Page 260 of Emylia

“Are you sure?” he whispered, breath trembling.

I didn’t answer with words.

I guided him inside me.

He filled me in a single, perfect thrust—stretching me until I couldn’t breathe.

“Fuck me,” I gasped.

His mouth parted on a moan. “Gods… Princess.”

I rode him slow at first, letting the rhythm build, letting him feel every inch of me. The water added a pressure, a weight, a friction that made everything feelmore. He held my hips, guiding me harder, deeper.

His head dropped to my shoulder as he lost himself in me.

“You are so fucking tight,” he growled.

“You are so fucking big,” I shot back, biting his neck.

The water churned around us as we moved—waves rippling with every thrust, every gasp. He gripped me tighter, angled deeper, and I shattered around him—my release ripping through me like a spell breaking free.

“Maalik,” I whimpered.

He cursed, teeth clenched as he followed me over the edge. “Fuck.”

He held me there, breathing hard against my neck.

“You are a fucking Goddess.” I smiled, still breathless. “I can never get enough of your body.”

“Just my body?” I teased.

His lips trailed down my collarbone. “Not just your body. All of you. You bring me to my knees.” He plucked a leaf from my hair and let it drift into the breeze. “But that body? That fucking body… you’ll be the death of me.”

I kissed the bridge of his nose, heart still pounding.

“As you will be mine.”

“Gods,” he murmured, voice wrecked and reverent. “You obliterate everything that makes me, me.”

My lips curved. “Good.”

A low growl escaped him, vibrating through the length of me. “You’re dangerous when you take control like that.”

“But you like it?”

His gaze locked onto mine—dark, hooded, still storm-swept from the chaos we’d just created. “You have no fucking idea.”

I ran a hand down his chest, nails grazing just enough to make him twitch. “Maybe I should find out.”

His jaw flexed, that internal storm building again—rising to something evenIcould barely contain.

“Oh, Princess.” He groaned the title like a curse and a prayer. “You’re playing with fire.”

“I’m not playing,” I whispered. “I’m bathing in it. Forged in fire. And now its damn queen.”

Before he could respond, I rolled my hips—slow, sinuous—grinding against him and feeling him stillhardbetween my legs. His breath hitched. His gaze collided with mine.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” he rasped.

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