“My turn,” I say, voice rough, barely holding together.
“Don’t you mean my turn?”
A slow, self-satisfied grin spreads across my face. “Fuck no. The pleasure is all mine, so this is definitely for me.”
I shift down his body, pressing kisses into his skin as I go, following the shimmer of purple with my mouth, tracing my tongue over the ridges of muscle beneath. His body is all strength and structure and something entirely otherworldly, every inch of him built with purpose.
Bloody hell. He’s stunning.
My gaze drops further, and I swallow hard.
His cock. Right. How the hell am I going to do this without completely embarrassing myself?
“Pax,” he says quietly, watching me. “Your pleasure is enough for me.”
I snap my eyes up to his. He means it. There’s no hesitation, no distortion in the bond, no chance of doubt. But that’s not the point.
“I want this,” I say, steady despite the heat building all over again. “Let me.”
“Always.” His voice softens, something deeper threading through it. “Anything you want that I can give is yours.”
That gets me more than anything else. Because yeah, I’d spent a long time thinking there was no version of the world where I got something like this—someone like this.
Turns out, I was wrong.
It just took being dragged through a rift and dropped into another dimension to find him.
Figures.
I exhale slowly, then drop my focus back to him.
No more hesitation. No more overthinking.
I lean in and commit, parting my lips and taking him into my mouth.
Varek’s groan is immediate—low, rough, and completely unguarded. It hits me harder than it should. Like a reward. Like something I want to drag out of him again and again.
A pulse of his silvery slick follows, warm and unexpected, filling my mouth. I should have anticipated it. I’ve felt it before—used it—but like this, it catches me off-guard.
I pull back just enough to swallow, my tongue dragging lightly as I do. The taste is exactly how I remember.
Better, maybe.
“Are you well?” Varek’s tone shifts, threaded with something deeper than concern. “Is it too much?”
I glance up at him, meeting that half-lidded, glowing stare. He looks wrecked already. Or on the edge of it.
“No,” I say quietly. “Just forgot for a second.”
I allow a beat to catch my breath. Then, because I know exactly what that look means—because I can feel the tension coiled through him—I add, softer, “You taste incredible.”
That does something to him.
The hesitation flashes—there and gone—but I don’t give it time to settle. I take him back into my mouth, deeper this time, closing my lips firmly and drawing him in with intent.
Varek’s back arches, control slipping for a fraction of a second before he drops back against the bed, a breathy exhale breaking from his chest. One of his hands moves—hesitates—and then comes to rest on my head before it wraps around my hair, not guiding, not forcing, but anchoring himself like he needs something solid to hold onto.
Good. This is what I want.
