Page 138 of Labyrinthine
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering. His mouth ghosts across my skin—cheek, jaw, lips. The kiss is firmer this time. Rougher. A kind of desperation laced through it, like it’s cost him everything to hold back, and he’s finally stopped counting the price.
“Are you sure?” he breathes.
I nod. “Yes.”
He studies me, as if something inside him breaks open. Or maybe it fuses at last: the part that feared, the part that waited, the part that never stopped wanting.
“I’ll never lie to you again,” he says. “Even if it destroys me. Even if you turn away. I won’t pretend I’m not jealous, or ruthless, or even that I’m a good man. But I am a man who’ll love you without restraint, without end. I won’t spare you my truth—and I won’t ask you to spare me yours.”
My heart lurches. “No more lies.”
His gaze darkens. His hands twitch like he wants to touch me—wants to take—but he waits.
He’s waited years. What’s a few minutes more?
“Not even silent ones,” he replies.
I reach up and run my thumb over his lower lip. He exhales sharply. His desire is barely leashed.
I climb into his lap. His hands close around my thighs, reverent and possessive. His breath hitches like he’s swallowing fire.
“From either of us,” I say.
And then I kiss him.
Like it’s the first time.
Like it’s the only time.
Because maybe it is.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Mallen deepens the kiss,his hand sliding into my hair, twisting just enough to hold me still. There’s a hunger in it now—an unspoken demand—and when his body presses against mine, it’s not just possession. It’s a plea. A prayer.
My breath catches as he pushes me back, his hands cradling me as though he needs proof I’m still here. Still his.
My hands slide down his chest, fumbling for the hem of his tunic. He breaks the kiss, lips brushing mine with a hint of laughter, and pulls the shirt over his head.
Candlelight gilds his skin. I trace my fingers over him, slow and certain—no hesitation, no regret.
When our mouths find each other again, his hands are already tugging at the neckline of my top. Fabric slides down my shoulder, exposing bare skin to his lips. The brush of his mouth is gentle, reverent, but it leaves fire in its wake. My spine arches with a soft gasp, a laugh escaping me like a broken promise.
But then I still. My hand presses lightly against his chest.
“Mallen…”
He freezes. Not pulling away, not moving closer either.
“If we…” I murmur. “The magic will return. To Starsfall. And to my father.”
His jaw tightens. His breath catches. But he doesn’t flinch.
“Yes,” he says.
“But you’d still do it?”
“Yes,” he answers, voice low. “I chose you the moment I saw you. Or the gods chose me for you. It doesn’t matter. Whatever comes, we face it together.”
