Page 98 of The Curse of Ophelia

His forehead came to rest against mine, hands cupping my cheeks. He gently brushed his thumbs over my cheekbones, tracing the bruise his father had left in our fight and wiping away my tears.

“Ophelia…I would never have chosen to leave you had I found a way to end this otherwise. You are my heart.” I was his heart, yet he had broken me. “The thought of you alive and whole was the only means by which I survived.” His words were soft, imploring me to understand the promise that echoed through each syllable. I didn’t miss the lack of regret, but I pushed it aside, needing this moment more than I needed to argue.

“I was not whole,” I corrected him. “You took a piece of me with you when you left. If you only knew who I became without you…” My voice trailed off as I brought my hand to rest against the Bind on his chest.

He ran his thumb across the matching tattoo on my forearm. “My North Star…”

I shivered in his grasp, taking a steadying breath. “I’m so angry with you.” He stiffened against me. “I need you to understand that I will be, for a while. And I don’t know how we fix this.” I tilted my face up to his, our lips brushing against each other as I said, “But I will always find you,” and closed the space between our mouths.

Though I was still furious with him, the betrayal of his deceit lingering in my bones, I arched into the familiar warmth of this embrace.

“Fucking Angels, Ophelia, I missed you,” he whispered against my ear, his lips glossing over my jawbone. “No more damn secrets.” I tasted the sweetness of his promise as he brought his mouth back to mine.

His tears slid down my skin, leaving a trail following his kisses. Down my neck, across the tear in my leathers that the Engrossian blade sliced across my collarbone. Over the fresh, pink layer of skin that was already knitting itself back together.

“No more damn secrets,” I gasped, his kisses blurring my senses. Fucking Angels, his lips were a drug, and I was addicted. Despite the anger coiled in my gut, I wanted him. Needed him. Desire awoke within me, mixing with that fury to form a dangerous, vicious combination.

He paused the exploration of his lips and pulled back to look into my eyes. The green spark I loved was brightening—not fully returned, but swimming closer to the surface, trying to push past the pain smothering it. “Thank you for never giving up. For finding me.”

That white-hot tangle of need and anger exploded within me. I couldn’t wait any longer, twisting my fingers in his hair as I pulled his lips down to mine, rougher this time.

This is real, he is real, I reminded myself as he lifted me, my legs wrapping around his waist. Malakai was back. Those were his hands beneath my thighs, his muscles that my fingers stroked, and his groans filling my mouth. He was scarred and broken—Spirits, I was scarred and broken—but he was here. We were here together.

The room was sparse, but there was a volcanic fire in the hearth and a rug spread before it. Our mouths refused to break apart as he walked us toward it and lowered to his knees smoothly. The hard length of him pressed into me, only encouraging me. I clung to him as if he was breath and I was drowning. He kissed me as if I was water and he was dying of thirst. Each a source of life for the other.

My hands drifted down his back, his breath hitching when I traced the long scars decorating his skin. I shuddered at the images passing through my mind.

“I’ll kill them,” I muttered from where I sat across his lap, legs tightening behind his back, crushing him to me. “Every last one of them will suffer for each mark on your skin.”

His hands tightened around my waist as I spoke, pulling my chest flush against his. “I love when you threaten people for me, but can your grand revenge wait until later?” he asked, fingers slowly removing what was left of my leathers, deftly unhooking the buckles between us, and lips tracing a path from my collarbone to my shoulder.

I rolled my hips against him in answer, relishing in the groan he released. “Later,” I promised, kissing him deeper and biting his bottom lip.

In one swift motion, Malakai had me on my back. He followed the wrecked material of my leathers as it bared my skin with lips and hands and teeth. Kissing and feeling and biting every inch of me, like he also could not believe this was real. Could not believe I was real.

Each spot his lips met was an electric storm. Each gentle drag of his fingers across my skin sent a ricochet of sparks through my body, my blood alive with his intoxicating presence. He trailed kisses down my stomach, along the inside of my thigh, stopping just at the apex. Malakai muttered things about how much he missed me that I barely heard, his breath against me the most wicked tease.

I cracked my eyes open and found him watching me. Wanting to see me come undone beneath his touch after we had been starved of this connection for so long.

“Please,” I breathed, hinging on desperate.

He hooked one of my legs over his shoulder, lowering his mouth to me. And when his tongue dragged slowly up my center, circling my most sensitive spot, my back arched off the floor, head falling back. It was better than I had remembered.

I tangled one hand in his hair, guiding him, though he held my hips in place. As he destroyed me with his tongue, he slid two fingers inside me, moving sinfully slow. I could relish in the heat of his skin against mine, in the stroke of his tongue and fingers pushing me to the edge, in the hand holding my hips, forever…but I wanted more. I needed all of him.

“Malakai,” I sighed. He hastily returned his lips to mine at the sound of my voice, as if he needed to consume that, too.

He sat back, kicking off his shorts and freeing himself. I took in his scarred body, a map of what he’d suffered. In the flickering light of the flames, he was beautiful. Once, I’d known that body better than my own; as I took him in my hand, dragging slowly from base to tip, I swore I would again.

Our hearts beat erratically as he lowered himself on top of me, pushing into me slowly after so much time apart. I gasped, but he captured it with a kiss, pulling his hips back and easing forward again. Each stroke was a question, and I answered in turn, digging my ankles into his back so I could feel more of him.

This, I thought, as he buried himself within me and dragged a moan from my lips, This is right. I didn’t want to think about the rest of it, about what came next. Just this moment, and our own personal dance of passion.

He rested his forehead against mine, stilling for a moment. I looked at him through lowered lashes, reaching up to trace the planes of his face. When my fingers trailed over the fresh scar on his jaw, his eyes drooped closed, and I could see him slipping into that dark place.

Not now, I thought. I twisted our bodies so that he was underneath me, lowering down on him slowly until he reached so much deeper—giving us both so much more of a distraction.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise, but when I circled my hips my name slipped from his lips like a curse, and he hurried to meet each motion. I braced my hands on his shoulders, nails leaving crescent marks on his skin until he hissed. A part of me—the part unable to forget about how we got here—thought it was fair.

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