Page 93 of Beneath the Desert Bloom
Of course he was.
“Don’t,” she snapped, spinning on her heel. “Don’t come after me now.”
Asher froze mid-step, framed by slanted rays of sunlight. He looked wrecked. Wild and windblown, fists clenched like he might reach for her or tear the earth in two.
She didn’t know which terrified her more.
“You’re still blooming,” he said, voice low. “The desert isn’t done with you. If I take you now, I don’t know if either of us will survive what it makes of us.”
“Oh, fuck you,” she hissed, stepping toward him. “Don’t you dare make this about protecting me. You didn’t come to stop me. You came to watch. Like I’m some fucking myth you’re afraid to touch too hard in case I vanish.”
He flinched.
Her voice dropped to a growl. “Newsflash, Asher. I’m not a dream. I’m not your echo of someone else. I’m right here. I tried to do this alone, and the land burned me for it. And you just stood there.”
“I was afraid,” he said.
“You?” she laughed, brittle and bitter. “You’re made of stone and goddamn tree bark. What could you possibly be afraid of?”
“You.”
That stopped her.
Asher took a step closer. Close enough that she could feel the heat rolling off him in waves. His eyes glowed low and gold, wild with something ancient.
“I’m afraid of completing the bond too soon,” he said, voice cracking. “Afraid of breaking something sacred. Of turning you into a warning instead of a promise.”
Her chest heaved. She could feel her mark pulsing at the base of her throat. Could feel her skin glowing faintly.
“You already have,” she whispered. “Not with what you did. With what you didn’t.”
He reached for her then. Slowly. Gently. One massive hand curling around her waist like it had always belonged there. His other came to her cheek. She didn’t pull away. Couldn’t.
Because the second he touched her, her whole body exhaled.
Like lungs too long underwater, finally gasping air, and not caring that it burned.
Her glow brightened under his palm. Her skin flushed. Her eyes blurred.
He bent down, just enough for their lips to meet.
The kiss was desperate, like a dam breaking.
Her hands pulled him closer. His mouth was hot and slow at first, then frantic. Her hips pressed into his. His hand slid lower, cupping her ass, pulling her against him like he couldn’t get enough. She felt him slip the obsidian stone back into her pocket, where it belonged.
And she could feel him, already hard, already huge, already shaking from how badly he wanted this.
Their teeth knocked. Her lip split. She didn’t care.
When his hand brushed the curve of her breast, her glow flared like a struck match. His fingers found her nipple through the thin fabric of her shirt. She gasped into his mouth, moaned as he grazed it again.
Her body was molten. Her thighs pressed together, seeking friction. Her core throbbed like it had never been touched.
He pulled back, panting. His forehead dropped against hers.
“No,” he whispered. “Not like this. Not yet.”
Her breath stilled.
