Page 325 of Commanding Blood And Bonds
She let out another laugh-sob and tilted her face away. When I caught her chin, angling her back up to me, her breath hitched.
“What are you doing?”
“Will you just shut up and let me kiss you?”
She inhaled sharply—but didn’t retreat. Didn’t shove me away. Didn’t say no.
When I leaned in, hovering just short of contact, it was Freya who closed the distance, her lips brushing mine in a soft, tentative kiss. And I knew...
I’d known on my bed, when I kissed her to cover a lie, that this was different. I’d known when I claimed her mouth to bring her back into her body, to remind her who she was, that I would never recover from touching her.
She wasn’t an addiction I couldn’t shake—she was oxygen itself. She was life. And I hadn’t realized until now that the hunger I carried for this woman didn’t burn in my skin. It lived in my soul.
It wasn’t just that I wanted to fuck her—which, I did—or that her beauty made my heart stutter. It was that no one had ever felt as natural as breathing until Freya.
Heat flared, not as a firestorm of want, but as something deeper—something vital—rushing through my veins.
One kiss became two. Then three. My hands found her hips, her thighs, the curve of her ass. Hers tangled in my hair until it burned. And God, I fucking needed more.
She rose onto her toes with elegance, but it still wasn’t enough. I needed her closer. Needed her pressed against me. Needed to bury myself in her and learn what made her cry out—what made her beg, what left her trembling.
Desperate as a dying man dragged to water, I cupped her perfect ass and lifted her into my arms, carrying her to the porch rail. I set her down on the banister and her legs locked around my waist, dragging us flush. Her nails scored my back as the sun beat down on my shoulders and I seized her mouth, forcing it open and tasting her like I’d earned it.
She surrendered sweetly, pulse hammering beneath my fingertips where I cradled her neck.
Mine.
The word echoed through every cell. She was sunlight, blood, and breath. Our kiss found rhythm as we mapped each other’s bodies. My fingers ached to strip her leathers—to memorize her without armor, to spread her across a bed and feast.
“We shouldn’t,” she panted, but she kissed me harder right after, like she already knew it didn’t matter. “Doesn’t make sense.”
“Bullshit,” I growled, dragging my teeth along her bottom lip. “You’re the only fucking thing that makes sense, Freya. The only thing that feels like hope in this shattered world.”
“You’ll regret me,” she whispered. “I’m a mistake.” Her eyes searched mine while her hands roamed over my torso, legs still clamped tight around me. I could smell her arousal—feel it pulling me to the edge.
“Your mouth says one thing, but your body disagrees.” I pressed my forehead to hers, breathing hard. “You know you’re safe with me?”
She nodded, and I exhaled. “I could never hurt you, ma moitié. Not anymore.”
She skimmed her nose over mine. “It’s not me I’m worried about. I could break you so easily, Cyrus.”
I smiled faintly and wrapped a lock of her hair around my finger. “I’m well aware.”
“That doesn’t scare you?”
“Fuck, chérie, I’m terrified,” I admitted, grazing her lips. “But trust is earned. And I’m trying.”
“There’s something I should tell you.”
“About your duel declaration?” When she nodded, I gave one in return. “Tomorrow. You can tell me tomorrow.”
She watched me in silence for a long beat, then nodded, voice shaking. “You go, I go?”
“As long as I get the same goddamn courtesy.”
“I can live with that.”
“Good.” I cupped her thighs and kissed her again. She matched me with a fire that lit something feral inside me. My hands resumed their exploration—mapping, claiming, savoring.
