Page 209 of Emylia

And this time, he didn’t stop.

The second my back hit the dresser, his hands were everywhere—Frenzied. Demanding. Starved.

His mouth devoured mine like he was terrified I'd vanish. Like he needed to taste every inch of me to know I was real.

Then his fingers found my wrist, bringing it to his lips. He kissed my pulse, slow and deliberate, and I swear I felt it sync to his own—like the rhythm of my heartbeat belonged to him now.

His kisses climbed my arm—molten and torturous. Every brush of his mouth sent fire pooling in my core. I closed my eyes, letting him consume me, letting the rest of the world fall away.

He traced a map over my skin with his mouth—every kiss a brand. I was already his. But now, I wouldfeelit.

His heat climbed higher, flushing my skin, scattering every thought. He kissed me like he wanted to destroy me—but I was born to burn. And when his hands cradled my face with a tenderness that almost broke me, I let it.

Fingertips traced my jaw, down my throat, skimming the hollow of my collarbone before slipping lower—teasing the dripping wet fabric clinging to my breasts.

“You’re soaking,” he murmured against my skin.

He had no idea how right he was.

“Let’s get you out of these wet clothes,” he growled.

His hands slipped beneath the fabric—hot, possessive—burning a trail across my skin as he began to peel me open like a secret he’d been waiting his whole life to taste.

A shaky breath caught in my throat. “No argument here.”

My pulse thundered, anticipation thick in my blood as Maalikai stepped closer. Desire coiled low, tight and molten—he was close enough to steal my air. His fingers slipped beneath the black strap of my singlet, dragging it down my shoulder in a motion so deliberate it scorched. The fabric slid, slow and sensual, like silk kissing my skin, until it pooled on the floor in a heap of ruin and want. My pants were next, discarded in silence.

I stood in nothing but panties and a barely-there bra, each breath scraping against the weight of his stare. He devoured me with his eyes—like I was both his damnation and his salvation.

“Have I ever told you…” his voice rasped, low and reverent, “that you are exquisite?”

“No,” I breathed.

A dark laugh rumbled in his chest as he closed the space between us. “Then let me start now. You are the most exquisite thing I’ve ever seen.”

Gods, the way he said it. Shattered me.

His knuckles skimmed my arm, fingers brushing mine. “May I take off the rest?”

Fuck yes. “Mmm hmm.”

His hands slid over the curve of my breasts, trailing fire. A single hand reached behind me, unclasping the bra. It fell like a forgotten whisper.

I was half-naked—I had no armor left, just skin and honesty.

Vulnerable.

Surrendered.

Willingly undone.

His eyes ravaged me. “Fucking magnificent.”

Then his mouth descended.

Heat burst in my chest as his lips closed around my nipple. A gasp caught in my throat, fingers threading into his hair as pleasure surged—sharp, exquisite, unbearable.

Gods. His mouth was fire.

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