Page 24 of The Brute and the Blade

"Mine," he snarls, his eyes wild and feverish on my face, his tusks grazing my throat with every word. "Mine, Lily...my mate, my queen...fucking MINE..."

"Yes," I sob, my head thrashing on the furs, my nails scoring his flexing back and shoulders. "Yes, yes, yours, only ever yours...oh fuck, oh gods, Grok...I'm going to...I can't..."

"That's it," he growls, his calloused ogre skin rubbing my clit with every thrust. "Take it, Lily. Take me, all of me, everything I am...fuck, you feel so good, so right..."

"Grok," I beg, shameless and wanton. "I can't...it's too much, I'm going to...going to..."

"Do it," he commands, his hoarse voice shooting through me like lighting. "Come on my cock, Lily...drench me, milk me...give me everything, take everything...now..."

And I do. Oh gods, I do, my orgasm slamming into me like a tidal wave, like a tsunami, swamping me in pure, electric ecstasy. I buck and writhe and scream my pleasure to the smoke-stained rafters, my body clenching and rippling around his pulsing, pistoning hardness like I'm trying to pull him into my very soul.

Through the haze of bliss, of rapture, I feel him shudder and swell inside me, his cock jerking and twitching as he finds his own release. He buries himself to the hilt with a roar that shakes the very stones, pulsing and spurting and flooding me with the thick, scorching heat of his seed.

It seems to go on forever, the two of us locked together in an endless feedback loop of pleasure and possession, giving and taking, claiming and being claimed. But finally, blessedly, the maelstrom passes, leaving us limp and gasping in its wake, our sweat-slick bodies tangled together in an unbreakable knot.

Grok collapses onto me with a shuddering groan, his weight a welcome burden, a benediction. I wrap my arms around him, cradling him close as he buries his face in my throat, his breath ragged and his heart pounding against mine.

"I love you," he rasps, his voice raw and wrecked, stripped down to its barest essence. "Lily Thornwood, my heart, my home...I love you, with everything I am, everything I will ever be."

I close my eyes against the sudden sting of tears, the clench of emotion in my chest. I want to say it, to whisper the words that beat like hummingbird wings against my ribcage, that sear the tip of my tongue with their desperate, aching truth.

But I can't. I can't, no matter how much my heart yearns, my soul cries out for the solace, the certainty, of that declaration.

Because it would be a lie. A beautiful, bittersweet lie, but a lie nonetheless.

I don't love him. I can't love him, this beast, this brute who's stolen me away from my home, my very self.

Can I?

No. No, it's impossible, it's madness. I'm just...caught up in the moment, drunk on pleasure and passion and the dark, decadent thrill of the forbidden.

It's not real. It can't be real, no matter how it feels, how it burns like a brand on my heart, my soul...

So I swallow down the words, the wanting, and simply hold him tighter, stroking his hair and his heaving shoulders as he shudders and shifts above me. I press a soft, tender kiss to his temple, my lips lingering on the salt-sweet taste of his skin.

"And you are my king," I murmur, my voice a gentle croon in the hushed, heavy air. "I've got you, Grok. I'm here. I'm here..."

He makes a low, broken sound deep in his chest, his arms tightening around me like he's afraid I'll disappear if he lets go. "Stay," he rasps, the word muffled against my throat. "Stay with me, Lily. Don't...don't leave me. Please."

My heart clenches at the raw, naked vulnerability in his voice, the desperate yearning. In this moment, he doesn't sound like a warlord, a conqueror...but like a lost little boy, aching for comfort, for connection.

For love, pure and simple and soul-deep.

"I'm not going anywhere," I whisper, the words tasting like ashes on my tongue even as I breathe them into his hair, his skin. "I'm yours, Grok. For as long as you want me, for as long as you need me...I'll be right here. I promise."

It's a lie. I know it's a lie, even as the vow falls from my lips like a benediction, a blessing. Because as soon as I'm able, as soon as his defenses are lowered…

I'll be gone. Fled back to my people, my purpose, leaving nothing behind but rumpled furs and the lingering scent of our passion, our pain.

Leaving him behind, this fierce, fascinating male who's burrowed so deep into my heart, my very being...that I don't know how I'll ever dig him out, ever forget the feel of his touch, his taste...

The way he makes me feel, cherished and challenged and consumed, body and breath and burning, aching soul.

It's for the best, I tell myself, even as I bury my face in his hair, breathing him in like he's the very air in my lungs. It's for his best, and yours. You could never truly be his...and he could never truly be yours.

Not in the way that matters. Not in the way that lasts, beyond the passion and the pleasure and the fleeting, flickering fire.

You have to go. You have to leave, before it's too late...before you're lost to him, bound to him, in a way that can never be undone.

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