Page 37 of Feral Gods
Her pulse quickens beneath my fingers, but not with fear. "What if I don't want you to stop?"
The last thread of my control snaps. I bend, closing the distance between us, capturing her lips with mine in a kiss that begins as conquest but transforms instantly into communion. She tastes of bergona tea and something uniquelyher—sweet and complex and utterly intoxicating.
For a heartbeat, she freezes, and I fear I've misunderstood, overstepped, ruined everything. Then she melts against me, her small hands coming up to press against my chest, not pushing away but anchoring herself as she returns the kiss with unexpected fervor.
A growl of approval rumbles through me as I deepen the kiss, careful despite my growing passion not to overwhelm or harm her. My free arm encircles her waist, drawing her closer, supporting her as she rises on tiptoes to better reach me.
When we finally part, her breathing comes quick and shallow, her lips pleasingly swollen from my attention. Her eyes, when they open, hold no fear—only wonder and a hunger that matches my own.
"I have wanted to do that," I confess, my voice rougher than intended, "since the moment you stood up to me during the attack."
A small laugh escapes her, not mocking but delighted. "That's what attracted you? Me challenging your authority?"
"You standing in your power," I correct, stroking my thumb along the delicate skin beneath her ear. "Claiming your voice after years of enforced silence."
Her expression softens, vulnerability and strength intertwining in ways I find endlessly fascinating. "I never thought I'd find freedom in a sanctuary guarded by predators."
"Is that how you see us? As predators?"
"Sometimes," she admits with disarming honesty. "You are dangerous, Ravik. All of you. But danger isn't always something to fear."
Her insight strikes deeper than she could know. We are dangerous—I most of all, perhaps. My possessive nature, my territorial instincts, my capacity for violence all pose risks to someone as physically vulnerable as Kaia. Yet she stands before me without fear, offering trust I have done little to earn.
"I would never harm you," I vow, the promise burning like neptherium fire in my blood. "Never."
"I know." She rises again, initiating the kiss this time, her hands sliding up to my shoulders with tentative exploration.
The sensation of her touch—gentle, curious, accepting—ignites something molten within me. I deepen the kiss, carefully guiding her backward until she meets the stone table at the chamber's center. With minimal effort, I lift her onto its edge, positioning myself between her thighs without breaking our connection.
The new angle allows me to trail kisses down her neck, pausing to pay particular attention to the sensitive junction where neck meets shoulder. Her quick intake of breath and the subtle arch of her spine tell me I've found a place of pleasure.
"Tell me to stop," I murmur against her skin, even as my hands span her waist, feeling the delicate structure of her ribs beneath thin fabric. "If this is too much, too soon..."
"Don't stop," she whispers, fingers threading through my hair, carefully navigating around the base of my horns. "Please."
The entreaty shatters what remains of my restraint. I claim her mouth again, more demanding this time, tasting her soft gasp of surprise and pleasure. My hands wander with greater purpose, learning the contours of her body through the simple garment she wears.
When my palm cups the gentle swell of her breast, she moans into our kiss, the sound sending a jolt of pure desire straight to my core. I circle her nipple with my thumb, feeling it harden beneath the fabric, drawing another delicious sound from her throat.
"So responsive," I murmur appreciatively, trailing kisses along her jaw. "So perfect."
Her hands grow bolder, exploring the planes of my chest, tracing the runic patterns etched into my obsidian skin. When her fingers follow a particularly sensitive line from sternum to abdomen, I growl with pleasure, the sound seemingly startling us both with its primal nature.
"Does that hurt?" she asks, concern momentarily overshadowing desire.
I capture her exploring hand, pressing it more firmly against my chest. "No. It pleases me. Greatly."
Relief and renewed desire flash across her expressive features. "Show me how to please you more."
The innocent request, delivered with such genuine curiosity, nearly undoes me completely. I take her hand, guiding it lower, letting her feel the hard evidence of my desire for her. Her eyes widen slightly, but she doesn't withdraw.
"This is what you do to me," I admit, voice rough with need. "What you have done since you first challenged me."
A becoming flush spreads across her cheeks, but her gaze remains steady. "I want to see you. All of you."
The request—bold and unexpected—sends a fresh surge of desire through me. I step back slightly, allowing her the view she requested. My body differs from a dark elf's in many ways—larger, more imposing, skin like polished obsidian rather than merely gray. But in essential configuration, I remain male in all the ways that matter for what we contemplate.
Her gaze travels over me with undisguised appreciation, lingering on the etched runes across my chest, the powerful muscles of my arms and thighs, and finally, the unmistakable evidence of my arousal.
