only solid thing in a spinning world.
"Please," she heard herself beg. "Please, please?—"
"Please what?"
"I don't know. I don't—oh?—"
He found exactly the right spot. She arched against him, head thrown back, and the sky above was full of stars that hadn't been there before, constellations she didn't recognize wheeling in patterns that seemed to match the rhythm of his hand.
"Let go," he said. "I've got you. Just let go."
And she did.
The wave crashed through her—pleasure so intense it bordered on pain, her whole body clenching and releasing, spots bursting behind her eyes like fireworks. She cried out—his name, maybe, or something wordless—and he held her through it, murmuring soft things against her hair while she shattered apart.
When she came back to herself, she was collapsed against his chest, breathing hard. His heart pounded beneath her ear. His hands had stilled but still cupped her gently, possessively.
"I—" she started, not sure what she wanted to say.
And then he pulled back. Not just with his hands, but with his whole body. One moment she was nestled against him, warm and sated. The next, he'd shifted her gently to the moss and put a foot of distance between them.
"Thallos?"
His face was strained. The desire was still there, obvious in the tension of his jaw and the rapid rise and fall of his chest, but something else had crept in. Something that looked like guilt.
"I shouldn't have—" He hesitated, clearly struggling to find the words. "The grove. The magic here. It can… affect people."
Cold washed through her. "What do you mean?"
"I told you this place was sacred. What I didn't tell you is why." He scrubbed a hand over his face. His horns caught the lantern light, glinting like obsidian. "The old ones used it for rituals. Fertility rites. Binding ceremonies. The magic that's seeped into the ground enhances things. Emotions. Desires. It takes what's already there and amplifies it."
She sat up slowly, her dress falling back into place around her thighs. Her body still hummed with the aftermath of pleasure, but her mind was spinning.
"Are you saying I only wanted that because of magic?"
