Page 51 of Burned to Obey

I reach out, my large hand gently covering her wrist. Her pulse leaps under my palm. “We find our way,” I murmur. “No matter the brand or Thakur’s schemes. We decide what this means.”

She trembles, eyes closing briefly. Then, slowly, she places her free hand against my chest. The warmth of her palm seeps through my tunic, and my horns tingle with an acute awareness of her body. We’ve stood near each other countless times, but never has it felt so laden with unspoken promise.

I dip my head, letting our foreheads nearly touch. She draws a sharp breath, cheeks burning. Wordlessly, we linger, each uncertain how to proceed. The quiet hum of possibility envelops us, an unvoiced invitation. My heart thuds, a primal longing surging. I recall every reason to stay distant: the Senate, thebrand, my brother’s memory. But seeing her tremble with a mix of fear and trust unravels my resolve.

She shifts, her lips parting in silent question. I lean in, letting my muzzle graze her temple. She doesn’t flinch. My breath stutters, and I sense a trembling in her limbs that matches my own. Slowly, I trail my hand from her wrist up to her shoulder, pausing to ensure she can withdraw if she wishes. Instead, she inches closer, pressing her torso against me. I can’t hold back.

My mouth descends to her parted lips, the first contact electric. She gasps into me, fingers curling into my tunic. A pulse of heat rushes through my veins, overshadowing logic. We stand locked in that tentative kiss, neither gentle nor rough, but searching. An unspoken confession of all we tried to deny. Her mouth is warm, tasting of longing and a faint saltiness. My horns throb with each heartbeat, an echo of the primal bond we skirt.

She draws back an inch, breath ragged. Our eyes meet, the unspoken question shining between us: Are we sure? Her gaze flicks to the door. I step away, turning the lock, sealing us in. She offers no protest. I return, chest tight with a swirl of emotion that dwarfs fear. We say nothing, because words can’t capture this quake in my soul.

With careful deliberation, I cup her jaw, brushing aside stray hair. She leans into the touch, eyelids fluttering. My muzzle dips again, claiming her lips more boldly. She exhales a quivering sigh, arms sliding up around my neck. I sense the brand’s scab brushing my forearm, an echo of the vow we share. Our kiss deepens, slow but insistent. Each press of our mouths a silent vow.

Time dissolves. I’m aware only of her heartbeat pounding in sync with mine, of the soft, breathy sounds she makes, and the rasp of my own breathing. We move as though drawn by a tidal force, stumbling toward my bed. The wooden frame creaks under her weight when we sink onto it, limbs tangling. My hornsbrush the edge of the headboard, but I ignore it, too consumed by her closeness.

She tugs my tunic aside, revealing the swirl of scars across my torso. Her fingertips trace them reverently, no disgust in her eyes, only a quiet awe. My chest clenches. No one’s ever touched me like this, with acceptance so raw it nearly breaks me. I mirror her gesture, running a hand along her side, mindful of bruises. She winces but doesn’t pull away, meeting my gaze with unwavering resolve.

Wordlessly, we undress each other in incremental motions, discarding cloth and tension alike. The lantern’s glow bathes her skin in golden light. For a moment, I hesitate, worried about her bruises, but she nods once, giving silent permission. I draw her gently against me, mouth trailing over her collarbone, inhaling her subtle scent of soap and iron.

She trembles, eyes closing, and I sense an undercurrent of old scars, old humiliations. My heart tightens. This is no casual lust. I cradle her with infinite care, wanting her to feel that her body isn’t a battlefield anymore. Each touch I give is a vow that I see her as more than a prisoner, more than a tool. She responds with a soft moan, arching into me. Her nails dig lightly into my furred shoulders.

We sink deeper into the blankets, our kisses growing fervent, yet the undercurrent remains gentle. A haze of need envelops us, driving each motion, but also tempered by mutual reverence. I explore her flesh, careful of every bruise. She bites her lower lip, half-lidded eyes shining with trust and a flicker of uncertainty. I stroke her hair, letting her set the pace.

At some point, words fade entirely. We move in unison, guided by breath and pulse rather than speech. She clutches at my back, releasing tremulous gasps. My horns graze the pillow, a reminder of how intimate we are. Our bodies align, her warmth beckoning me onward. With measured slowness, I press intoher, ensuring she can stop me if she wants. She exhales a shaky sigh, welcoming me deeper.

A raw wave of sensation surges, new and all-consuming. I tuck my face into the curve of her neck, breath hitching. Her fingers slide through my mane, trembling with something neither of us can name. We find a rhythm—quiet, almost reverent. Each thrust ignites shared sparks, driving us both higher. The mark she bears presses lightly against my side once a forced bond, now the heartbeat of something chosen.

She’s no longer silent, releasing gasps that border on sobs, as if shedding layers of past pain. I hold her face, letting our gazes lock. Her tears glisten, but not from sadness—relief, maybe, or the release of old fears. My chest twists at the vulnerability she offers. I whisper her name, though my voice nearly fails me, thick with emotion. She arches up, nails scraping my shoulders, breath hitching.

The pleasure coils tighter, a slow-burning climb that feels as if we’re forging ourselves anew in each other’s arms. I murmur quiet endearments, words I never thought I’d utter, letting her know she’s safe here, in my bed, with my body shielding her from every ghost. She clings to me, tears slipping free, both of us undone by a depth neither expected.

Time warps. The final surge of ecstasy rips through us in tandem, leaving us trembling, hearts drumming. We collapse together, sweat-slick limbs tangled in the sheets, panting in the aftershocks of an intimacy that rewrites every boundary we clung to. My horns ache with the rush. She buries her face against my chest, breath slowing from ragged gasps to a gentler rhythm.

We remain like that, wordless. The lantern flickers, casting shifting shadows over our entwined forms. Her eyes flutter closed, exhausted but radiant with something akin to peace. I cradle her cheek, brushing away a tear. She doesn’t flinch or shyaway. Slowly, she lifts her gaze to mine. I see the reflection of my own wonder, my own disbelief that we bridged such a gulf.

For a long while, neither of us speaks. Our breathing aligns, the only sound in the hush. It’s as if we fear words might shatter the fragile stillness. Eventually, I gather her closer, mindful of her bruises. She nestles against me, face pressed to my throat, letting out a tiny sigh that resonates in my chest. We’re still raw from crossing this line—once brand and duty overshadowed everything, but now we share something infinitely more profound.

She traces patterns on my furred arm, a hesitant curiosity. I hush her with a gentle stroke of her hair, the soft locks slipping through my fingers. My heart throbs with an unfamiliar warmth, a stirring that might be the seed of love, though neither of us dares call it that. We’re too tangled in caution to label it. But the bond is real, our bodies and spirits acknowledging a new truth.

The Bastion’s walls remain beyond my chamber door, teeming with Senate threats and whispered conspiracies. Thakur’s next move lurks in the shadows, and the brand on her arm remains a precarious mark that ties her fate to mine. But for this moment, we exist outside all that. I close my eyes, inhaling her scent—a blend of sweat, soap, and raw emotion that feels heartbreakingly honest.

After a time, she shifts, propping herself on an elbow to study me. There’s a quiet awe in her expression, a vulnerability that tugs at something deep in my soul. I hold her gaze, uncertain how to voice what roils inside me. Her lips part, but she merely brushes a shaky kiss to my shoulder, wordless. I cradle her face, leaning in to nuzzle her brow, horns angled to avoid discomfort.

We drift in that closeness, hearts still beating fast. My mind flicks to the brand again, the crest that started all this as a forced protection. Now, it feels like a reminder that we’ve chosen a path few would understand. She lifts her arm, glancing at the scabbeddesign, then meets my eyes. A thousand thoughts swirl behind her stare, but she only nods, exhaling softly.

I gather the sheets around us, shielding her from the Bastion’s chill. Our breath mingles in the enclosed air, the lantern’s light slowly waning. If dawn were to come now with Senate edicts or Thakur’s blade, I’d fight a thousand battles to protect what we’ve forged tonight. I sense she feels the same, though neither of us says it.

Our bodies settle into an easy sprawl, legs twined. Every so often, I smooth a hand over her hair, mindful of my size and strength. She stifles a yawn, exhaustion creeping in after so many tensions. I shift onto my back, letting her drape across my chest. My arms enfold her, horns resting back against the pillow. She dozes fitfully, stirring whenever I shift, but never leaving my embrace.

Eventually, the lantern sputters out, casting us into soft darkness. My eyes adjust, picking out the faint lines of her silhouette. Her breathing steadies. I sense her drifting into a deeper sleep. Carefully, I press my muzzle to her temple, inhaling the scent of her skin. Each bruise or scar stands testament to her resilience. Now I vow anew to keep her from harm—be it Senate plots or Thakur’s cruelty.

I let my eyes close, allowing the hush to cradle us. The Bastion’s lurking threats remain, but in this private bed, we share a fragile sanctuary. As I slip toward slumber, I cling to the idea that we’ve woven something real from forced bonds—a partnership no brand can overshadow. She’s no longer just a prisoner under my watch; she’s a fierce presence who challenges and stirs me like no one else. If that means crossing lines and braving Senate wrath, so be it.

She sighs in her sleep, half shifting closer. I hold her gently, horns angled so as not to intrude on her space. My final waking thought is that tomorrow, we’ll face whatever storms gather.But tonight, in the shelter of darkness, we found a solace that changes everything.

15

NAEVA

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