Page 90 of Roaring Spell

“Thank the gods.”

He moves fast for someone who was near death hours ago.

One moment, I’m pressed against his side. Then his mouth is on my throat, his hands already working at the buttons of my shirt.

“Tell me if I’m too heavy.” His voice is a growl against my skin. “Tell me if I go too fast.”

“You’re not too anything.” I arch into his touch as his fingers find bare skin. “You’re exactly right.”

He undresses me like I’m precious.

Every button revealed, every inch of skin exposed, he follows with his mouth. Kissing. Tasting. Worshipping in a way that makes me feel beautiful instead of chaotic, desired instead of tolerated.

“You have no idea.” His lips trail down my collarbone, over the curve of my breast, lingering at the peak until I gasp. “How long I’ve wanted this. Wanted you.”

“Tell me.” I tangle my fingers in his hair, holding him against me. “Tell me how long.”

“Since the first day.” He switches to my other breast, and I feel his smile against my skin. “You were arguing with a crystal about its energy alignment. There was a tiny thundercloud over your head because the crystal was being obstinate.”

“I remember.” I remember him walking in. Remember the way my magic sparked at the sight of him. “You looked at me like⁠—”

“Like I’d found what I was waiting for.” He kisses lower—my ribs, my stomach, the sensitive skin below my navel. “My bear knew immediately. I took a little longer to accept it.”

“How long?”

“About thirty seconds.” He hooks his fingers in the waistband of my pants. “Can I?”

“Yes.” The word is a breath. A prayer. “Yes, Torin. Please.”

He pulls my pants down my legs, taking my underwear with them. And then I’m bare beneath him, and he’s looking at me like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Perfect.” The word rumbles through his chest. “Absolutely perfect.”

“Torin—”

“Shh.” He settles between my thighs. “Let me taste you. I’ve been thinking about this for weeks.”

His mouth finds my center.

I’ve been intimate before. Quick, awkward encounters that never lasted because I never stayed long enough for it to matter, never let anyone close enough to see the chaos underneath.

This is nothing like that.

Torin worships me with his tongue. Long, slow strokes that make my hips buck and my breath stutter. He learns my body like he’s memorizing poetry—every gasp, every moan, every subtle shift that tells him what I like.

And I like everything.

“More.” I’m clutching the sheets, the pillows, anything I can reach. The pressure is building, coiling tight in my core. “Torin, I need⁠—”

He gives me more. His tongue circling, teasing, driving me higher. One thick finger slides inside me, then two, stretching me in the best possible way.

“That’s it.” His voice vibrates against sensitive flesh. “Let go for me, sweetheart. Let me feel you fall apart.”

I shatter.

The orgasm crashes through me like a wave—pleasure radiating outward from my center, making my back arch and my toes curl. Outside, I hear thunder roll—not threatening, just an expression of joy so intense it creates weather.

Torin works me through it, gentling his touch as the aftershocks fade, pressing soft kisses to my inner thighs.