Page 95 of Wild Flame

Before long he was moving, sloshing water over the sides of the bath and onto the rugs and floor as he pressed up inside me.

“We’re . . . making—hmm—making a mess,” I panted, letting out a choked noise as he hit a particularly delicious spot inside me that had me clenching around his fullness.

“I don’t care,” he murmured as he pulsed upward in a smooth, relentless pace.

I bit back my groan of pleasure, my grip tightening on his shoulders, fighting not to scream in bliss.

“No, you don’t, siren,” he scolded. “I want to hear all the sounds you make.”

I blinked down at him, incredulous. “But they’ll hear—"

“Let them,” he growled. “Let the whole realms damn castle hear how I make you feel.”

A few moments later, as rapture claimed me in its velvet grip, I did.

Sometime later, when the water had cooled and the passion in our blood had dimmed to a dull hum, I lay with my back to Malik. There was considerably less water now after our . . .activities.But neither of us made any effort to get out of the tub.

I shifted against him, slightly uncomfortable as my wet gown rubbed against my skin. Of course, Malik noticed.

“Sit up,” he ordered.

I did as he said and raised my arms as he pulled the sodden nightgown over my head and tossed it on the wet floor.

I was in such a happy and lethargic state that I didn’t even think about the fact that I had just exposed my back to Malik’s gaze until I felt him still behind me.

I froze as well.

Internally, I was fighting the urge to flee the tub and his gaze and put on about fifty layers of clothing, while another part of me sat there in a stiff kind of horror and shame at the fact that he was seeing my scars so openly.

After a few seconds, I couldn’t take it anymore and made to rise from the tub.

“Don’t,” Malik urged gruffly. Then he added more softly, “Please . . . don’t.”

I paused, then after a few weighted seconds, I acquiesced and sank back down. I didn’t turn and look back at him—I couldn’t.

“Do they still hurt?” he asked solemnly. Thankfully, I heard none of the dreaded pity or disgust in his voice.

“Not anymore,” I answered honestly. Even though I had told him about them earlier, it still felt odd to discuss my scars so openly. “The skin can get tight and irritated sometimes, but I have a salve for that.”

“May I?” he asked, his tone infinitely gentle.

I simply nodded with a hard swallow, pulling my legs up into my chest and resting my folded arms on my knees.

Warm fingers traced one of the marks ever so carefully. Then he leaned forward and kissed the spot.

I sucked in a breath at the first touch of his lips to the ravaged flesh. As he continued his quiet ministrations, his warm lips pressing ever so gently against every inch of the scars, I was mortified to find tears stinging my eyes.

“I’m sorry this happened to you,isholet,” he crooned against my skin. “But you survived. You are here now, and I am glad of it.”

I wiped a stray tear from my eye and sat back. His words brought a mix of too many emotions to the surface. I didn’t know how to feel them all.

Malik shifted me in his hold and didn’t comment further, for which I was grateful. He rested his arms on the lip of the tub on either side of me, and I reached up and began tracing the markings there. My fingers ran over the lines of one in particular on his forearm that resembled a hammer or gavel of some kind. “What is this one for?” I asked.

He said nothing, and I felt his chest rise and fall underneath me as I waited.

When he finally spoke, his voice held an odd mixture of pride and sadness. “I got that one after the first time I defied my father’s orders.”

I knew that Zehvitians only marked their skin with significant moments or things that meant something to them. “I don’t understand,” I finally said.

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