Page 135 of When Hearts Ignite

A heat forms at the base of my spine and spreads to my chest and I smile, placing my hand in his. He tugs me flush against him, cradling my head against his muscular chest. I can hear the strong beats of his heart.

My heart.

Because his will beat alongside mine for all eternity. It may be whimsical, it may be too soon, but I have a feeling. A sixth sense.

We sway to the music, his familiar scent of the sea and leather, something I finally understand why it’s so addictive, the tinge of leather being a scent his father wore, something my subconscious remembered—safety—if it has an actual smell.

“When I look at you,” he sings, his voice deep and raspy, his lips touching the outer shell of my ear, “I see my future in your eyes…”

My eyes mist from the deep timbre of his voice as he serenades me under brilliant skies.

Because the voice, the language of our soul, reveals the truth in every husky rasp, every ragged edge, and every smooth vibration. And it’s the voice that inevitably reveals part of your hidden soul, breathing life and meaning into the musical piece.

A year ago, at Lunasia, when he was singing this very song, I heard the strains of emptiness and longing inside him.

He croons, the vibrations caressing my ear, “You’re my stars in the skies, my everlasting high…our souls intertwined…”

I press a kiss on his jaw, over his fluttering pulse, moisture welling in my eyes.

Now, I hear love and happiness radiating from those husky tones. The once cold King of Wall Street, who ruled his kingdom with a broken heart and haunted eyes, is now happy. Truly happy from deep inside. I can feel it in every rasp, every breath, every twirl under the night.

“Do you know?” he whispers as we sway to the music, my soul filled to the brim with happiness. “In Chinese mythology, the lunar matchmaker, Yue Lao, ties a red string between two soulmates before they even meet. The two people connected by the thread are destined to be together, regardless of time, place, or obstacles. The string may tangle, stretch, or shrink, but will never break.” His voice is thick, and he tips my chin up to face him.

His soulful eyes are dark, the tiger stones waxing and waning like the phases of the moon, and he smiles softly down at me. “You and I are connected by that red string, long before a heartbroken little boy witnessed a sad little girl in the pouring rain. We are soulmates and everything is destiny, the fates slowly wrenching the string in, pulling me across the country, leading me back to you, where I belong. You are the only person who makes my heart ignite.”

My lips part as I marvel at his beautiful words, a sentiment I feel deep inside me. I still remember when I first met him at Pietra, when his soul called out to me as if we had known each other for a long time, despite us being strangers.

An immediate tugging, a calling, a ship coming home after being lost at sea.

Fated.

I return his smile with a wobbly one of my own and I whisper, “I love you, Steven Kingsley.”

He clutches my hands against his chest and presses his forehead against mine. “Not as much as I love you, Grace Peyton.”

Just then, I see a bright light streaking across the purple sky and I shriek, grasping onto his arm and pointing toward the heavens.

“Steven! A wishing star! Hurry!” I tug him harder when he doesn’t respond.

“Bossy,” he murmurs.

He chuckles under his breath and slows our pace until we’re standing, before closing his eyes, his strong profile angled toward the sky. My heart skips and flies into my rib cage as I bring my hands to my chest, my eyes fluttering shut, and I make a wish to the gods peering down from the gap between the cosmic spheres.

I wish for happiness and for our souls to fly.

Together. Always.

“I’m so proud of you, darling,” Steven whispers into my ear as we stand in front of the glass double doors to the rooftop bar at The Orchid, where the rest of my family and friends await us.

The deep timbre of his voice sends jolts of awareness to my core as he used the same tone on me this morning at the crack of dawn when he woke me up with his cock between my legs, his rumbly voice in my ear and my body already half-starved and throbbing around him. I bite my lip as the inconvenient images play like a slideshow in my mind.

“Good morning, darling,” he rasps as my eyes flutter awake to the sharp sensations gathering on my clit and wetness leaking down my thighs. “You sleep so soundly. I was wondering when you’d wake up.”

I gasp, my eyes fluttering open as my body arches up, my breasts already swollen and aching, my legs already wrapped tightly around his back as my hips are gyrating against him, his hard shaft buried deep inside me.

“Fuck,” he grunts. “Your pussy needs me even when you sleep, my naughty girl. She wants to wring out all my cum.”

His hips piston deeper as the fire builds and my mind, still woozy from sleep, is now drunk with pleasure and I claw his back, desperate to get him deeper inside me.

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