His hands tentatively slide up my arms, calloused palms trembling. “You are beyond beautiful,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “Thank you for trusting me with every layer.”
Tears slip down my cheeks. “And thank you for choosing me, not as spoil or trophy, but as your partner.”
He dips his head, muzzle brushing my cheek, warmth flooding me. The thick hush dissolves any caution, and I press closer, sighing as our bodies align. We share a kiss, not hurried or fueled by desperation, but reverent, layered with the significance of this vow. My hands roam his chest, feeling the solid plane of muscle. I sense the half-healed bruises, the old champion’s scar, each a testament to his unwavering devotion.
He shifts, letting the final scraps of my underdress slip from my shoulders, baring my upper body to the torchlight. My pulse roars, a heady mix of shyness and longing. I cling to him, inhaling the faint musk of sweat and herbs.
He pauses, searching my eyes. “Tell me if I hurt you, or if you want me to stop. This is your choice as much as mine.”
Emotion tightens my throat. I raise my hand to trace a scar across his collarbone, remembering how he earned it in the orc duel. “I don’t want you to stop,” I whisper, leaning in to brush my lips across that scar.
He shudders, tension flooding him. Our mouths meet again, deeper now, the hush of the ceremony swirling around us. Each slow, deliberate caress ignites sparks along my skin. My fingerswander across his broad shoulders, feeling him tremble at the contact. The closeness is overwhelming—this is no forced union or political show, but a raw, intimate claiming of each other.
He maneuvers carefully, guiding me deeper into the curtained enclosure, away from the entrance. The world beyond is a blur of Freedmen’s festivities, yet in this sacred space, it’s only us. My pulse races, each beat reminding me I’m free to savor every moment. He kisses along my throat, breath warm and reverent, while his hands rove my sides. The tension in my belly builds, a yearning for him that’s both physical and soul-deep.
When he lowers me onto a soft pallet of cushions set upon the floor—a courtesy the Freedmen must have prepared—my nerves tingle with expectation. My arms circle his neck, the press of his powerful body an anchor. Gently, he lets his lips explore my shoulders, the slope of my chest, each kiss stoking the heat thrumming in my veins. I gasp, arching closer, wanting no barriers between us.
His horns brush my cheek in a tender, almost shy gesture. “Mira,” he murmurs, voice raw. “I’ve never felt more certain of anything than I am of this bond.”
Tears prick my eyes again. “Nor have I. You are my lifemate, Remanos, freely chosen.”
With a trembling sigh, he pushes aside the last remnants of cloth. I help him shed his own leathers, mindful of his bandaged thigh. We move slowly, carefully, unveiling each other. His body stirs an ache in me, his muscular frame marred by fresh bruises. I press soft kisses there, silently vowing to love every scar.
Our mouths find each other again, the kiss deepening with quiet urgency. I part my lips, letting him taste me, our tongues tangling in slow, unhurried discovery. The sense of rightness swells, as if all the anguish of our journey melts into this shared vow. My fingers roam, discovering the soft fur near his neck, thecorded muscle of his arms. He moans softly, muzzle brushing across my collarbone, sending shivers racing.
His hands caress my waist, sliding down to cup my hips. My breath stutters as desire coils low in my belly, a yearning sharpened by the knowledge we stand as equals in this union. I yield to his touch, nails lightly scraping his shoulders. Each point of contact sizzles with a slow burn, not rushed or frantic, but a tender claiming.
When he finally aligns our bodies, I can’t help a trembling gasp at the intimate pressure. The torchlight flickers, painting his features in gold and shadow. His eyes reflect such tenderness I feel tears threaten again. Gently, deliberately, he eases us into the final act of this union, a measured push that draws a soft cry from me. My mind spins, heart pounding, but I cling to him, welcoming every sensation.
He stifles a groan, muzzle dipping to my neck. “Am I hurting you?” His voice thick with concern.
I shake my head, smoothing my palm over his cheek. “It’s perfect,” I whisper. “Don’t hold back.”
A ragged exhale escapes him, and he moves again, seeking the rhythm of our new bond. Each slow thrust kindles deeper waves of pleasure, a delicate harmony of muscle and breath. I arch up, eyes fluttering as sensation blooms through every nerve. The veil-laden ceremony, the burnt offering, Freedmen’s acceptance—they all swirl together in my mind, culminating in this precious union.
He murmurs my name, breath shaking, as our bodies find a pace that unites us in molten bliss. I grip his arms, nails biting gently into fur, an anchor amid the surging warmth. He presses a tender kiss to my lips, every motion soaked in reverence. My heart leaps, enthralled by how careful he is, how fully we surrender to each other.
Soon, the tension builds to a near-painful pitch. Our breaths sync, moans mingling in the curtained hush. I feel the edge drawing close, a surge of ecstasy coiling in my core. My entire body trembles, driven by the quiet power of his steady lovemaking. When the wave breaks, I cry out softly, burying my face in his neck, overwhelmed by pleasure and gratitude. He follows moments later, body shuddering against mine, gasping my name in a low, trembling roar that sets my pulse aflame.
In the afterglow, we remain tangled, hearts racing in unison. Sweat glistens on our skin, the torch’s flicker painting shifting patterns. I stroke his mane lightly, lips brushing his temple as he breathes shakily. A flood of fulfillment floods me, tears slipping free for what feels like the hundredth time today. Not from sorrow, but from unbridled joy.
He presses a lazy kiss to my shoulder, voice husky. “I never believed such a ceremony could feel this… sacred. You are my lifemate, Mira.”
My chest tightens. “And you are mine, Remanos,” I whisper, letting that truth settle. Freed from illusions, chosen by each other.
We linger in that hush for long minutes, letting our breathing slow. Freedmen’s distant cheers drift through the thin partition, presumably celebrating still. At length, he eases up, pressing a tender kiss to my forehead, then helps me gather the scattered cloth. I stifle a laugh at the colorful veils strewn around us. His face lights with a warm grin, too—my once-stoic minotaur champion wearing a look of sheer contentment.
I cradle his cheek, exhaling. “We should present ourselves again. Freedmen might suspect we vanished.”
He nods, carefully shifting to find his leathers. “Yes, though a part of me craves to stay here forever,” he admits with a coy half-smile.
I laugh softly, pressing a final kiss to his mouth, the taste of him sending flutters through my belly. Then we dress with slow, affectionate touches, mindful of each other’s bruises. My body still hums with aftershocks, my mind reeling at how swiftly we overcame so many hardships to arrive at this vow. Once clothed, I gather the veils in a neat bundle, deciding Freedmen can frame them as part of this new tradition. My face heats, remembering the sensual unveiling.
He extends his arm, leaning on me for stability when his thigh protests. I slip an arm around his waist, letting him rest against me. Then, with hearts brimming, we step out from behind the curtain, returning to the improvised altar. A hush claims the gathered Freedmen, crafters, and watchers as they behold us. A single Freedman boy holds a small bowl of smoldering herbs near the brazier, a final fragrance drifting up.
The priestess nods at us, smiling warmly. “And so it is done. The goddess blesses your union. May you walk together, no rank overshadowing your bond.”
We exchange a glance, gratitude sparkling. Freedmen whoop and clap, crafters cheering, city watchers stomping in approval. My cheeks blaze, but my spirit soars. We have no reason to hide or apologize—this ceremony belongs to Freedmen as much as it belongs to us.
