Page 42 of Xara and the Xenobeast

He seemed to understand. One hand slipped between her legs, finding her already wet and ready for him. The first touch of his fingers against her core had her moaning, her head falling back as pleasure surged through her.

He worked her with devastating precision, as if he’d memorized every reaction, every gasp and shudder, cataloging what made her writhe beneath his touch. One finger slipped inside her, then two, stretching her deliciously as his thumb circled her clit

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice a low rumble.

She forced her eyes open, meeting his silver gaze. The intensity there stole her breath—hunger and wonder and somethingdeeper, something that made her heart race for reasons beyond physical pleasure.

“Look,” he repeated, curling his fingers inside her in a way that made her cry out.

She couldn’t have looked away if she tried. His eyes held her captive as surely as his hands, the pleasure building with each stroke of his fingers, each circle of his thumb. His tendrils tightened around her thighs, holding her open for him as he increased his pace.

The pressure built and built until she was trembling on the edge, her hands clutching at his shoulders, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

“Now,” he ordered, his voice rough with desire, and the word pushed her over the edge.

She shattered with a long wailing cry, waves of pleasure crashing through her as she clung to him. He worked her through it, drawing out her climax until she was limp and trembling in his arms.

When she could breathe again, she reached for him, wanting to return the pleasure he’d given her. Her hand slid down his chest, tracing the ridges of muscle, following the glowing markings that led lower. But as her fingers brushed his ribs, he flinched.

She pulled back, alarmed, and noticed for the first time the fresh streak of blood on his side.

“You’re bleeding,” she gasped, guilt washing over her. “Your wound reopened.”

He glanced down, seeming genuinely surprised. “Not important.”

“It is important,” she insisted, sliding back into the water. “Let me see.”

He tried to turn away, but she caught his arm. “Please. Let me help.”

After a moment, he relented, allowing her to examine the injury. The deepest of the claw marks had indeed reopened, though not severely. Still, guilt gnawed at her.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, gently trickling water over the wound. “I shouldn’t have?—”

“Don’t,” he cut her off, his hand catching hers. “Don’t regret.”

She looked up at him, struck by the vulnerability in his expression. “I don’t regret being with you,” she clarified. “I regret hurting you.”

Something softened in his gaze. He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm. “Not hurt.”

“Your side?—”

“Will heal,” he said firmly. “Worth it.”

The simple statement warmed her more than the hot spring ever could. She leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “Let’s get you back to the cave so I can put fresh moss on that wound.”

He nodded reluctantly. As they climbed from the pool and began to dress, he kept watching her, his gaze heated despite the pain he must have been feeling.

“We’ll come back,” she promised, understanding his unspoken desire. “When you’re healed.”

A small smile tugged at his lips—rare and precious. “Yes.”

As they made their way back through the tunnel, she found herself studying the glyphs with new eyes. They told a story of survival, of adaptation, of finding beauty and purpose in a hostile world.

Not so different, she thought, from what she and Ash were building together—day by day, touch by touch, creating something neither of them had dared to hope for.

A home. A family. A future.

CHAPTER TWENTY

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