Page 141 of Labyrinthine
My body adjusts slowly, muscles stretching to accommodate him. He’s patient, brushing kisses across my cheeks, my jaw, my temple. His hand strokes my side, guiding me back to my own skin, tracing me into belonging, reminding me I am more than the body that trembles beneath him. I relax inch by inch, andonly when he’s sure—when I tell him—does he move again, slow and careful.
When he’s fully inside me, I exhale shakily. He’s deep—so deep—but not unbearable. Just full. Whole. And I’m no longer alone.
His gaze meets mine.
I pull him into another kiss.
He begins to move. Not fast. Not hard. Just a slow, rolling rhythm that lets me feel everything. It’s overwhelming—emotionally more than physically. The stretch fades to heat, and then to something deeper. Something sacred.
Each thrust rocks through me, pulling breathless sounds from my throat. He groans softly, pressing his face into my neck.
“I didn’t dare to dream we’d have this,” he says. “Not like this.”
“We do.”
“Yes,” he breathes. “We do.”
Our bodies move together, rhythm syncing, breath for breath. My legs wrap around him, and he holds me tighter, angling his hips until each stroke makes me cry out. The pressure builds again, faster this time, sharper.
It burns too hot. Too brightly.
“It’s too much,” I whimper.
“You’re safe,” he answers, stilling. “You’re mine. You were made for me, as I was made for you.”
His fingers run through my hair. Pleasure builds—and disorientation too. My mind reels with sensations I don’t understand. I shake my head, denying what my body is already surrendering to.
He kisses me and slows his rhythm. He’s not driven by urgency nor by desperation. This is tender. Reverent. He’s holding back, and every movement is measured, controlled. Mybody tightens around him and we find a shared breath, a shared pulse.
Mallen moves harder. Deeper. So deep it steals the air from my lungs. So deep it’s impossible to hold him back. Pleasure breaks over me in waves as I arch to meet him. But beneath the hunger and heat, something begins to uncoil—vast and slow and wrong.
Not pain. Not pleasure.
Power.
My senses sharpen. They twist. They’re not right. Not natural. I smell the earth outside, the iron in his blood. I hear the wind split against the window like a scream. Colors sharpen and then shift—unnatural hues that twist light into impossible shades. I see too much. Feel too much.
“I’m losing you,” I gasp, clutching him.
“No,” Mallen growls. “I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”
His hand catches mine, fingers threading tight, an anchor in a world come loose. His thrusts continue, steady and sure, but I’m slipping.
Gods, I’m falling.
And whatever was sealed inside me begins to wake—ancient, unyielding, mine. I didn’t know the binding would break like this. Didn’t know it would answer pleasure with power, devotion with death. It rises with every breath, every thrust, every beat of his heart against mine.
I arch, crying out. My skin burns with heat, but no sweat cools it. The room warps. My vision fractures. Shadows swirl at the edges, drawn out by the chaos inside me.
“Trust me,” he breathes, voice ragged. “We’re meant for this.”
I kiss him—desperate, seeking. Our mouths collide, and everything else falls away. My soul reaches for his. Not metaphor, not poetry. Only this reality—this clashing andjoining of two truths too bright to look at. They meet, tangle, fuse. The shift is violent and beautiful. It’s surrender. It’s the choosing of two souls.
It’s the choice to never part.
And this cannot be undone.
He moves faster. My body spirals. I sob his name, writhing beneath him.
