Page 85 of Hand-Fasting and Other Hazards
“This is so new,” Nia whispered, her breath mingling with his. “So different from anything I’ve ever known. It scares me.”
Their lips met again, the air between them thickening.
“I’m frightened too,” Lochlan admitted, his forehead resting against hers. “That you’ll open your eyes and realize I’m not meant for you, or your world, or…”
“I would never. I just…” Nia shook her head, her voice steady despite the maelstrom inside her. “I don’t know how to leave space for someone else. But I want you to take up that space. I need you. And I need you to be patient. I need…” Her voice broke, and she kissed him roughly. “So much.”
The thought scared her. She’d spent so long shying away from forever. And yet, as he looked at her now, she couldn’t help but think that maybe… he was forever.
Before her thoughts could spiral further, she moaned low in her throat, chasing him—chasing distraction. At that moment, she didn’t want to think. She just wanted him.
Lochlan’s hands tightened around her hips, his control fraying at the edges. “Keep needing me like that, and I’ll become desperate.”
“Don’t hold back,” she murmured, her eyes locking with his. “I want to see every part of you—the messy, beautiful, desperate parts, too.”
A groan rumbled from deep in his chest, and he kissed her again, this time with none of the restraint he’d shown earlier. His honey-colored eyes met hers, holding them with a reverence that left her breathless.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said, his voice quiet but firm.
“Don’t stop,” she said, the certainty in her voice surprising even herself. “Please.”
Lochlan stood, his frame towering in the dim, golden light of the bedroom. Shadows danced along his body, emphasizing the quiet power he carried in his broad shoulders and the heavy lines of his chest, rough and real.
He pulled his shirt over his head, the fabric sliding free to reveal the expanse of his torso. She mirrored him, peeling off her own shirt, her gaze fixed on him, hunger rising with each inch of revealed skin.
He unfastened his pants, pushing them down slowly. The anticipation made her pulse quicken. As they pooled at his ankles, he stood before her in just his boxers, the tension of his arousal straining against the fabric.
She sat up on the bed, her eyes drinking in the breadth of his body, but as her gaze drifted lower, the breath caught in her throat. Faint silver scars peppered his thighs, becoming denser as they reached his calves, until they stopped abruptly near his ankles.
A pang of sorrow and understanding struck her—these were the remnants from the fire that had threatened to destroy the greenhouse he loved.
She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his stomach, then trailing kisses down to his thigh, her mouth lingering over one of the silvery marks above his knee. The touch drew a low, guttural groan from him, and when she glanced up, his eyes blazed with something raw and unguarded.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, his voice rough, almost desperate.
“Like what?”
“Like nothing else matters.”
Her lips curled into a mischievous smirk as she stood, catching his mouth with hers in a heated kiss. Then she pressed her hands to his chest, guiding him back until he hit the bed.
“Nothing else matters,” she murmured, her voice rich with promise.
His breath hitched as her shadows slid across his stomach, gripping the waistband of his boxers and tearing them apart with an audible rip.
“Repayment from earlier,” she teased with a sly grin.
He chuckled, the sound low and dark, but stopped as she took off the rest of her clothes, her movements unhurried. She crawled up his body, her lips marking a path over his skin, every kiss a declaration.
When she straddled his lap, her hands explored his chest, her nails grazing along the firmness of his stomach. She let a single finger trace his length, her touch featherlight but enough to make him twitch and groan beneath her.
This was dangerous—the way his reactions made her feel. He had said he needed a distraction earlier, and now she understood completely. Nothing else existed outside of this, outside of them.
A flicker of nerves crept in, but she pushed through it. “I went to the healer for contraceptive magic last month. And I’ve been checked for illnesses—I’m clean.”
“I was tested in college,” he said, his voice low and husky. “And I haven’t been with anyone since.”
She shouldn’t like that as much as she did, but it sent a thrill racing through her.
