Page 74 of Too Dangerous To Die

I needhim.

All of him.

Because every time I see the fracture lines running down his body, every time his magic threatens to consume him, I remember what it’s like to almost lose him. And I’m tired of almosts.

His hands roam beneath the folds of my tunic, sliding over my ribs like they’re counting every breath I’ve stolen back from death. He lifts me, effortless, and my legs wrap around his waist.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasps against my mouth.

“No,” I breathe, tangling my fingers in his hair, pulling his mouth back to mine. “Don’t you dare.”

He growls—low, guttural—and the sound shoots straight through me. He carries me deeper into the chamber, setting me down on a bed of cloth remnants from some forgotten ceremonial altar. There’s reverence in the way he lowers me. Worship in the way his gaze devours every inch of exposed skin.

And when my clothes and the small fabric covering him falls away, when our magic surges with the contact of bare skin to bare soul—it’s not desperate this time.

It’s surrender.

He touches me like he’s relearning me. Every kiss, every drag of his mouth down my throat, across my chest, lower—it’s an oath. Not just of possession. Of devotion.

When he enters me, I gasp, a sharp, shuddering breath that catches in my throat. His cock fills me completely, stretching me in the most exquisite way, as if we were carved from the same star, destined to collide.

“Rhaegar,” I call out softly, tasting his name in my lips. It’s as delicious as him, as perfect in his stone flesh.

The pleasure is overwhelming, but it’s more than that. It’s the feeling of completion, of wholeness, as though every shard of broken prophecy, every bloodstained promise, every ancient curse was always meant to lead us here, to this moment, to this union.

He moves inside me with a slow, deliberate rhythm, each thrust a promise, each withdrawal a tease. His hand cradles the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair, while his other arm braces beside me, his body shielding mine even now. Even here, in the throes of passion, he protects me. His eyes lock onto mine, dark and burning, and I see it all—the passion, the guilt, the fear, the hunger… and probably care.

“Look at me,” he murmurs, his voice rough, almost pleading.

I do. And what I see there, gods.

He’s not just Rhaegar. He’s mine. Every scar, every fracture, every ounce of magic and pain and longing. He’s mine.

His pace quickens, his hips snapping harder, driving deeper. The sound of skin meeting stone skin fills the chamber, mingling with my cries and his ragged breaths. I don’t try to muffle them; I want him to hear what he does to me, how he unravels me. My nails drag down his back, leaving trails of fire in their wake, and he growls—a low, primal sound that reverberates through me, igniting something wild and untamed.

I arch into him, my body trembling on the precipice. I’m close. Too close. The coil in my belly tightens, threatening to snap.

But he stops. Pulls back.

I cry out in protest, my body aching for him, but he grabs my face, forcing me to look at him. His eyes are fierce, his voice a ragged whisper. “You’re still weak. I can’t take more from you. I won’t.”

I pull him down, our foreheads touching, our breaths mingling. “Then give it back,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “Let it be both of us this time.”

And we crash together again.

This time, it’s not just bodies. It’s magic. Bond. Soul.

His cock plunges into me, deeper, harder, and I cry out as pleasure ripples through me in waves. His magic surges, intertwining with mine, a symphony of light and heat and power. I feel him everywhere—inside me, around me, within me. His mouth claims mine, swallowing my cries as I shatter, my orgasm crashing over me like a tsunami. I cling to him, my body convulsing, my magic spiraling out of control.

“Oh, God, Rhaegar!” I choke, almost sobbing because of the overwhelming emotions and pleasure. Our magic entertwines as our bond tightens its hold on us.

“Yes!” he roars, his body muscles spasming as he climaxes and I milk him of every drop of his essence.

His own release tears through him with a force that shakes the very air around us. His climax is a flare of white-hot light, pulsing through the chamber, illuminating the ruins in a blinding glow. He buries his face in my neck, his body trembling as he spills himself inside me, his growl muffled against my skin.

When the light fades, we lie in silence, twined together, our bodies slick with sweat, our breaths ragged and uneven. His hand strokes my arm, his touch gentle, reverent.

“We’re not ready for what’s coming,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with unspoken fears.

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