“You’re shaking,” I murmured.
“I’m not cold.”
My lips curved against his skin.
He reached for me then, not tentative, not unsure. His hands clutched at my waist, tugging my sash loose, fingers brushing my lower back. I let the robe fall from my shoulder entirely. His breath caught again.
The bond flared, thick and golden, like honey poured straight into the hollow of my chest. It tethered us in pleasure and breath and scent. I could taste him already on my tongue: warm, slightly salted, edged with the faint sweetness of fig and the spice of the temple incense we both walked through daily.
I kissed down his chest, each touch making my cock harder, my tongue flicking over the peak of one nipple, and his back arched with a gasp. My hands traced his hips. Every part of him was lean, fevered, strung tight with need.
He reached for me again.
I pressed harder into him, skin to skin at last.
The bond leapt like flames between us the moment our bare chests met. My cock stirred against his thigh, and I felt him pulse hot and hard against my hip. I ground into him once, slow and firm, and he whimpered—hands gripping my back, nails catching just enough to make me groan.
“You want this,” I said, voice low and rough.
“Yes,” he whispered. “Please.”
I reached between us, closing my hand around both of us where we pressed together. We hissed in unison. I stroked us together, slow and slick, the motion coaxing precome from both tips, letting it ease the rhythm. His hips rolled up into me, greedy, lost, unashamed.
I watched his face the whole time.
My hand went to my lips, spit moistening my fingers, and I rubbed myself before settled my cock between Callis’s legs.
He whimpered his assent, and I let the beastly power that soured through my veins take over.
His lips parted. His brows drew together. His breath came sharp and fast and uneven.
“Auren,” he breathed, his voice breaking like surf on stone.
I slid my other hand beneath him, lifting his hips just enough to change the angle. My thumb traced his slit, already wet with silver lust, and he cried out softly, bucking into my palm.
“I can’t?—”
“You don’t have to wait.”
I kissed him hard as he came, trembling under me, spilling over his flat stomach with a cry I caught in my mouth. The bond roared. His release crashed through me like a wave I couldn’t avoid. The pulse of it triggered my own. I spilled inside of him with a broken moan, burying my cock deep into his body and my face in his neck as the bond reached its peak.
It wasn’t a chain anymore. It was a ribbon of gold threading through every part of me, pulling tight and clean and right.
We lay there, tangled and heaving, limbs heavy with sweat and satisfaction.
The tide had broken.
And still, I didn’t let him go.
We lay there in the soft hush of the room, ourlimbs tangled and slick with sweat, the sheets bunched beneath us like a forgotten offering. The moonstone light radiated its glow. The air smelled of salt and skin, the bond a quiet ember glowing just beneath my breastbone—no longer searing, no longer frantic. Just warm. Just steady.
Callis lay half on his side, his hand brushing the skin above my heart. His gaze drifted to the windows where moonlight filtered through, painting silver over the stone tiles. He didn’t speak for a long time.
Then, quietly, he said, “Sometimes I wonder if I’m like the youth in the field. The one Elyon fell in love with.”
I turned to look at him. His lashes cast long shadows on his cheeks. His lips, still swollen from our kisses, curved slightly.
“He lay there in the grass, content, alone, until Elyon passed over him and stopped. Saw him. Loved him.”
