“Where did you learn this?” I asked, my nostrils flaring, chest heaving.

Her eyes flashed up to me knowingly. “Books, Karath,” she teased.

Books.

I nearly groaned. Books could only take her so far. This was instinct, and on Muron, she was made for it. Made for me.

I grunted when she stole my breath again, taking me deep, seemingly trying to learn how far she could fit me between her lips. Her thumb pressed to my dakke—teasing and stroking, emulating the hot lash of her tongue.

I’d meant for this act to balance our power over the other. She’d taken from me, and I would take from her. Selfishly, I’d ached for her to pleasure me, to give while I received. I wanted to be the one in control of this moment.

Only…I had the maddening feeling that it might be just the opposite. Especially when I saw her other hand move between her thighs, when I heard the wet slick of her arousal and her soft, desperate moan rumble down the length of my cock.

And I didn’t mind it one bit.

I’d thought the desire I’d felt for her in Lishara’s temple would be the worst I’d ever felt. That clawing, desperate need had been unimaginable. I’d thought that the severity of it—the overwhelming, pressing need to claim her as my own, to sink my body into hers until I lost myself completely—had been heartstone-magic induced.

But I’d only felt it rise, even stronger than before. This desire was all our own. Lishara had no part in this. It was only us, deep in this mountain forest.

I felt my sac tighten, and I rumbled out a rough groan. Selfishly, I continued to pump between her lips, catching her surprised sound. Once, twice I thrust into her before I pulled out suddenly, hearing her ragged breaths.

I joined her down on the forest floor, pushing her back as she spread her legs for me. I needed her right now. I wanted to feel the tight sheath of her sex around me. Only then could I feel grounded again, fucking sane again.

Her cry filled the air when I surged into her. She was so wet, so hot, she fluttered and squeezed around my cock. I leaned down, biting and nibbling before sucking on one nipple hard. My hands found hers, taking them in my own, intertwining our fingers and bringing them over her head. She felt exposed and vulnerable this way—like I could do whatever I wanted to her—lighting my blood on fire.

“Sarkin,” she gasped out. Raising my head, I met her eyes. Her cheeks were flushed pink, her eyes glassy with her pleasure and need. She was tightening on me.

“Mmm, getting even wetter for me, my Sorrina,” I purred, surging my hips into her harder, going as deep as I could until she felt my dakke pressed to her clit. She cried out, her back arching, her fingers squeezing my own.

It had been too long since we’d last made love. We hadn’t since we’d left the mountain village. Mere days of going without felt like months with her.

“Kiss me,” she pleaded. “Make me come.”

I lowered my head, giving her her kiss. She sighed contentedly into my mouth, which she knew drove me wild. Her taste was sublime, her tongue soft. The longer we kissed…the more gentle it became. The pace of my hips slowed, instead focusing on deep strokes that stole both of our breath, every retreat making me shiver.

Our fucking suddenly became less about power, about fear, about the high of adrenaline and the sharp vulnerability I’d felt watching her jump off that ledge without me close to be able to protect her. It became less about punishment and more about…reconnection.

These last few days, I’d missed her. I’d missed this. There was an unexpected eroticism in that connection, one that felt like a startling discovery.

When we both orgasmed, it was a breathless wave of steady pleasure—deeply, deeply satisfying. With it was a release of all the events that had happened during the illa’rosh. It allowed us to piece ourselves back together, reinforcing the rips and tears.

When it was over, I collapsed onto her, making sure to keep half my weight pressed to the ground. I buried my head into her neck, feeling her shudder and her sex pulse around my cock, drawing out the last of my orgasm. Our hearts were rapid with no sign of slowing. Her hands dislodged from my grip and came to the back of my head. Her fingers raked through my hair, and she cupped her palm over the back of my skull, holding me to her as if afraid I’d pull away.

It did work, I thought. All the anger had left my body with my release. I felt boneless, the panic of the morning making me tired.

My rider cuff, still on her wrist, brushed the back of my head. Against her neck, I murmured, “You’ve fucked the fight out of me, my love.”

Her hand in my hair stilled.

“So,” I murmured, groaning as I pulled away, propping my hands on either side of her head so I could look down at her, “I want you to tell me what you were thinking. I’m listening now.”

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Chapter 41KLARA

I got dressed as Sarkin watched me, leaning against a nearby boulder next to a thick tree as big as a thalara trunk. He hadn’t taken off a single stitch of clothing during our lovemaking, the erotic thrill of that surprising as I smoothed my nightdress in place and shoved my feet back into my boots.

My body was humming with life from the memory of his touch.

But he was upset with me and he was demanding his explanation. Our lovemaking had perhaps softened his ire, but it wasn’t gone completely. I thought he might even be hurt by what I’d done. Which, yes, was understandable. I’d stolen his cuff and his dragon…all to claim an Elthika he’d asked me explicitly not to choose.

At my wrist, I unlatched the rider’s cuff and approached my husband. I reached for his wrist, sliding it over and replacing it where it belonged. I fastened the latch tight and then intertwined our fingers.

I brought our hands up and brushed my lips back and forth over his knuckles, thinking how best to explain. He watched me all the while, a dark curling lock of hair dipping low over his multicolored eyes.

“I won’t be a source of shame for you,” I finally said.

His brows furrowed. “What?”

“What your father did…” I began, sighing, “even though his heart was in the right place, his actions haunted you and followed you for so many years. You were challenged relentlessly. Even before I knew about what happened with your father and Tyzar…I know how important it was for the horde to accept me as one of their own. I was already an outsider—a Dakkari from across the sea. But to be an outsider who couldn’t claim an Elthika? To the Sarrothian, that was unacceptable.”

“And I told you,” Sarkin growled, “I didn’t care what they thought. I gave you the choice to claim an Elthika or not. Me. Not them. If you didn’t want to go through with the illa’rosh, I would’ve brought you back down myself that morning without a second thought.”

“It was more than that though, Sarkin,” I breathed, getting frustrated because he wasn’t understanding what I was trying to say.

“Then tell me.”

“I needed to prove to myself that I was worthy to claim an Elthika of my own!” I exclaimed, feeling my throat tighten. “I needed to prove it to myself and to you. That I was worthy to stand by your side in the eyes of your horde.”

His jaw tightened, his eyes flashing. He looked like he wanted to argue, but I brushed my other hand across his lips to silence whatever it was he was about to say.

“Ever since my mother died, I’ve felt like an outsider. Long before I ever came to Karak. I know what it feels like to be dismissed. Overlooked. I know what it feels like to be whispered about, for others to judge your worth before you ever even speak to them,” I said, thinking about all the years living in my father’s palace. Dannik had tried to shield me, but he’d only been able to do so much. “Then I came here, and I was on trial all over again in the eyes of your people. I will not live my life here feeling as I always have. I will not be ignored. I will not be made to feel small. And so, I would have been back at the Tharken cliffs, year after year, if that was what it took to prove myself. I needed to believe that. I needed you to believe that too. Your horde is your everything, Sarkin. I couldn’t disappoint you because it would’ve been a disappointment to myself.”