Page 31

"You are still doing it," she murmurs, looking down at me.

"Doing what?"

"Managing the knee."

"It remains injured."

"And I remain capable of telling you when something hurts."

Her hands brace on my chest, the tape rough against my skin. Then she shifts, sliding her body down against mine. The friction of her wetness against my hardness is almost too much to bear.

The bond opens with startling speed.

In the vestibule, the Jalshagar bond had been a chaotic flood. Tonight, it is a precision instrument. Claire's pleasure doesn't just echo in me; it manifests as a physical sensation. I feel the tightening of her core, the sharp intake of her breath, the sudden, bright flare of satisfaction when she realizes exactly how much I am shaking beneath her. The boundary between us becomes porous; I cannot tell where my desire ends and hers begins.

She laughs softly, a breathy sound of triumph. "You're feeling me."

"Some of it," I rasp, my hands gripping her hips to hold her steady.

"How much?"

"Enough that discussing it is becoming counterproductive."

"That's not a number."

I stop answering. I pull her down, my mouth finding hers in a kiss that tastes of salt and desperation. The pace changes—not faster, but more certain. She knows exactly how to move to drive me to the edge, her hips grinding against mine in a slow, torturous rhythm.

The markings across my chest brighten, casting a faint, amber glow that illuminates the curve of her breasts and the sweat glistening on her skin. Claire looks down, her eyes wide with wonder.

I feel the emotion through the bond—not wonder at the magic, but wonder at me. The raw vulnerability of being seen, of being desired for the broken, marked thing I am, is unbearable. I turn my face away, trying to find some shred of the distance I’ve spent nineteen years maintaining.

She notices immediately. Her hand leaves my chest and closes firmly around my jaw, forcing me to look at her.

"No," she whispers. "Don't disappear now."

"I am here."

"Physically."

Her fingers linger on my cheek. Under her weight, under the heat and the friction, the hunger is still there, but it has evolved into something deeper. She looks at me as if she intends to memorize the exact expression of my surrender.

I put my hand over hers. "You make that sound simple."

"It isn't."

No promises. No lies. Just the truth, carried cleanly through the bond. She lowers her forehead to mine, and for a long moment, we simply breathe each other in.

We move together slowly, savoring every single point of contact. I notice everything: the shift of her weight, the way she steadies herself with one taped hand against my shoulder, the small, sharp intake of breath when her knee protests and the immediate relief when I adjust my angle to support her.

I know exactly when she is close to the edge because the bond screams it. Her breathing deepens into heavy, ragged gasps. Her fingers tighten in my hair, pulling my head back. She keeps her eyes locked on mine, insisting on this connection, refusing to let me hide.

Eventually, I roll us carefully.

Claire lets me guide her onto her back, her leg stretched along the alcove. I support her injured knee until she finds a comfortable angle, then I settle my weight above her, my cock throbbing, grazing against her slick heat.

She studies me, her expression intense.

"What?"