Page 180 of Bound By Song

“Evie,” Dane says softly. “You don’t have to do this, this time around if you don’t want to. You don’t owe us?—”

“I want to,” I say, voice steady. “I want you. All of you. I want to bond. This is forever, and I’m ready for that.”

They exhale in unison, the tension breaking like a wave.

“Who do you want first?” Xar asks.

I pause. My chest aches, full of love and certainty. “You.”

He nods once, solemn and reverent. “Lie back, omega.”

I do.

Xar crawls over me, slow and sure, his scent thickening the air – toasted tonka, cashmeran and cardamom, and something darker now, something primal. His lips brush mine in a soft kiss, barely there, as though giving me a final chance to change my mind.

But I kiss him back harder, threading my fingers through his hair, needing him close. Needing him now.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs, breath warm against my skin. “Always were.”

“I know,” I whisper. “So take me. Show me.”

His body presses down over mine, solid and grounding, the weight of him exactly what I need. He takes his time – every kiss slow, every touch deliberate. He cups my cheek with one broad palm and just looks at me for a moment, eyes flicking between mine like he’s memorising the moment.

Then he kisses me again, deeper this time, mouth opening over mine like a vow.

His hands drift lower, dragging the covers back from my hips, baring me inch by inch. His fingers trace down my ribs, over my waist, and lower still, until he’s cupping my heat.

I gasp.

“You’re already wet for me,” he breathes. “Such a good girl.”

I can’t speak – just arch into his touch, aching for more.

He strokes through my slicked pussy lips, slow and teasing, his fingers circling my clit until I’m trembling beneath him. Then he slides one thick finger inside, groaning low in his throat when I clench around him.

“You’re perfect,” he growls. “Every part of you.”

“Xar, please—” I choke out. “I need you inside me.”

He doesn’t make me wait.

He shifts his hips, cock hot and heavy against my thigh, and I reach between us to guide him in. He groans at the contact – deep and wrecked – as he presses in, stretching me open inch by inch.

I cling to him, legs wrapping around his hips, as he buries himself to the hilt.

“Oh— Fuck,” I gasp. “You feel…god…”

“Like we were made for this,” he finishes, voice rough with emotion. “And we were, baby. We were.”

He starts to move – slow and steady strokes that make my whole body light up. Every thrust is careful, reverent, like he’s mapping every inch of me with his body.

His hand cradles my jaw, thumb stroking over my cheekbone. “Look at me,” he says softly.

I do.

And in that moment, everything else disappears. There’s only him – only us – and the growing, glowing swell in my chest that tells me this is right.

“Gonna make you come,” he promises. “Then I’ll mark you. Make you mine for good.”

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