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“I swear.”
With that assurance, I slowly release my hands from around his neck. In my head, I was planning to keep them to myself, but they seem to have a life of their own, so they slip down to his chest instead.
“What happened?”
He shakes his head. “Later.”
I don’t like that answer, but I’m in no mood to argue. My gaze drifts to the bandage around his right arm. “How bad is that?”
“This? This is practically a bug bite.”
I almost smile. “I was so scared, you know. I can’t lose anyone else.”
“Not even me?”
I shake my head. “Especially not you.”
His eyes darken, but it’s not the stormy darkness of anger. It’s more than that.
Which makes it that much more terrifying.
“Ilarion—”
His lips crush mine, and I gasp. I’m unable to stop myself from returning his fervor, meeting his hungry kisses with my own. I can feel his desire poking me in the stomach, and he lets out a low growl when I rub against him.
He tugs at my shirt with one hand, then works my pants open. I help him, lifting my arms and wiggling my hips to discard my clothes because every layer between us is a layer too many.
His eyes light up as he drinks me in. But it’s not until his hand strokes my hair back over my shoulder that something else occurs to me: did he worry, too? Did he worry he’d never make it home?
I kiss him again. Slowly but thoroughly. I need him to feel me. We both need to feel each other—he’s home, he’s safe, and so am I, and we’re both right here.
As long as that’s true, everything will be okay.
I’m peeling the shirt off his shoulders when he winces with pain. “Shit!” I yelp, dropping my hands and leaning away from him. “Your wound. I’m sorry.”
“Looks like you’ll have to be gentle with me,” he chuckles, pushing himself off the desk and walking over to the sofa across the room.
He shrugs off the shirt himself, but I undo his belt before he can get to it. I undress him gently, taking my time, marveling at the beautifully sculpted contours of his body.
I want to kiss every single inch of his body.
I want to taste him.
I want to feel him move inside me.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” I rasp, even as my hand circles his cock.
He tucks his fingers under my chin and tips my face up to his. “We resisted for long enough,” he growls. “There’s nothing stopping us anymore.”
That’s wrong, though. It’s so fucking wrong. The thing that’s stopping us is upstairs, still living and breathing.
But what if she isn’t? What if part of her—the important part, her soul, her life—is gone?
What if it’s gone, and it isn’t coming back?
A tear rolls down my cheek. “I’m a horri—”
“Stop.” His voice is swift but not harsh. “Stop. The only thing that you are ismine.”
