Page 71 of Avidian
“Mischka showed up,” I tell him, nodding toward the empty space in front of the fire “She’s right there.”
His gaze flicks to where I pointed, and he exhales a soft chuckle. “I want to meet her. If you’re unwilling to let Bash extract enough essence for me to project, maybe we could try a small amount, enough to fill a vial. That way, I could see what you see for a few minutes.”
I nod, liking the idea more than I probably should. “I think I’d be willing to give it a shot, especially if Bash can help me tomorrow. I’m really hoping he can make a difference with my power when I project. I need to be stronger.”
“Then stronger we shall make you,” he says, rising to his feet and offering me a hand. The moment I take it, he catches me completely off guard, swooping me up into his arms. A surprised laugh escapes my lips as I grab onto his neck for balance.
“Are you feeling tired yet?” he asks, his demeanor playful, as his dark eyes glance down at me.
I lean in, brushing soft kisses along the curve of his neck, savoring the warmth of his skin against my lips. “Not even a little,” I whisper, my breath teasing his ear before I gently nip at his earlobe.
His grip on me tightens, and he narrows his eyes, taking me in. “Good.”
Chapter Twenty-One
RULE 21 OF THE NEW ORDER: LET THE WORLD BURN FOR A NIGHT—TOMORROW ALWAYS BRINGS A NEW FIRE TO LIGHT.
Malachi carriesme into the bedroom, his movements deliberate, as though he’s savoring every second. The firelight spills in through the open door, casting a golden glow across the walls. He lowers me onto the edge of the bed, his hands lingering on my hips, warm and steady.
“Stay right there,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my forehead before he pulls back. His gaze locks on mine, intense yet soft, like he’s searching for something unspoken in my expression.
I watch him as he steps back, the dim light highlighting the sharp angles of his face and the corded muscles of his arms. He peels off his shirt, revealing the lines of his chest, and I can’t help the way my breath catches. He’s beautiful—strong, sure, yet somehow vulnerable in the way he looks at me.
He steps toward me, and I lean back on my palms, suddenly hyperaware of the weight of this moment, of him, of us. His hands cup my face, thumbs brushing against my cheeks as his eyes search mine. “You’re nervous,” he says, his voice gentle, and I shake my head, though I know he can see right through me.
“Maybe a little,” I admit.
His lips curve into a soft smile, and he leans down, pressing a kiss to my temple. “I’ve got you. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he says, and I record that in my memory.
I’ve got you.
He kisses me, slow and sweet, as though he’s mapping out every inch of my mouth. My hands move on instinct, threading into his hair, pulling him closer. The kiss deepens, and I surrender to the feel of him—the warmth of his lips, the way his hands trail down my sides, leaving sparks of heat in their wake.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, our breaths mingling in the quiet. His hands slip under my sweater, and he pauses, giving me a chance to stop him. When I don’t, he pulls it over my head, his eyes darkening as they sweep over me.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Kat,” he says, his voice low, reverent. The way he looks at me makes my skin flush, my heart race.
His hands slide over my shoulders, down my back, unhooking my bra with an ease that feels practiced yet respectful. The straps slide off, and I let it fall to the floor, exposed yet strangely unafraid under his gaze.
His fingers trail across my skin, light and teasing, until his hands cup my breasts, his thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks. I suck in a breath, my body arching toward him, and the sound pulls a low growl from his throat.
“You’re going to be trouble,” he whispers, and the rawness in it makes my heart stutter.
I pull him back to me, seeking his mouth again, needing the reassurance of his kiss. He moves us slowly, lowering me onto my back, his body hovering over mine, his warmth blanketing me. His lips never leave mine, but his hands begin their journey downward, exploring, worshiping, until they find the curve of my hips.
His fingers slip beneath the waistband of my pants, and he pauses, giving me a moment to object. Instead, I lift my hips, silently giving him permission. He slides them down, his eyes never leaving mine. When he removes my panties, I feel vulnerable, exposed, but the way he looks at me—like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen—chases away my nerves.
He kisses me again, slow and tender, as his hands explore my body, leaving goosebumps in their wake. When his fingers find the heat between my thighs, I can’t stop the gasp that escapes me, my body instinctively reacting to his touch.
“Is this okay?” he asks, his eyes searching mine for any hint of hesitation.
“Yes,” I breathe, absorbing his devilish smile.
His fingers move slowly, gently, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves with a precision that sends waves of pleasure coursing through me. My hands grip his shoulders, holding onto him like he’s the only thing keeping me grounded.
An embarrassing moan leaves my mouth, and I quickly meet his eyes, seeing them fixed on my every reaction. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this. To touch you. To taste you. To make you mine in every possible way,” he says, and, my God, I’m going to come if he keeps talking to me like that.
Then, with maddening slowness, he presses a finger inside me, and the sharp gasp that escapes my lips has my hands tightening on his shoulders.
