Page 63 of A Thread of Breath and Bone

Now I understand completely.

His hands slide up my thighs, steadying me, grounding me. The way he touches me isn’t rushed or demanding—it’s careful, reverent, like he’s memorizing me.

My fingers draw into his hair, and I pull back, sucking in a sharp breath. His unleashed desire gazes back at me. His mouth finds my breasts through the fabric, his hands sliding up my thighs. His hands slip under my nightgown, gripping my bare ass as his fingers toy with my soaked core.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he says with pure reverence. His mouth works over a tender spot on my neck, and I know without a doubt, it will be bruised tomorrow.

Gone is the careful prince. Every touch is both holy and possessive.

“I believe you’ve left your scraps of lacy underthings behind.”

My grin widens as I slap his shoulder.

Keeping his eyes locked on mine, he slips a single finger into me. My eyes flutter closed on a soft moan.

“Eyes on me, love.”

Using every bit of restraint I have, I peel my eyelids open, finding him studying me, devouring me, pouring his heart and soul into me as he deftly works me into a frenzy. I dig my nails into his shoulders as I hold onto him for support.

He alternates between lazy strokes and swirling motions, building me up and up until my legs tremble. When I beg, he smirks and sinks a second finger into me, hooking them and flicking. My legs buckle, but he steadies me with his other hand, letting me lean on him as he works me through my orgasm until I’m nothing but putty in his arms.

“Good girl.”

My heart races.

When his lips find mine again, the world narrows to the space between us. Every fear, every doubt, every lingering worry about the war, the magic, the future—it all fades beneath the warmth of his presence.

“I love you,” he whispers against my mouth.

My chest tightens. “I love you too.”

Standing and lifting me to his bed, he commands me to lie on my back in the center. He settles himself between my thighs, his pants barely constraining his arousal as he brings his mouth to mine.

For long minutes, we kiss, pouring everything we cannot say into the press of our mouths. What begins slow and tender soon turns desperate—biting kisses and roaming hands. The Bond between us flares, hot and insistent, urging us closer.

“I need you,” I say, slipping my hand into the waistband of his pants, finding him swollen and dripping already. “I’m sure,” I communicate, keeping my eyes locked on him so he can see the sincerity of my words.

This isn’t just desire. It’s trust.

He sits back on his haunches, pulling me with him and tugging off the silky gown, leaving me completely bare to him. His nostrils flare. “I’m the luckiest man in the whole damn galaxy.”

I sink into the soft sheets, letting him take me in. Not just my body, but my nerves, my emotions, my uncertainty. I allow him to drink in every inch of me. The way he looks at me—like I’m something he’s been starving for—makes my chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with fear.

He kisses me slowly, tenderly, like he’s afraid to rush something sacred. When he finally draws closer, I cling to him, breathing through the nerves, trusting the way he guides me, the way he listens.

Every touch feels like a promise.

When my mouth feels raw, and my need is too strong, I wrap my legs around him, drawing him closer to where I need him, my hands desperately trying to free him.

With that cocky grin I love so very much, he sits back once more as he slips out of his pants. He plants his knees between my legs, and pumps himself.

His eyes swirl with excitement, and my core clenches in anticipation.

“You’re in control, Raea,” he whispers.

I nod, letting my legs fall open.

He groans, bringing himself over me once more. I’m too hot and too cold, and something has to give because I’m seconds away from taking over.