He wraps me in his strong arms, nuzzling my neck and breathing in my scent.

He doesn’t ask for anything else.

But I want more. I want him.

And I’m tired of fighting it.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

HIS SKIN IS SCORCHING beneath my fingers as I trace gentle lines into his chest. Beneath my palm, his heart pounds in a strong, frenzied drumbeat. My fingers inch lower, over the defined ridges of his abdomen, nails raking through the thin trail of hair beckoning toward the waistband of his sleep trousers—

Long, graceful fingers curl around my wrist. Zev brings my hand to his face, pressing my palm against his stubbled jaw. “It’s all right,” he murmurs, longing threaded through every word. “You don’t have to.”

Tides, this man.

“Please,” I breathe, sliding my free hand over his heart. My lips find the corner of his mouth in a sweet, chaste kiss.

He doesn’t seemed convinced, but he also doesn’t stop me when I free my captive hand and trail it over his abdomen. Molten gray eyes watch my every move, but I don’t like the wariness in them.

The hesitation. The fear.

I’ve denied him for so long, he’s afraid.

Afraid to lose me. Afraid to push me too far.

His hands are clenched into tight fists, forearms corded with prominent veins—he wants to touch me, claim me, but he’s holding himself back.

Something primal flashes through his eyes, a desperate possessiveness, almost feral in its intensity.

He wants to keep me.

And I think I want him to.

But if he wants me aching, then I want him unrestrained.

I press a kiss over his heart.

I inch lower.

Another kiss on his abdomen.

Lower.

My fingers curl in the waistband of his sleep trousers, pressing a dainty kiss on the hard muscle below his navel.

He’s rigid beneath me, body shaking with restraint.

“Please, baby,” I croon softly, looking up at him through my lashes.

He blinks, and it breaks whatever spell he was under.

And then he’s on me.

Rough hands haul me up and toss me onto my back like I weigh nothing. A loud rip echoes through the room as he tears my nightgown in half. For several heartbeats, he just drinks me in, his eyes roving over my bared skin like he’s etching this moment into his mind. His pants are shucked off quickly, and then there’s nothing left between us.

My breath escapes in hot gasps, and he kisses me with a fevered desperation that steals the air from my lungs.

“Mine,” he whispers against my lips. “Lightning strike me, Mayah, you’re mine.” His lips capture mine again, and he ravishes my mouth as if I’m the only thing that will quench his thirst. He pulls back with a strangled groan, stormy gray eyes frenzied and wild. They pin me in place.

“Tell me you want this.” A desperate plea.

I nod frantically, hands clawing at his shoulders, trying to pull him back down. He looses a rough sound that sends heat coiling between my thighs. He gathers my wrists in his large hand and presses them above my head. “I need to hear you say it, baby.”

“I want this, Zev. Please.” I’m too far gone to care about pride, about politics, about anything else but him. “I want you.”

He stares at me, lips parted, chest heaving.

And then he’s kissing me again. I’d happily drown in his lips forever. He doesn’t pull away, keeps our mouths melded together as he notches himself against my entrance.

I tense, anticipation locking my muscles.

Zev pulls back, just a hair’s breadth, nudging my nose with his. “Breathe for me, baby.”

I obey, sucking in a deep breath. He braces himself on his forearms, hips inching forward—

A sharp knock sounds out on our bedroom door.

We both freeze.

“If we’re quiet, maybe they’ll leave,” I whisper, running my hands down his back.

“If they don’t, I’ll kill them,” Zev growls, nipping at my lower lip.

Rap. Rap. Rap.

“Your Majesty? Uh, Prince Zevayr, your father—”

“If you value your life, you will leave,” Zev snaps loudly, head swiveling toward the door. Our room darkens as storm clouds gather outside.

A beat.

“Sire, please, King Varad—”

“Leave. Now!” Zev roars, and a crack of thunder roars along with him.

I yelp at the sudden sound, and my husband whips around, running a gentle hand up my side, pressing a chaste kiss to my parted lips. “Sorry, baby.” His apologetic smile is open, boyish.

Muffled voices seep in through the door, then a different voice says, “Apologies, sire. The matter is urgent. Otherwise, we would never … impose.”

Zev growls, scrubbing a rough hand over his face. “Lightning damn them to the Skies and back,” he mutters. He leans closer, one large hand splayed possessively between my breasts. “Stay. Right. Here.” A kiss for every word. “I’ll be right back. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I breathe, disappointment blooming in my chest.

I watch unashamedly as he quickly dresses and walks to the door.

“Aren’t you going to wash your face at least?” I call after him, clutching the sheets to my bare chest.

His mouth curls into a wicked grin. He licks his lips. “No. I don’t think I will.”

I wait for nearly forty minutes before I can no longer ignore my body’s needs. Stretching out my languid limbs, I pad to the washroom to relieve myself.

Now that the haze of lust has dissipated, conflicting feelings churn in my gut—mostly guilt and frustration.

My eyes catch sight of my face in the large mirror above the sink—my cheeks are flushed, hair a tangled mess of dark waves. My blue eyes are bright. Electric. Swollen, rosy lips from Zev’s kisses. I press my fingers over them as if I might brand the memory into my skin.

I don’t regret what we did. Not at all. And if we hadn’t been interrupted, then we’d have—

With a deep sigh, I fill the tub with steaming water and a generous handful of bath salts before lowering myself in. Water laps at my skin in gentle ripples, soothing any lingering aches in my legs and back.

I soak for nearly fifteen minutes before the door opens in our chambers, followed by the familiar thud of Zev’s boots. His footsteps grow louder, and then the bathroom door swings open.

Stormy gray eyes ensnare me where I’m shoulder-deep in bubbles. There’s a petulant twist to his mouth, and my lips curve into a smile.

Then I take in the rest of him. He’s dressed for battle—dark leather pants, metal shield strapped to his chest, bracers covering his forearms. My brows knit together, and Zev sighs. His footsteps are measured as he stalks closer, kneeling on the tile behind me.

“My wife was not where I left her,” he murmurs, brushing my hair away from my neck. His lips are gentle as he presses a lingering kiss against my pulse.

“Your wife grew impatient.” A beat. “Where are you going?”

He doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he skims his nose along the column of my neck, inhaling deeply as if wanting to commit my scent to memory. A muscled arm comes to rest over my chest, the bathwater soaking his sleeve.

“The border. We suspect the Rebellion will launch another attack.”

My stomach plummets.

“When do you leave?”

“An hour ago,” he says grimly.

My breath catches, dread freezing my blood. “Zev—”

“I’ll be all right.” He cups my face gently, but tension roughens his voice. “I need to know that you’ll be.”

“I will,” I reassure softly. “How long will you be gone?”

“It’s hard to say. A week? Maybe more.” His stubbled chin rests on my shoulder, head propped against mine. “But I won't miss the Equinox Festival. Not when my wife has been tirelessly planning it.”