Page 57 of Bound In Shadow

I back her against the broad trunk of the tree, mindful of the bruises that still mark her body. Our mouths meld hungrily, releasing the pent-up tension coiled in us for days. She kisses me as though I’m her lifeline, nails scraping lightly over my shoulders. My pulse thunders, responding with a fierce need that overtakes all caution.

A ragged moan escapes her when my hand slides down to cup her hip, drawing her flush against me. The closeness reignites memories of that night—how we clung to each other like the world was ending. Maybe it was. Maybe it still is. But right now, here, we have one sliver of solace.

We break apart momentarily, gasping for air. Her storm-gray eyes burn with an intensity that steals my breath. “I hate that I want this so badly,” she whispers, voice trembling with suppressed emotion. “But I can’t deny it anymore.”

A shaky laugh slips from my mouth, brushing my lips along her jaw. “I feel the same. You drive me mad, but losing you would destroy me.”

Her answering laugh dissolves into a needy sigh when I nip gently at her earlobe. The orchard’s rustling leaves mask our quiet sounds, though a part of me remains aware that we’re dangerously exposed out here. Yet urgency flares, a primal hunger that overrides practicality. We might die tomorrow, or the next day, in battle against the council.Give me this moment,I plead silently.

She threads her fingers through my hair, tipping her head back. I trail my mouth down her neck, tasting the subtle salt of her skin. Each breath from her becomes a delicate whimper. The orchard spins around us as we sink to our knees on the soft grass, tangling in each other’s arms.

Her tunic rides up under my searching hands, revealing bruises and scars that make my chest tighten with both anger and admiration. She’s so resilient, so strong. I want to worship every inch of her, to show her that for all the chaos we face, here in my arms, she’s cherished.

She tears at my vest, fumbling with the fastenings. I help her, shrugging it off, letting it drop to the grass. Our kisses intensify, tongues meeting in a heady rhythm. Her hands roam my chest, nails scraping lightly across my war sigils. A shiver wracks me.

“Gods,” she mutters between heated kisses. “Why does this feel more real than anything?”

“Because it is,” I rasp, pressing her back against the tree trunk, mindful to cushion her with my arm. Our bodies align, and we both gasp at the friction. Heat coils low in my belly, overwhelming logic.

We fumble with laces, our breath coming in ragged bursts. The orchard’s breeze cools my skin where her fingers explore, but the rest of me burns. She arches into my touch with a low moan, eyes fluttering shut.

Yet it’s different from our first time—less of that furious collision, and more raw with emotion. We’re not just sating lust or channeling anger; we’re connecting in a bond forged by shared peril and reluctant devotion. My heart hammers with the realization:This is no mere fling.

Her lips trail across my collarbone, drawing a hiss from me. My hands glide along her thighs, discovering fresh bruises, each one igniting a protective rage. I pause, meeting her gaze in silent question:Is this all right?She nods, eyes shimmering with trust. My chest constricts at that vulnerable acceptance.

We lose ourselves in sensations. The orchard spins into a blur of gold-green light, shadows shifting as we move. Our kisses slow, become more deliberate, tongues exploring with aching tenderness. She clings to my shoulders, her soft gasps urging me onward.

Finally, with one shared breath, we let the last barriers slip away. Our bodies unite in a slow, deliberate rhythm. She cries out softly, muffling it against my neck. My groan echoes in my ears. The orchard’s hush magnifies every sigh, every whisper of skin on skin.

Time stretches, dissolving into pure feeling. My hand cups her cheek, forcing our gazes to lock. “Lysandra,” I murmur, voice hoarse with emotion. “I’m with you. Always.”

She presses her lips to my palm, tears glistening in her lashes. “Promise me,” she breathes. “Promise you won’t abandon me.”

"I swear," I choke out, the sincerity of it slicing through me. My cock throbs inside her, buried to the hilt, and she arches against me with a gasp. The heat of her pussy clenches around me, slick and warm, and I grit my teeth against the overwhelming pleasure.

"Xelith—" Lysandra’s voice is ragged, her nails biting into my arms as we move together. Each thrust sends a wave of desperate need through me, her body rocking against the tree trunk, the bark rough against my forearm where I brace her. The orchard air is thick with the scent of crushed grass and her skin, sweat-slick and trembling beneath my hands.

"Feel how wet you are," I growl against her throat, my fingers digging into her hip as I pull her harder onto me. "Gods, you take me so fucking well."

She whimpers, her thighs tightening around my waist. "I feel you—every inch—" Her breath hitches as I angle deeper, and her head falls back with a moan. "Fuck, right there?—"

The friction is unbearable, exquisite. Her pussy grips me like a vice, fluttering as she nears the edge, and I can’t hold back my own ragged groan. "Don’t look away from me,” I demand, my voice raw.

Her eyes lock onto mine, dark with need, her lips parted on a pant. The vulnerability there undoes me. This isn’t just fucking—it’s something deeper, something that terrifies me with its intensity.

"Come with me," I rasp, my thrusts turning uneven, desperate. "Let go, Lysandra?—"

Her climax crashes over her first. She cries out, her body clamping down on my cock in pulsing waves, and the sheerpleasure of it drags me under. I bury myself inside her one last time with a groan, spilling deep as she trembles against me.

For a moment, the world narrows to the sound of our ragged breathing, the rustle of leaves above us, the way her fingers clutch at me like I’m the only thing keeping her grounded.

"I’ve got you," I murmur, pressing my forehead to hers as aftershocks ripple through us both. Her skin is fever-hot against mine, her breath mingling with my own.

Slowly, reality seeps back in—the orchard’s golden light dappling our tangled bodies, the distant call of birds, the ache of my muscles from holding her so tightly. She lets out a shaky laugh, her fingers tracing the war sigils on my chest.

"That was..." She trails off, her cheeks flushed, and I smirk.

"Real?" I finish for her, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face.

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