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So I breathe.
I let the words hang between us like a rope bridge.
I will fight him if I must. I will bargain. I will test the truth of his promises.
But under all that armor, a tiny part of me—dangerous, ridiculous, stubborn—wants to know what it might feel like to be chosen for more than my usefulness.
What if he took me simply because he wants me?
Chapter 6
Kael
The Lordof Water’s Bedchamber—Casteltide
“What doesTelyamean?” she repeats.
Her question lingers in the air—but all I can think about is the heat of her body so close to mine.
Citrus and soft skin, the faintest hint of arousal already sparking in the air like ozone before a storm.
My cock throbs against the confines of my trousers, demanding, relentless.
I should explain, but words feel small compared to what I want.
“Telya literally means pull of the tide,” I manage, my voice rough, low. “But between lovers it’s more likeyou’re my tide.”
Her lips part. “But we—we aren’t lovers.”
The denial is breathless, shaky, threaded with something she doesn’t recognize yet—want.
I grin, stepping into her space, and cup her cheeks with both hands.
Her skin is warm, fragile against my palms, and the second her body brushes mine I feel it—the surrender she hasn’t named yet, the give in her muscles, the instinct to let me hold her.
A sharp, primal victory burns in my chest. It makes me want to throw my head back and howl at the sea like a wild thing.
Instead, I take her mouth.
Claim it.
Her breath catches, but she doesn’t pull away. I lick into her, tasting her sweetness, drawing out the quiet moan she tries to smother.
The sound drives me mad. My cock jerks against the seam of my trousers, desperate for relief, and I rock against the air, grinding for a fraction of friction.
Her hands fist in my tunic, tugging, holding.
She doesn’t even realize she’s clinging to me.
Perfect little surrender.
Perfect storm.
“Kael,” she whispers against my lips, and my name has never sounded like that before.
Plea and permission in one breath.
I slip one hand down, over the lush curve of her waist, her hip, until my fingers find the hem of the soft gown she wears.
