Page 53 of Bound to the Marak

Thirty-Six

There was something in the air.

It clung to her skin like static, shimmered beneath the cool light of the sanctum, and crackled in Karian’s touch.

He hadn’t said anything—not with words—but his body did. His grip was firmer tonight. His tentacles, usually slow and reverent, now moved with precision and control. Possessive. Not cruel. Never cruel. But sure. Commanding.

And she… liked it.

He kissed her with that same control. No longer the careful, curious alien who marveled at her mouth. This time, he devoured her.

His lips were demanding, his tongue insistent. His teeth grazed her lower lip, and she gasped into him, her pulse skipping. She tried to reach up, to touch his face—but he caught her wrists gently and pinned them above her head, wrapped in the silk of his tentacles.

Her back arched as he lifted her again, carried her effortlessly to his bed—the vast shell-like structure that cradled their bodies as though the palace itself were watching over them. The sheets were already warm. And scented. They smelled like him.

The moment she hit the bed, he was on her. Around her.

His growls were louder this time. Rougher. Deep sounds that rumbled in his chest and made her body vibrate in response. His markings were already glowing again—those intricate blue lines crawling over his chest, swirling, pulsing like starlight in a living map.

But it was his eyes that struck her.

Obsidian black, no light in them tonight. Just… storm.

It was like staring into the night sky before lightning tore it open.

She felt the storm inside him—radiating from his body in waves. It didn’t frighten her, not exactly, but it thrilled her. It made her stomach flip, made her breath catch, made her thighs tremble with anticipation.

He kissed her again—rougher this time, mouth crashing against hers, tongue invading, exploring, claiming. She whimpered, her resistance already crumbling under the force of him.

He's different tonight.

And she liked it.

Liked the strength in him. The command. The fire. She had always known he was powerful—he was the Marak of this place, of this entire world. But now, that power was touching her, covering her, pulling her into him like a tide that would never release her.

His tentacles wrapped around her body, spreading her wide, opening her, holding her completely under his control.

She surrendered willingly.

Moaning, writhing beneath him, her heart hammering like thunder in her chest, she felt him slide into her with a force that knocked the breath from her lungs.

But he held her.

Never too rough. Just… deeper. More intense. He grunted with each thrust, and the dark in his eyes flared.

Somewhere far away, the wind howled through the palace’s walls.

But here, in his arms, in his bed, she was wrapped in the eye of the storm.

She let herself be claimed by him, surrendering to the strange rhythm of their movements, her breath catching as the heat between them grew unbearable. His strength was a constant—arms, legs, and tentacles wrapped around her like living silk, holding her with an authority that sent a tremor through her.

Karian was different tonight.

Still gentle. Still reverent.

But this time, there was an edge.

He kissed her deeply, and something in the way his mouth moved against hers—hungry, commanding, almost desperate—sent a shiver down her spine. She felt it in his body, the tightness in his muscles, the way he held her a little too firmly. Not to harm. Never that. But as if he was losing some inner battle. As if he needed her more than air.

---