Page 126 of Stolen
Because I love him, too.
And loving someone like this? With your whole soul cracking wide open, trembling in its rawness? It means taking risks. Letting go. Bleeding if you have to.
For Alaric? I’ll risk it all.
A hundred times over, I’d throw myself into the fire for him, and I’d still come out reaching for him.
“Jules,” he murmurs, voice thick with worry and need. “Please. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
I lean in, eyes locked on his, heart pounding as I let my body do the answering.
“I’m thinking now would be a really good time for you to wave those magic fingers of yours and clean us both up.”
He blinks, stunned. “What? Why would you?—”
His breath catches as I slide from my seat and straddle his lap, loving the feel of his powerful thighs beneath me, fitting myself against him like I was made for it.
Because I believe I was.
“Oh,fuck,” he groans, hands going immediately to my hips, possessive and shaking.
“I want myviyen,” I whisper against his lips, “toclaimme again. Right here. Right now.”
Something primal flashes in his eyes. That Dragon hunger I’ve come to crave.
A dark growl rumbles up from his chest and I feel it through every inch of me.
“For you,viyella?” he rasps, voice like sin and silk. “Anything.”
Power crackles around us, seductive and sharp.
His magic washes over us in a heated wave—slick and sensual, like the caress of warm silk.
It strips away the grime, the blood, the lingering chill of battle with wicked precision, leaving us bare in every sense of the word. Body and soul.
And heaven help me, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the sight of him like this.
Alaric looks like some divine creation—sculpted from shadow and starlight, his body carved in angles and muscle, power rippling beneath skin kissed by flame and magic.
Every inch of him speaks of battle, of command, of a life lived at the edge of a blade.
And yet, right now, he’s not just a terrifying Lord of Nightfall.
Not just a beast who breathes fire and bends the wind.
He’s just mine.
I let my eyes roam shamelessly.
The ridges of his abdomen.
The delicious V of his hips.
The long lines of strength and heat and the heavy, hard promise of what waits between his thighs.
My breath stutters in my chest just looking at him, and I swear, I feel my heart swell to match the ache building low in my belly.
But then I notice something.
