Page 46 of Seas the Day
She’s finally ready.
His knees nearly buckled from the profound relief and wild joy that crashed through him. His mate was ready for forever with him. Despite the war, despite her still-healing body, despite all the uncertainty swirling around them—she was choosing him. Choosing to become his Luna, his partner, his mate in every sense of the word.
“Are you sure?” The question scraped from his throat, raw with hope and disbelief. His hands trembled slightly as they held her face. “This can’t be undone, Navira. Once I mark you, once the bond completes—you’ll be tied to me, to this world, forever. I can give you more time if you need it. I won’t pressure?—”
“I’m sure.” Her voice rang with absolute certainty. “I don’t need more time to know that I want you and this life with you. I’m ready to officially become Luna.”
Something primal and possessive roared in Thalric’s chest. His wolf, which had been prowling restlessly for days, suddenly surged forward with triumphant hunger.
Mine. Mark. Finally.
The last vestiges of his control shattered.
He captured her mouth with a kiss that was fierce and consuming, pouring every ounce of his passion and love and desperate gratitude into the connection. She melted against him, her response equally fervent, equally hungry. Through the bond, he felt her desire spike to match his own and her love flowing back to him in waves that made his head spin.
This was it. The moment everything changed. The moment she became his, completely and irrevocably.
The moment he would finally become whole.
The taste of her certainty and the feel of her love ignited a fire in Thalric’s chest that threatened to burn down the world. He suddenly broke the kiss, a gasp of air torn from him. His hand found hers, their fingers interlacing, and without a wordhe turned, guiding her naked form away from the window, away from everything that wasn’t them.
They moved through the quiet expanse of his private chambers, their footsteps silent on the polished stone. He led her to the entrance of his bathroom, a space as vast and deliberate as everything else he commanded. He opened the door, and the sight of it—the dark marble, the dual waterfall showerheads, the steam already beginning to rise as he activated the controls—felt suddenly sacred.
This wasn’t about cleansing. This was a consecration.
He helped her step into the wide, tiled enclosure, his hands steadying her as the warm spray from above enveloped her. The water cascaded over her shoulders, plastering her dark hair to her skin, tracing the elegant lines of her body. He followed her inside, the heat of the water matching the heat in his blood.
His wolf was a frenzied force in his veins.
Mark. Now.
But Thalric, the man, the Alpha who had learned patience from loss and strategy from desperation, pushed the beast back with a force of will he’d never needed before. This moment—his mate offering herself completely—would not be rushed. He would savor it, memorize every sensation, cherish each second like a treasure. He would worship her with the devotion he’d never shown anyone.
THIRTY-TWO
THALRIC
He reached for a bottle of soap, its scent clean and subtle. He poured a generous amount into his palms, working it into a rich lather. His gaze held hers as he began. His soap-slicked hands started at the base of her neck, smoothing over the delicate tendons, tracing the line of her shoulders. He worked with a slow, deliberate pressure, massaging the muscles there, feeling the strength beneath his touch. Her breath was steady, but her eyes were dark and locked on him.
He moved down, his palms sliding over the curves of her breasts. He lingered there, circling each peak with his thumbs until the nipples hardened into tight buds against his skin. She inhaled sharply.
“Thalric…” Her voice was a whisper lost in the shower’s patter.
He didn’t answer with words. He answered with his hands, continuing their downward path, mapping the defined muscles of her stomach, the athlete’s core that had carried her to Olympic gold. Then he knelt before her on the wet floor, the water streaming over him as he lavished attention on her long, powerful legs. He washed each thigh, each calf, with a reverence that felt like a prayer.
His hands traveled back up, and inward. He cupped the heat between her thighs, his fingers sliding through her wetness with ease. Through the bond, her desire mounted like a rising tide—sharp, urgent, and breathtaking.
Her hands reached for him, but he caught her wrist gently, lowering it. “Just relax,” he murmured, his voice rough. “Just feel.”
He focused his touch on her sensitive folds, circling the taut peak of her clit with a relentless, gentle precision. A low moan escaped her, swallowed by the steam.
“Please… more,” she begged, her head falling back.
He gave her more, but not the rush she wanted. He inserted two fingers inside her, finding her impossibly tight and hot. He thrust them slowly, deeply, matching the rhythm of his circling thumb. Her cries became fractured gasps, her body bowing toward his touch.
Then he lowered his mouth.
The taste of her was intoxicating—salt, soap, and the unique, sweet essence of her. He licked and sucked in a rhythm that synced perfectly with the thrust of his fingers. He drank her gasps, felt the tremors building in her thighs. Her hands clutched his hair, not pushing him away, but holding him there, anchoring herself to the pleasure.
