Page 118 of Bound to the Dreadlord

“Damn, you love this position, Sera?” I ask her as she holds onto the table.

“Yes, deeper, Veylan!” her legs clenches and she lost strength in it and I have to prop her up with my arms.

I pull her hair roughly as my spine tingle. We’re both so close to the zenith.

“Shit!” I curse as her pussy grips my cock like a vice. I move even faster, the sound of flesh slamming flesh becomes more pronounced in the room.

She’s close—I can feel it in the way her body tightens around me, in the way her breath hitches.

“Come for me,” I demand, my voice rough and commanding.

And she does. Her pussy spasms around my cock, her back arching as she cries out, her climax crashing over her like a wave. I follow her over the precipice, my own release tearing through me as I spill inside her, my cock pulsing with every wave of pleasure.

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of our ragged breathing, the heat of our bodies pressed together.

She’s not caged beneath me. She’s beside me, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on my chest, her lips swollen and her eyes heavy with satisfaction.

“Why are you really here with me?” she whispers, her voice soft but laced with something unspoken.

I could lie. I could tell her it was just a moment, just a distraction. But the truth is, I don’t want to leave.

I brush my knuckles along her jaw, tilting her chin up so I can look into her eyes. There’s no regret there, no demand. Just understanding. And maybe, just maybe, a flicker of something more.

My lips brush against her forehead, lingering too long. She exhales softly, and for a moment, I let myself believe in the illusion of peace.

But it’s just that—an illusion.

War is coming.

44

SERA

The fire has died. The embers flicker weakly, barely a whisper of warmth against the cold stone floor. The scent of last night lingers—smoke, sweat, skin. Him.

Veylan is still here.

I don’t expect it. But now, as the first rays of morning cut through the wooden slats of our mountain hideout, he is beside me.

His body is all sharp edges and unforgiving power, but there’s a heaviness to his breathing, an exhaustion I’ve never seen in him before. His silver hair is tousled, spilling over the pillow, dark lashes resting against sharp cheekbones. He looks almost human. Almost.

Something inside me shifts, an unfamiliar ache curling in my insides. I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t want him to stay. But I do.

I shift beneath the blankets, reaching—just barely—when his words cuts through the silence.

"Don’t."

It’s a warning. It always is with him.

His silver eyes slit open, locking onto me. The softness of sleep is gone in an instant, replaced with something unreadable, something sharp. Regret? No. I don’t think he regrets last night. He regrets what it means.

My throat tightens, and I grip sheets as if it will help me hold onto what remains of myself after last night.

"Are you going to leave?"The words slip out instinctively.

A muscle ticks in his jaw. The Dreadlord does not hesitate. But right now, he does.

"No,"he says finally.

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