Page 43 of Bound in Flames

My cries dissolved into mindless gasps as his fingers dove deeper, curving to find that devastating spot inside me that made my knees weak, each thrust pulling me ruthlessly closer to the edge. My hips began to rock, chasing the release that burned hotter with every stroke, every swirl of his tongue against the virgin asshole.

“Tell me how much you need it, Cleo. Beg,” he demanded, his voice breathless.

I sobbed, my words tumbling out in frantic desperation. “I can’t—please!”

A sharp scratch of claws on my thigh sent me spiraling, my entire body seizing as waves of release crashed through me, my orgasm gushing out onto his waiting tongue. My scream echoed through the library as pleasure tore through every inch of me, leaving me trembling and boneless pressed into the table.

He held me through the aftershocks, his tongue lapping gently, savoring every shudder, every whimper. Dex rest his forehead against my thigh, his breath ragged and hot as he caressed my hips.

“I’ve wanted this for so long.” His voice thick with emotion.

With trembling legs, I rolled awkwardly to sit on the table, pulling him up until his lips crushed against mine, thrilled at how willingly he followed my lead. “Let me take care of you too,” I whined breathlessly against his lips.

“On your knees.”

Pushing into his chest, I felt solid heat beneath his skin as I urged him back, slipping down to the ground in front him, my pulse thrumming with anticipation. My fingers fumbled at his belt, the worn leather yielding under my touch as I worked itloose, my eyes never leaving his. His chest heaved with hungry, ragged breaths, breaking the thick silence between us.

His hand found my jaw, fingers tracing the curve of my cheek with a tenderness that made my skin tingle. The contrast of his strength and the gentle reverence of his touch sent my pulse racing. I watched, entranced by the way his control faltered under my hands, the edges fraying with every brush of my fingers. The way he looked at me—molten gold eyes darkened with need—made my insides clench with longing.

I pressed a soft kiss to his stomach, just above the waistband of his pants, feeling his muscles coil under my lips. His grip on my chin tightened, and a low growl vibrated through his chest as his other hand slipped into my hair, his fingers threading through with a possessive hold. I slipped my tongue out to trace his abdomen as my fingers unsnapped the leather buckle on his belt, the taste of his salty skin exploding on my tastebuds.

“Cleo,” he breathed, his voice raw.

The way he said my name was a plea, a vow, and I ached to give him everything he desired. I parted my lips to speak, when the moment was shattered.

“Chieftain! We need you in the hall—it’s urgent!”

Dex froze above me, the warmth of his touch lingering for a heartbeat before reality clawed its way back in.

Chapter 23

Dex

After a detailed recount of the scouts’ clash with the Shadow Hounds, I requested an increase in our hunting party numbers, and for the clan not to stray far from the mountain. With a frustrated sigh, I stood from the table, dismissed my warriors and elders from the meeting, and headed down to the healer’s room. Word had trickled back to us that Cleo was hard at work, using her magic to treat the injuries of the scouts under the careful guide of our healers.

When I reached the room, it was cloaked in quiet, broken only by the low murmurs of relief as Cleo’s magic took hold. The glow of her power suffused the space, soft and ethereal, casting long shadows that danced along the rough stone walls. It made the room feel almost peaceful, as though her presence alone could drive out the lingering scent of blood and the groans of the injured.

I stood at the back of the room watching her, unable to look away. Her touch was light, deliberate, yet unhesitating as she moved from one wounded warrior to the next. The silvery green glow of her magic clung to her fingers, spreading out in waves that made the air shimmer. It was mesmerizing—dangerous, even, in how it captivated me.

Her power poured into my men, knitting wounds and easing pain with a precision that defied logic. The soldiers watched her in stunned silence, their guarded expressions softening as the tension in their bodies melted away. They didn’t understand the full depth of what she was—what she could become. None of us did. But I was beginning to see it, to realize just how powerful she truly was. And that realization carried both hope and dread.

I tried to focus on the lives she was saving, the way her magic was reshaping the tide of our war—but my thoughts kept slipping back to the feel of her beneath my hands, only hours ago.

That moment between us was still fresh in my mind. Her breath hitching as I pressed her against the cold stone, my hands exploring the curves of her body. She’d fit against me so perfectly, her warmth sinking into my skin as though it had always been meant to be there. She was so small compared to me, her skin soft and flushed, and the way she had arched into my touch had nearly undone me. The fire between us had burned wild and unrestrained, consuming everything in its path. It was the kind of desire I hadn’t felt in years, perhaps ever.

And it wasn’t just her body I craved. It was the strength that radiated from her, the sharp defiance in her gaze that dared me to claim her but refused to yield, not just to me, but to herself. This world would try to break her—it always broke the strongest first.

I had to keep my distance. For her sake, if not my own. She had enough to carry without me adding to her burdens.

Her fierce strength unsettled me. I hadn’t meant to feel this way. I hadn’t meant to crave her presence like this. She was human— shaman, yes—but still human. And I was orc, bound by duty to my people, to the war that had raged for centuries. I wasn’t meant to be captivated by her. I wasn’t meant to feelthis need. And yet, here I was mated and unable to tear my eyes away.

Cleo moved to the last of the injured, her hands shaking as she placed them over a deep gash on a scout’s chest. Her magic flared again, silvery light flooding the room, and the soldier groaned as his wound began to close. She swayed as she worked, exhaustion etched into every line of her body, but she didn’t stop. Not until the man’s breathing evened out and the glow around her hands faded.

She stepped back, her chest heaving with effort, and I thought she might collapse. My feet moved instinctively, closing the space between us before I could think. But she steadied herself, brushing her wild curls away from her face, and when her eyes met mine, the weariness in them was tempered by something stronger. Determination. Fire.

Grath lingered at my side, his arms crossed as he surveyed the room. His eyes followed Cleo’s every move, his expression guarded but thoughtful. He hadn’t spoken much since we left our meeting, but I could feel his disapproval simmering beneath the surface. Grath never did hold his tongue for long.

“She’s stronger than I expected,” he said finally, breaking the silence. His voice was low, rough, but there was an edge to it—a weight I recognized all too well.

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