Page 51 of Volik

I think it’s us.

Volik moves to the foot of my bed.

I can’t see the queen-size mattress at my back. But the bed suddenly feels far too small.

Volik presses his lips to mine, and I tighten my legs around his waist. Then I drag my nails up the back of his head.

His hair glides between my fingers, and he groans into my mouth.

That heavy feeling in my chest thrums. And I can feel it wrap around my heart.

Is that the mate bond?

Is that what Volik called it?

I slide my hands higher, my fingers seeking—and finding—the base of his horns.

Volik groans and pushes his tongue into my mouth in time with my hands sliding up and down the ridges of his horn.

They’re so warm. So hard. Immovable. But so smooth they almost feel soft.

My hips tilt, seeking friction.

Volik shifts but stops when there’s a tearing sound.

I start to pull away, but he growls, so I don’t stop kissing him.

I taste him.

Lick him.

Consume him.

Volik jostles us, and when I hear more tearing and something falling to the floor, I smile against his lips.

I think he just ripped away the last shreds of his pants.

Meaning he’s left in just those tight-ass boxer briefs.

Volik grumbles something in a language I don’t understand as he lifts his knee onto the mattress.

The bed frame creaks.

Still holding me, he shifts, lifting his other knee onto the bed.

The bed frame creaks louder.

Volik ignores the sound of warning and bends forward.

I tighten my grip on his horns as he lays me on the bed.

Our kiss breaks as he slides his arms out from under me. But then he braces his elbows on either side of me, staying close.

Loosening my grip, I drag my hands up the length of his horns again.

“Ma Fleur.” Volik presses his face against my neck and inhales.

My vision warps.