Page 49 of Savage Devotion
Instead of answering with words, I let instinct guide action. My hands frame his face, touching the line of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbone, mapping features that have haunted my thoughts for three sleepless nights. He protests with professional boundaries, tactical complications, reasonable objections. I silence him with my mouth against his.
He goes still for a heartbeat, surprise and uncertainty warring with desire and relief. Then his good arm comes up to circle my waist, pulling me closer with gentle strength that speaks of careful control despite obvious need.
I deepen the kiss, tasting frost and copper and something uniquely him, letting three days of worry and fear and hope translate into a physical connection that needs no words. When we finally break apart, breathless and heated despite winter air, his eyes hold wonder mixed with cautious joy.
"You kept the cord," he observes, fingers tracing its path against my throat.
"I kept my promise." My voice comes out rougher than intended, scraped raw by emotion I'm still learning to acknowledge. "You came back."
"Always." The word carries a weight of vow and certaint. "For you. Always for you."
I settle beside him in the fire's warmth, his good arm around my shoulders, my head against his chest where I can hear the steady rhythm of his heart. Around us, the camp sleeps on, unaware that everything has changed in one breath and the next.
Tomorrow will bring new missions, fresh challenges, complications that arise when professional partnerships become personal commitments. Tonight, we have firelight and each other and the simple truth that sometimes the most dangerous risk is worth taking.
The cord pulses warm against my throat, promise kept and future claimed, while frost-touched wind carries the scent of pine and possibility through darkness that no longer feels quite so cold.
The fire spits and hisses as a log shifts, sending up a shower of sparks that dance between us like falling stars. Kaelgor's breath comes ragged against my lips, his body tense with restraint I don't want and suddenly can't bear. Every part of me hums with the rightness of this, of him, of us pressed together in the flickering dark where nothing exists but heat and need and the pulse of something raw and real.
I tighten my grip in his hair, feeling the coarse strands slide through my fingers, grounding me in this moment. His hands find my waist, fingers digging into the leather of my armor, pulling me closer until there's no space left between us. The kiss deepens, no longer tentative but demanding, a clash of wills and wants that leaves no room for hesitation.
He tastes of iron and frost, of battles fought, and promises kept. My lips part under his, inviting more, demandingeverything. His tongue sweeps in, hot and sure, tangling with mine in a dance as old as fire itself. I meet him stroke for stroke, giving as good as I get, until we're both breathing hard, hearts pounding in sync.
The world narrows to this: the rough texture of his skin under my palms, the way his muscles shift beneath my touch, the low growl vibrating in his chest when I nip at his lower lip. His hands slide up my back, pulling me flush against him, and I can feel every ridge of his body through the thin layers of our clothing, the evidence of his desire pressing against me.
I break the kiss just long enough to whisper against his lips, "No more waiting."
His answer is a growl, a sound that vibrates through both of us as he rolls, taking me with him until I'm beneath him in the nest of furs by the fire. The heat of the embers pales compared to the fire in his eyes as he looks down at me, his expression fierce and tender all at once.
"Ressa," he murmurs, my name a benediction on his lips.
I reach up, pulling him back down to me. Our mouths meet again, hungry and desperate, all the long nights of watching and wanting pouring into this moment. His weight settles over me, solid, and I arch up into him, needing more contact, more connection.
His hands are everywhere, in my hair, tracing the line of my jaw, sliding down my throat to the cord that still rests there, a silent promise between us. He pauses at the cord, the braided strands before moving lower, mapping the territory of my body with a warrior's precision and a lover's reverence.
I work at the fastenings of his armor, my fingers fumbling in their haste. He helps, shrugging out of the ruined cloak and the leather beneath, baring his chest to my touch. The firelight plays over the ridges of his muscles, the scars that tell stories I've only learned.
My hands explore the landscape of him, learning the dips and planes, the places that make him gasp, the spots that draw a hiss of pleasure from between his teeth. His skin is hot under my palms, the heat of him searing through me, branding me in ways that go deeper than flesh.
He returns the favor, his calloused fingers surprisingly gentle as they trace the curves of my body, mapping me with a thoroughness that leaves me breathless. When his hand finds the hem of my shirt, I lift my hips, helping him pull it free, baring my skin to the night air and his hungry gaze.
The cool air is a shock against my heated skin, but his touch quickly chases it away. His hands span my ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts, drawing a gasp from me. He watches my reaction, his eyes dark with desire, before lowering his head to follow the path his hands have traced.
His mouth is hot on my skin, his tongue tracing patterns that leave me trembling beneath him. I tangle my hands in his hair, holding him to me, lost in the sensations he's drawing from my body. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word in that rough voice of his winds me tighter, until I'm coiled so tight I think I might shatter from the tension.
I need more. Need him, all of him, now.
"Kaelgor," I gasp, pulling at his shoulders.
He understands, lifting his head to meet my gaze. What he sees there must answer his unspoken question, because he moves, shifting between my legs, his body settling into the cradle of my hips. I can feel him there, hot and hard, and it's not enough, not nearly enough.
I reach between us, wrapping my hand around him, feeling him pulse against my palm. His breath hisses out as I guide him to where I need him most. For a moment, we're both still, poised on the edge, our eyes locked, our breaths coming fast and shallow.
Then he's pushing into me, slow and steady, filling me inch by exquisite inch until there's no more space between us, no more barriers, nothing separating where I end and he begins. I wrap my legs around his hips, pulling him deeper, needing all of him, every part, every piece.
He moves, and the world narrows to this: the slide of his body against mine, the way he fills me so completely, the friction that builds with every thrust. I meet him stroke for stroke, our bodies moving together in a rhythm older than time, older than the stars that watch us through the gaps in the branches above.
His mouth finds mine again, swallowing my gasps, my moans, my cries as pleasure builds between us, coiling tighter and tighter with every movement. His hands are everywhere, touching, claiming, branding me as surely as any forge-marked steel.
