His hands smoothed over her stomach, her ribs, before cupping her breast again, his thumbs brushing over one peak in time with Kaelen’s strokes. Her pleasure coiled tighter and tighter, winding deep inside her, until she was trembling—shaking—on the edge.
Kaelen must’ve sensed it, because his movements quickened, mouth slanting over her fully, fingers pressing deeper, curling over the spot that made her see stars.
The tension snapped and Reiya shattered, a cry ripping from her lips as pleasure rolled through her in waves, consuming, stealing the breath from her lungs.
She felt Alarik’s mouth at her temple, the slow, grounding slide of Kaelen’s hand over her thighs. But the other hand still worked her, wringing more pleasure from her with each thrust, lips still sealed over her nub.
When Kaelen finally lifted his head, his lips glistened with her slick. Golden eyes burned as he took her in—flushed, trembling, empty.
“She’s ready,” he murmured, dragging the back of his hand over his mouth.
Her breath was unsteady, skin flushed and tingling from their combined touch, but a new kind of anticipation coiled low in her belly as she met Alarik’s eyes.
She didn’t speak, didn’t need to. She simply lifted her arms, inviting him closer, welcoming him without hesitation.
Alarik rose, positioning himself above her, his warmth pressing intoher as her hands found the waistband of his breeches. She fumbled briefly, but he was already helping, shrugging off his jacket in one fluid motion. Fabrics slipped through their fingers, pooling onto the furs, until nothing remained between them.
Her breath caught.
He was all sculpted muscle and quiet strength—broad shoulders tapering to a firm, lean waist, the planes of his chest dusted with faint scars that spoke of battles won and trials endured. His skin was hot beneath her palms, taut over powerful sinew—a body honed not for show but for purpose.
And lower, nestled at the apex of strong thighs, was proof of his arousal—heavy, thick, rigid. The sight sent a pulse of heat through her, a visceral response she couldn’t contain. Her fingers skimmed his abdomen, following the sharp cut of muscle that led downward, a silent exploration of this man who was always so controlled, unreadable. But now, he shuddered beneath her touch, head thrown back, throat bobbing.
A vision of raw, unshakable masculinity.
And he washers.
Her thighs parted for him without hesitation. Her skin flushed under his gaze, heat unfurling in the places his eyes lingered.
“I’ve wanted you,” she whispered. “Please . . . no more waiting.”
Her hand slid lower, curling around his thick length, testing the hard and hot feel of him before guiding him to her. The velvety tip teased her slick entrance, sending a shared tremor through them both.
The first nudge made her gasp, thighs parting wider in instinct. He dipped into her wetness, just enough to awaken that delicious ache, but it wasn’t enough. Not yet.
Her body arched, hips shimmying forward, silently urging him deeper, while his breath grew heavier—each ragged puff a reminder of how close they were to crossing the threshold together.
His hands slid over the curve of her hips, grounding himself in her softness as he pressed against her entrance—teasing, coaxing her to let him in. He moved deliberately, pumping against her once, twice, three times, until the head of him finally entered her, stretching her.
She hissed her pleasure between clenched teeth, eyes shutting tight at the sensation of him breaching her for the first time.
“You’re so small,” Alarik rasped, voice rough with strain. He pushed deeper, groaning as her body resisted, then slowly yielded, drawing him in inch by inch.
Bracing herself on her elbows, she watched as he filled her—every ridge, every heated pulse. This was more than she’d imagined, an intimacy that stole her breath and left her trembling.
She fell back, the tension easing as she adjusted to him. She’d expected more discomfort, had braced for it—but it never came. Perhaps her years of riding had already taken care of that, or perhaps this was simply how it was meant to be.
Whatever the reason, all she felt now washim—thick, solid, filling her in a way that made her close her eyes and whimper.
Alarik began to move—a slow, deliberate rhythm as if he were mapping her body, learning every nuance of how she took him. Her body welcomed him, wrapping around him as if moulded for this moment—tight, hot, trembling at the edge of control. Each thrust ignited a delicious ache, melting into something sweeter, sharper. Her hips met his instinctively, rolling to match his pace. Every surge forward drove him further, until finally his hips met hers with a sharp, satisfying slap.
He was nestled deep inside her, so deep that she felt him just beneath her navel. Stars burst behind her eyes as she gasped, head falling back.
“Oh gods?—”
Alarik groaned. “She’s not in Heat yet,” he gasped, his voice thick with restraint. His head tipped back, throat working as he swallowed hard, breath uneven. A shudder rippled through him as his hips rocked against her. “But—fuck.”
The guttural curse that slipped from his lips, as though he couldn’t contain it, made her clench around him.
