Page 195 of Warlord's Plaything

"Xyron—" she cries, her voice breaking, her body trembling beneath me.

Her climax crashes over her like a wave, her body arching, her nails digging into my back as she cries out my name. I follow her over the edge, my release slamming into me with a force that leaves me breathless, shaking, undone.

We collapse together, breathless, tangled, her head resting against my chest. My heart is a thunder in my ribs, but she is calm—soft, pliant, utterly mine.

I press a kiss to her temple, my fingers tracing lazy circles along the curve of her back.

"You’re mine," I whisper, the words a vow, a promise, a claim.

She hums, half-asleep, a smile tugging at the edges of her lips. "Always."

The storm outside has quieted.

The world beyond these walls will keep turning.

But tonight?—

Tonight, there is no war.

No blood.

No ghosts waiting to take us.

Tonight, there is only us.

And that is enough.

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