He pushed inside.
He lowered his mouth to hers again, swallowing her gasp as he rocked his hips, the hard length of him sliding through her wetness, a frustrating, exquisite tease that made them both groan.
"Look at me," he demanded softly, and her dark eyes, glazed with pleasure, fluttered open to meet his. He held her gaze as he reached between them, his fingers wrapping around himself. The sensation of that , tentative contact so intense it was almost painful. He pressed forward, just an inch, a slow, deliberate invasion that made her eyes widen and her nails dig into his shoulders.
A single, shocked breath caught in her throat. He stopped, holding himself there, buried in that first impossible inch of heat and tightness. Gods. He was lost. He was home.
Her lips parted, her voice a ragged, wanting thing. "Don't stop…"
But he did. He stilled completely, his entire body trembling with the effort. A low groan rumbled in his chest. This was too fast. Too much. The feel of her was a revelation, a silken, scorching heaven that threatened to unravel every shred of his control. He wanted to bury himself to the hilt in one savage thrust, to lose himself in her completely. But the awed, slightly fragile look in her dark eyes held him captive. This was not a conquest. It was a communion.
He withdrew slowly, the sensation agonizingly exquisite for them both. Elara whimpered at the loss, her hips lifting off the bed to follow him.
"Shhh," he soothed, his voice gravel-rough. He kissed her, a deep, claiming kiss that tasted of her own desire. "I have you."
In one fluid, powerful motion, he rolled them both. The world tilted for Elara, a gasp of surprise stolen by his mouth still on hers. When she opened her eyes, she was straddling his hips, the silken sheets bunched beneath her knees. He lay beneath her, a feast of rugged masculinity, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his gaze dark and intense as it roamed over her. The candlelight gilded the sheen of sweat on his skin, tracing the hard planes of his stomach.
Her own heart was a wild drum against her ribs. She could feel him, hard and insistent, pressed against her core. The new position, this sudden shift of power, sent a fresh, dizzying wave of arousal through her. She was exposed, gloriously so, and the raw hunger in his eyes made her feel not vulnerable, but worshipped.
"I want to see you," he rasped, his hands finding her hips, his thumbs stroking circles on her skin. "I want to watch you take your pleasure."
A blush heated her chest, creeping up her neck. Her instinct was to shy away, to hide from such an intense, visual demand. But the possessive warmth of his hands grounded her. This was Kael. Her husband. Hers.
Tentatively, she shifted her weight, a small, experimental rock of her hips. The friction was electric, a sharp jolt of pleasure that made them both catch their breath. His eyes fluttered closed for a second, a muscle ticking in his jaw. Gods, she was going to undo him.
Emboldened, she did it again, settling more fully against him, grinding down in a slow, circular motion that made her head fall back. A moan escaped her, long and low. Her hands came to rest on his chest, feeling the thunderous beat of his heart beneath her palms. She moved, finding a rhythm that was entirely her own, a lazy, sensual undulation that built the heat between them from a smolder into a blaze.
He watched, utterly transfixed. The sight of her above him, her body glowing in the dim light, her breasts swaying with her movements, her face a mask of rapturous concentration—it was the most erotic thing he had ever witnessed. His hands slid from her hips to her waist, gripping her, not to guide her, but simply to feel the motion, to feel the muscles in her stomach clench with each delicious roll of her body.
"That's it," he encouraged, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Just like that. You feel … incredible."
Her movements became less tentative, more urgent. The coil of tension deep within her, which had loosened under his mouth, was winding tight again, hotter and sharper than before. She was chasing it, riding him with a growing desperation, her breaths coming in short, sharp pants. Her fingers dug into the hard muscle of his pectorals, her nails scraping lightly.
"Kael… I…" Her words dissolved into a cry as a particularly deep grind sent a shockwave of sensation through her.
He could feel her beginning to tense around him, could see the pleasure tightening her features. He sat up abruptly, wrapping his arms around her and crushing her to his chest. The change in angle was profound, stealing the breath from her lungs. He buried his face in the curve of her neck, inhaling the scent of jasmine and their shared passion.
"Come for me, Lyria," he growled against her skin, his voice fierce with wanting. His hands slid down her back, cupping her, holding her firmly against him as he began to move, a subtle, powerful thrust upward that met every one of her downward strokes. "Let go. I've got you."
The world narrowed to the frantic meeting of their bodies, the slick, hot friction, the sound of their ragged breathing. The pressure built to a breaking point, a brilliant, blinding peak that she could no longer resist. With a sharp, broken cry of his name, she shattered.
Her climax crashed over her, wave after wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure that shook her to her core. She convulsed around him, her inner muscles fluttering wildly, her entire body seizing as she clung to him, her face buried in his shoulder.
He held her through it, murmuring her name, a litany of praise and possession against her skin as she trembled and gasped through the aftershocks. Slowly, gently, he laid her back down on the bed, her body boneless and spent. She looked up at him, her eyes dazed, her lips swollen from his kisses.
He leaned over her, bracing himself on his arms, his own need a desperate, painful throb. The sight of her, utterly shattered and completely his, shattered the last of his control. The tenderness of before was consumed by a darker, more primal hunger.
"Again," he demanded, his voice a low, guttural promise that vibrated through her.
With a firm hand on her hip, he guided her onto her side, then gently urged her over onto her stomach. Confused, she complied, the soft silk of the sheets cool against her feverish skin. He moved behind her, his large, warm hands smoothing over the curve of her back, down to her hips.
"On your knees," he whispered, his voice thick with an intent that made her breath hitch.
Her heart hammered against her ribs. This was new. This was… primal. She pushed herself up, the muscles in her arms trembling, and settled onto her hands and knees. The position left her feeling exposed in an entirely new way, a flush of embarrassment and wild excitement warring within her. She felt the bed dip behind her, felt the overwhelming heat of his body covering hers. He leaned over her, his chest pressed against her back, his lips finding her ear.
"Is this alright?" The question was a ragged breath, a thread of sanity in the storm of his need.
She could only nod, her voice gone, lost in a sea of anticipation.
One of his hands splayed across her stomach, holding her steady, while the other guided himself to her entrance. The sensation of that first touch, from this angle, was so much more intense. She gasped, her fingers clutching the sheets.
He pressed forward.
This time, there was no slow, hesitant inch. The new angle allowed him to go deeper immediately, a single, smooth, impossibly deep thrust that filled her completely, stretching her, claiming her in a way that made her see stars. A sharp, startled cry was torn from her lips, not of pain, but of pure, shocking fullness.
He stilled, buried to the hilt, both of them panting, immobilized by the sheer intensity of the connection. He dropped his forehead between her shoulder blades, his breath hot on her skin.
"Lyria…" Her name was a prayer, a curse, a promise of everything that was to come. His hands tightened on her hips, his grip firm, possessive. Primal.
And then he began to move.
It was not the slow, tender exploration from before. This was a claiming. A deep, driving rhythm that stole the air from her lungs and the thoughts from her head. Each powerful thrust was a revelation, a penetration so complete she felt him in the very core of her being. Mine, the rhythm seemed to say. Mine. Mine. Mine.
A deep, guttural groan was torn from his chest, a sound of pure, unadulterated strain and pleasure. The new angle was everything. He could see every inch of her back as it arched, watch the muscles in her shoulders tense and release, feel the way her entire body yielded to his, yet pushed back against him with a strength of its own. Gods, she was perfect.
Her own cries were muffled by the silken sheets she gripped, a litany of shattered breaths and his name, whispered, then gasped, then screamed as he found a pace that was utterly ruthless. He leaned over her, his chest a hot, solid wall against her back, his lips finding the sensitive skin of her shoulder. He bit down, not hard enough to hurt, but with enough pressure to make her jolt, a sharp, bright spark of pleasure-pain that melted into the overwhelming sensations rocketing through her.
"You take me so well," he rasped into her ear, his breath hot and ragged. "So deep. I can feel all of you." His hand slid from her hip, around to the front, his fingers seeking and finding the swollen, sensitive nub of her pleasure. He pressed down, circling it in time with his relentless thrusts.
The dual assault was too much. It was everything. Elara's world narrowed to the brutal, perfect rhythm of his body joining with hers and the exquisite pressure of his clever fingers. Her second climax gathered force with terrifying speed, a storm breaking inside her with no warning. She felt her inner muscles begin to clench and spasm around him, a fluttering, desperate grip that milked his length.
"Kael! I'm—I can't—"
"Let go." The command was feral, a growl vibrated against her spine. "Now. Come for me again."
It was the only permission she needed. Her vision whited out. A raw, broken scream was ripped from her throat as the orgasm detonated, shattering her into a million pieces. She convulsed around him, her body buckling as wave after wave of pure, undiluted ecstasy crashed over her, so intense it bordered on agony.
The sensation of her climax, so violent and all-consuming, was his undoing. He held her hips locked in that iron grip, his own control snapping. With a final, savage thrust that buried him to the hilt, he stilled. A roar, raw and elemental, erupted from him as his own release tore through him. He poured himself into her, a hot, pulsing rush that seemed to go on forever, each spasm wracking his powerful frame, his forehead pressed hard between her shoulder blades as he shuddered against her.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged, broken breathing and the flicker of the candle. The air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat and roses. The tension that had gripped his body slowly bled away, leaving a heavy, sated warmth in its wake. He collapsed over her, his weight a comforting, anchoring pressure, and gently guided them both down onto their sides, never breaking their connection.
He held her like that, spooned against him, his arms wrapped tightly around her, his face buried in her hair. His heart hammered against her back, a wild, frantic echo of her own. She could feel the tremors still coursing through him, the occasional aftershock of his pleasure. His lips found her shoulder again, not with teeth this time, but with a soft, lingering kiss.
They lay in the silent, dim room, tangled together, utterly spent. The only movement was the slow, steadying rise and fall of their chests. The world outside, with its duties and frustrations, had ceased to exist. There was only this. This peace. This profound, humbling connection.