Page 45 of Bound to the Marak

God. She wanted to see him. All of him.

She wanted him naked, to see what he truly was beneath the silk and mystery. But her lips wouldn’t form the words. Her throat could only gasp. Moan. Whisper broken syllables.

And he?—

He responded like he heard every unspoken thought.

The tentacle between her legs moved with more certainty now, curling and pressing against the most sensitive part of her, applying just the right pressure, the right rhythm. Another coiled tightly around her thighs, parting her gently, holding her open for him.

Her hands, free only in the sense that they were lifted above her head, trembled. Her entire body quaked as pleasure built, molten and hot, deep in her core. Her skin was flushed, slick with sweat, her hair clinging to her neck.

And all the while, he said nothing.

Only his glowing eyes met hers. Only the sound of his breath through his gills. Only the slow, steady, precise movements of his tentacles—relentless in their worship.

She reached the edge fast.

Faster than she’d ever imagined.

And when he gave a subtle, final stroke—pressing perfectly, holding her just right—she shattered.

Came apart in his arms.

Cried out his name without realizing she knew it.

Her body spasmed, suspended in the air, powerless, undone. And he held her there, firmly, protectively, until the last tremor faded.

Only then did he speak, voice low, thick with something primal.

“I want to see your face when you look at me like that again.”

Her heart pounded. She blinked. Tears sprang to her eyes—not from sadness. From the intensity. From the raw, overwhelming everything.

And she whispered, “Then take off your clothes.”

Twenty-Eight

Still held in his unyielding grasp, Leonie watched as Karian reached for the fastenings at his chest. His silken robes, so intricate and intimidating, now seemed only a barrier between her and the full truth of him.

And he knew it.

His hands moved slowly, deliberately, as if savoring her gaze. Each movement of his long fingers sent a ripple of fabric sliding away from his luminous skin. He was unveiling himself not just as a ruler, not as a warrior, but as a being meant to be seen—meant to be desired.

His chest emerged first, sculpted and pale like polished stone, but alive with subtle movement—his breath deep and slow. The strange markings she'd glimpsed before now glowed brighter, swirling in patterns of cerulean blue that danced across his shoulders, down his arms, and curled along the planes of his abdomen like living ink.

She couldn’t look away.

Leonie felt suspended in more than just the physical sense—trapped in the gravity of him. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears. Her body still trembled, hypersensitive from the pleasure he’d just given her.

And he was far from finished.

He growled—low, guttural, primal. The sound vibrated through the air and through her, and something about it made her feel wanted in a way no one on Earth ever had. His gills flared again, drinking her in. And she found herself aroused all over again, as if those gills were tasting her emotions, feeding off her desire.

The last of his robe vanished.

She gasped.

His body was breathtaking. Alien, yes—but achingly beautiful. His skin gleamed faintly, the intricate blue patterns continuing down his hips, framing what lay beneath. His anatomy wasn’t quite human. She hadn’t expected it to be.

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