Page 10 of Ashborne: Defiance

Tingling pleasure rising, radiating wherever his other hand roamed—my face, my side, my waist, my belly, up to the neckline of my shirt, then pausing, before slipping under, his calloused palm against my skin.

When he cupped my breast, I arched, frantic with pleasure. Mindless. Reckless.

I should have felt shame, yet all I did was ache for him.

What was happening to me?

A still, small voice shrieked caution. Urged me to run. But it faded in the wake of his touch, his kiss.

My eyelids fluttered as I pressed my tightening breast into his palm, my breath catching when he teased the aching peak with his thumb.

With a rushing exhale, he turned his head, tilting to make the kiss new, deeper. It was all I could do to cling so I wouldn’t fall, pleading, begging for more.

My breath came in short, shallow puffs. My fingers cramped. My body seemed to float. I was aware of nothing but the press of him, of his kiss, of his touch, and that growing ache between my legs that urged me closer.

More.

Now.

When he unbuttoned my shirt in jerky little tugs, then started on the belt I’d used to keep the too-large trousers over my hips, I almost sobbed with relief.

Finally, my body sighed.

Finally, my heart echoed.

This was it. That jagged, driving need I’d heard the noblewomen whisper and titter about. The union with a man that heated their cheeks and made their eyes hood when they spoke of it.

I’d thought it a legend. A tale. A myth. An excuse.

But as the belt on my trousers gave under Vane’s shaking grip, and he groaned as he slipped magical fingers between my thighs, as my blood rushed to meet his touch, and my pulse pounded in my ears—and other places under my skin—something drove me forward, to grip him, to cling, to plead.

Mate.

Mine.

The search was over. I knew it like I knew the sky was blue: This passion, this hunger, would not be sated by anything less than him.

I didn’t know how it had happened. I didn’t know why.

But that made it no less true.

I gasped as the conviction in my chest clicked, like a lock sliding home. I lost all pretense or awareness of anything beyond him.

Our kiss grew faster. Deeper. Desperate.

I leaned in, breathing his name, clawing at his shoulders, hips bucking into his touch in an attempt to soothe the frantic need.

“You’re so fucking beautiful. Oh God, Grace—”

“Please.” I was shameless. And happily so. My heart soared.

Finally. After all the male eyes averted from my gaze, all the masculine smiles and energies pointed at other women, I’d found him when I wasn’t looking.

His dark eyes thrilled.

His strong body drew me.

His hands, his kiss, his voice… he called to me.