Page 46 of Magic in My Bones

Dorian’s fingers gently tilted my chin toward him, his eyes soft but searching. “Take your time,” he murmured, leaning in as if to kiss me again, but instead pausing just close enough to feel his breath against my lips.

I held my breath, every nerve ending on alert, waiting. Dorian's breath lingered against my lips, and it made my skin tingle, my body awake in ways I hadn’t fully understood before. He didn’t rush. He never did. There was something about the way he moved, deliberate and patient, as if time itself could bend to the rhythm of our moments together.

“You’re shaking,” he whispered, his voice softer now, more like a murmur than words meant for the air. His fingers brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, the touch light and casual, but somehow more intimate than anything I’d felt before.

I nodded, my hands still clinging to his. I couldn’t explain the trembling, the pull in my chest that had nothing to do with the dizziness. It was something deeper, something more terrifying, but also... welcome. “I’m not used to this,” I said, my voice catching. “Being close to someone like this.”

He leaned in, brushing his lips over my forehead. “You don’t have to be used to it, Ren. Not with me.”

The words settled into me, sinking in like an anchor. My heart skipped, then calmed, as if my body finally trusted this moment enough to let go. And when he kissed me again, it was slow, tentative at first, letting me adjust to the feeling of his mouth on mine, to the weight of his presence in this small, quiet space between us.

I shifted, my hands moving instinctively, tracing the lines of his shirt, the warmth of his skin beneath. Dorian let me, didn’t rush or make me feel like I had to know exactly what I was doing. He simply guided me, his lips parting gently against mine, his hand coming to rest on my back, fingers spread, offering a steady pressure that made me feel safe.

Dorian's lips moved against mine, slow and deliberate, sending sparks down my spine. Our magic surged between us, death magic recognizing death magic in ways that made the air shimmer with silver light.

I leaned into him, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring myself in the solid warmth of his body. The world narrowed to the slide of his mouth, the gentle pressure of his hand on my back, the dizzying scent of his skin.

I let myself sink into the sensations, let them wash over me like a tide. Dorian's tongue traced the seam of my lips and I parted them on instinct, a small sound escaping me as he deepened the kiss. It was a slow, thorough exploration, like he was mapping every inch of my mouth, committing it to memory.

I traced the lines of his shoulders, the curve of his neck, marveling at the way his muscles shifted beneath my touch. Dorian made a soft, approving sound, his fingers flexing against my back, urging me closer.

I went willingly, dizzy with want, until I was practically in his lap. And then I felt it—the hard, insistent press of his arousal against my thigh.

I froze, uncertainty dousing the heat in my veins like a bucket of ice water. What was I supposed to do now? What did Dorian expect from me? I had no idea how to navigate this, how to be the kind of man who could satisfy him and give him what he needed.

As if sensing my sudden hesitation, Dorian pulled back slightly, his hands coming up to frame my face. His green eyes were soft, filled with a gentle understanding that made my heart ache. “Ren,” he murmured, thumb brushing over my cheekbone. “Remember that we don't have to do anything you're not ready for. We move at your pace.”

I swallowed, leaning into his touch, letting it ground me. “I want to,” I whispered, the words sticking in my throat. “I just...I don't know what to do. I mean, I do. I know how. Sort of. In theory.” I averted my eyes, unable to meet Dorian's steady gaze. “I'm sorry. I'm ruining this, aren't I?”

Dorian's fingers gently tilted my chin back up, forcing me to look at him. There was no judgment in his eyes, only a soft, patient understanding. “You're not ruining anything, Ren. This is new for you. It's okay to be unsure, to need time to figure it out.”

He leaned in, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to my lips. “We'll take this slow. I want you to be comfortable, to feel good. That's all that matters to me.”

I let out a shaky breath, some of the tension easing from my shoulders. Dorian always seemed to know exactly what to say, how to calm the anxious flutter in my chest. “Okay,” I whispered, managing a small smile. “Slow. I can do that.”

Dorian smiled, a soft, private thing that made my heart flutter. His hands slid down my arms, fingers intertwining with mine, and he brought our joined hands to rest on his thighs. “Is there anywhere you don’t want me to touch, Ren?” he asked quietly, his thumbs brushing over my knuckles. “Anything that feels off-limits?”

I bit my lip, feeling the weight of the question. It was kind, but still hard to answer. “My chest,” I said after a beat, my voice small but firm. “I’m not ready for that yet.”

There was a glint in his eye, a hint of something deeper, more intense, but it was gone before I could fully process it. For now, Dorian seemed content to let me set the pace, to let me grow comfortable with this new intimacy between us.

Dorian nodded, giving my hands a gentle squeeze. “Of course. We'll avoid anything that makes you uncomfortable.” He leaned in, nuzzling his nose against mine in a way that made me smile despite my nerves. “I want you to enjoy this, whatever that may look like for you.”

My heart skipped at the implication in his words, the promise of pleasure. I swallowed, gathering my courage, and shifted closer until our chests were nearly flush. “I want that too.”

Dorian's eyes darkened, his pupils dilating. “Then let me show you,” he breathed, and captured my mouth in a searing kiss that stole the air from my lungs.

This kiss was different from before, hungrier, more urgent. Dorian's tongue delved deep, stroking against mine in a slick slide that made me shiver. I kissed him back just as fiercely, emboldened by the low groan he let out when I nipped at his bottom lip.

We sank back into the couch cushions, our bodies aligning from chest to hip. I could feel every inch of Dorian's lean, hard frame pressing into me and it made my head spin in the best way. His hands roamed my back, fingertips digging in when I tentatively rocked my hips against his.

Dorian's hands slid lower, cupping my hips and pulling me more firmly against him. I gasped into his mouth at the sensation, the hard ridge of his arousal pressing insistently into my thigh. It was thrilling and terrifying all at once, to feel the evidence of his desire, to know I was the cause of it.

Emboldened by Dorian's obvious want, I let my own hands wander, tracing the lean lines of his torso through the thin fabric of his shirt. I could feel the heat of his skin, the tantalizing shift of muscle beneath my fingertips. When I brushed over a nipple, Dorian's breath hitched, his hips rocking up to meet mine in a slow, deliberate grind.

“That's it,” he murmured against my lips, his voice a low rumble that I felt all the way to my toes. “Touch me, Ren. I want to feel your hands on me.”

His words sent a shiver down my spine, a heady mix of nerves and excitement. I did as he asked, my hands sliding under his shirt to map the smooth expanse of his back, the dips and planesof his shoulder blades. Dorian arched into the touch like a cat, a pleased hum vibrating through his chest.

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