Page 13 of Ashborne Forged

I could feel it, the pressure building within her, the need so much bigger than simple arousal.

I felt it too—something in the deepest reaches of my heart. The bond. A place only she could touch. And having her…

It feels like my heart has taken a body—a beautiful, desirable body—and now walks on its own, outside of my chest. She is… beauty. And fierce joy. Bolstering strength. She is my delight. While my heart walks outside of me, it is also full. That place behind my ribs where she resides, it glows.

And glow it did. The bond was luminous—radiant with the beauty of her, the feeling of her body’s embrace, the joy of her pleasure…

I had never felt anything like it.

It humbled me.

It satisfied me.

And it scared the living shit out of me.

But in that moment, I vowed I’d never, ever give her up. And I prayed for control.

The desire to simply have her—to ignore her inexperience and be the beast, to pound her over the edge, to hunt for my pleasure without concern for hers—was strong. But not nearly as undeniable as I’d expected.

She was within me as surely as I was within her. And even in the storm of my need, her heart soothed me.

This was new for her. I wanted to thrill, not frighten her.

Praying for control, to not grow mindless, I eased into her again, moaning when she arched and her fingernails dug into my back.

Her enthusiasm, though unpolished, was stunning. She held me, embraced me, met my need, pressed me forward.

“Voski… please!”

I almost laughed with the sheer delight of anticipating watching her come apart again. I kissed her as her climax loomed, whispered her name, urged her to come for me, tried to keep my touches tender, when all I wanted to do was consume her.

The need… clambering, desperate, scouring.

The bond… shining, pulsing, blazing.

Light and heat.

That’s what we were. That’s what the bond sang.

Her light.

My heat.

Need and joy.

Thrill, and protection.

The echoes of my fear remained, lurking in the shadows, but I refused to let them loom. She deserved more. Deserved better. And if I couldn’t run, I wouldn’t retreat.

Whatever we faced, she would not face it alone.

I prayed for her safety in it.

As our bodies pressed for the summit, and her cries grew higher, I punched a hand into the pillow and held on, bracing on my palms to look down at her, watch her bow and cry, watch her eyes roll back in her head, hear her sweet, soft calls.

Grace held onto me, but let herself be. She abandoned herself into my care—and it thrilled me as this act never had before.

She had no knowledge, no way to anticipate—she only sought. The sensation. The joy. Me. And she responded, rippling into my touch, panting into my kiss, gripping, arching to take me deeper, pleading with me for more.