Page 43 of Bound to the Marak

Her scent flooded his senses. Sweet. Clean. Vibrant. A melody no Majarin female had ever carried. The bioluminescent light around them refracted through the waves of her hair, painting her skin in pale blues and golds. Her lips parted slightly, her breath quickened.

Karian's blood thickened. His arousal surged. It was instantaneous, brutal.

He was erect. His tentacles stirred of their own accord, sleek appendages twitching just beneath his garments. Primed. Aware.

The urge to claim her, to strip away those strange Earth-made fabrics and see her naked and vulnerable beneath him, rose like a tidal force.

She was the most fragile thing he'd ever seen. And the most stunning.

He could snap her in a breath—yet he wanted to worship her with every inch of his being. He had taken galaxies. Ended lives with a thought.

But this one woman?—

This tiny, lost thing?—

She had undone him with her gaze.

And in this moment, she was not pulling away.

She was not trembling in fear.

She was still.

Open.

Willing.

He stepped closer, letting his hand rise slowly—slow enough that even a being of her inferior reflexes could stop him if she chose.

She didn’t.

His fingers brushed her cheek.

"You do not understand yet what it means," he said quietly, voice thick with heat, "for a Marak to be unmasked in another's presence."

Her pupils dilated. Her breath hitched.

He could take her. Now. Here. And she would yield.

But not yet. Not in haste.

She deserved more than force.

She deserved towantit.

And he would make sure she did.

Every part of her.

He would not take. He wouldseduce.

And she would never wish for Earth again.

Twenty-Six

Leonie couldn’t look away.

He stood before her like a living statue carved from moonlight and shadow, his features regal, alien, and achingly beautiful. The pale, luminous skin, the obsidian eyes with no whites, the silken black hair that fell past his shoulders—he didn’t just look like a god.

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