Page 159 of Emylia

But in me.

He made it stop. The incessant noise that usually refused to give me a heartbeat’s respite… faded. Like he alone had some quiet command over it.

A command over me.

The firelight caught in his eyes—amber, deep, certain. A stray lock of hair had fallen loose over his forehead, wild and beautiful, like him. And Gods... I couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“I want this,” I whispered. “I wantyou.”

He stilled, breath catching like I’d just said the one thing he never expected to hear. “Are you sure?”

A flicker of doubt twisted in my chest. “But, it won’t be fair to you,” I murmured. “It’ll be different.”

His brow creased. “Why?”

The quiet stretched between us, thick and tight.

Then—softly, gently— “Because you’re a virgin?”

I looked away, shame slithering up my spine. That word made me feel small. Inexperienced. Unwanted. Like I’d been passed over my whole life—like no one had ever trulywantedme.

No one but Sebastian.

And now... Maalikai.

“How can I compare fairly?” I whispered. “How can I choose between you both when this... whenwewould be different? Tainted by my inexperience?”

Sebastian’s hand found my face, thumb tracing gently along my jaw, coaxing my gaze back to his. There was no judgment. Just warmth. Mischief. Devotion.

“Then you’ll just have to sample again,” he said, lips curling into that wicked smile that undid me. “And again. Until you’re sure. No shame. No guilt. No expectations. Just youseekingyourtruth.”

My breath stuttered. A laugh escaped—quiet, disbelieving. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, leaning in, his voice brushing the shell of my ear, sending shivers down my spine. “But you love me for it.”

Gods help me...I did.

He kissed me then—slow, reverent, like I was something worth worshipping. A thousand emotions passed between us with that kiss—years of restraint, of longing, ofalmoststhat never became more.

His hands moved over me like he was memorizing, not claiming. Every touch a question I didn’t need to answer. Every breath between us a vow he never had to speak.

He didn’t rush. Helearned. Every stroke was soft inquiry. Every shift of breath a silent prayer.

He moved like I was sacred ground.

And I... I let him explore.

ChapterThirty-Three

Clothes slipped away—careless. Forgotten. Like we were shedding something heavier than fabric.

The flickering of candlelight painted his skin in gold. But all I saw was him. The unmistakable flames licking his arms—his tattoo—came alive in the low light, etched with fire and rebirth that had always felt more than ink. It was a bond. A vow.

I’d been there when he got it.

I’d seen the way he looked at me—like his soul had already chosen mine.

Back when we thought it was metaphor. Before we knew my fire was real.

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