Page 107 of Awakened Ash and Alchemy

But then it shifted, and suddenly it was all exploring hands, groans, and lips on lips.

She clutched at his shoulders, but her hands met the hard, battle-worn leather that was a barrier between them.

If this was to be her fantasy made real, she wanted it gone.

Now.

Zarek must have felt her frustration, because he pulled back just enough, and with his eyes never leaving hers, he reached for the buckles at his shoulders to unclip the armor. It fell away with a heavy thud that echoed through the small library.

Beneath it—

Oh mercy.

An undershirt, with silver threads on the cuffs, that sculpted every line of raw muscle. His chest heaved with each breath, highlighting the faint indentations left by years of wearing staves that contained his power.

A warrior.

A man.

And somehow, he’d ignited her soul.

With trembling fingertips, she traced the ridges and scars, as the heat radiated from him like a banked fire. He shuddered under her touch—actually shuddered—and she felt his shock, his relief, his wonder that she wasn’t afraid.

His mouth found hers again, hungrier now, as his hands slid down her sides, fisting the fabric of her gown.

She tugged at it, trying to pull it over her head, but the layered gown tangled, caught on her arms, her hair—

“Damn it,” she muttered against his mouth.

He gave a rough laugh, pulling back just enough to look at her, eyes blazing. “Let me.”

His hand flattened against her stomach, and she felt the slow heat bloom beneath his palm.

And then the gown ignited.

Silver threads glowed white-hot for a heartbeat before the fabric dissolved into ash, falling away from her skin like snow.

The delicate chain snapped from the heat, and her medallion fell. It hit the floor with a soft clink, rolling away into the shadows.

Angela barely noticed as she stood before him in nothing but her bra and panties, the air cool against her flushed skin.

“You’re…” His voice cracked. “You’re beautiful.”

Heat flooded her cheeks—not from his power, but from the raw honesty in his eyes and how he looked at her as if she were something precious he couldn’t believe he could finally touch.

“Your turn.” Her fingers curled into the hem of his undershirt.

He pulled it over his head in one swift motion, and—

Oh, she’d known he was strong. Having felt the muscle beneath the leather when he lay wounded and asleep. But seeing him like this, awake and bare-chested, with the stave indentations pressed into his skin, was something else entirely.

He was magnificent.

And he was looking at her as if she were the only thing in the world that mattered.

His hand cupped her breast through the thin fabric of her bra, and she gasped as her head fell back.

She’d been touched before. Kissed before. But this—this—was different. A primal appreciation blazed to life low in her belly, warming her from the inside out. She could feel him. Not just his hands, his mouth, and his body pressed against hers—but him. His want filled with a desperate, aching need to be close to someone after centuries of isolation.