Page 121 of Emylia

Somehow, he’d positioned himself between my thighs, and every shift sent lightning shooting through me. The pressure of him—the length of him—was exquisite torment.

Then the sky cracked open.

A bolt of lightning split the air, illuminating his features in stark relief. Frost rippled over the earth where it struck, blooming like a storm’s signature.

Lightning.

“Maalikai—”

“It’s okay.” His breath was ragged. “Too much?”

Was he serious? I was practically trying to ravish him.

“Not enough,” I growled. “I want more.”

His jaw ticked as he studied me. “Are you sure?”

I shifted—my hips brushing a rather hard part of his anatomy with a rather soft part of mine. My breath caught, and the sound that escaped wasn’t just a moan.

It was surrender.

Raw. Unfiltered. Willing.

“I’m sure.”

Clothes vanished in the space of a breath. My nightshirt. My undergarments. All gone—forgotten on the floor.

His lips met mine again, slower this time, more certain. His hand drifted over my side, finding my breast, fingers trailing in slow circles. Teasing. Denying.

My body pulsed beneath him, ached for him, arched to meet him—but each time he pulled back, another piece of me shattered.

“Maalikai,” I whispered, flushed and frantic.

“Mmm?”

“Plea—”

The rest of the word died as his fingers found my nipple, teasing with devastating precision. A moan broke free, swallowed by his kiss.

Then he was gone. Shifting lower. His mouth brushing the swell of my breast, then lower still.

“Is this what you wanted?” he rasped, lips ghosting so close to where I needed him most.

A helpless whimper tore from me, a fragile thing drenched in fire.

He chuckled. “Gods, I love when you make that noise.”

I was about to retort—something sharp, something smug—but the moment his tongue replaced his fingers, every thought disintegrated.

“Gods-damn it.”

Another chuckle vibrated against my skin. “Scrap that—I prefer that much more.”

He trailed soft kisses from one breast to the other, worshipping me with each one. My hips bucked. My body begged. The ache inside me bloomed like wildfire.

“Would you like a hand?”

“What do you?—”

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