Chapter 227

AMARA

The door clicked shut behind Alaric, and the second I saw his face, everything inside me unclenched.

He looked wrecked—eyes stormy, shoulders tight, jaw clenched like he’d been holding his breath for hours—but the moment his gaze landed on me, something shifted.

The hard lines of his face softened, and a slow, real smile broke across it, tired but so damn relieved it made my chest ache.

“I fucking missed you,” he rasped, voice gravel-rough from all the growling and shouting he’d probably done in that conference room.

Before I could answer, he crossed the room in two strides, hands cupping my face like I was something fragile and precious, thumbs brushing my cheekbones.

Then his mouth crashed into mine.

This kiss was nothing like the others we’d shared.

It was hungry. Greedy. Desperate.

Our teeth clacked together in the rush—once, twice, a messy collision that should’ve hurt but only made me moan into his mouth.

Our tongues met in a frantic, sloppy battle, neither of us willing to give an inch, both of us fighting to taste more, to claim more, to prove the other was still here, still safe, still ours.

I could taste the faint copper of blood on his tongue—he’d bitten his cheek again—and the salt of his sweat, and underneath it all, just him.

Pine and smoke and the wild, electric scent that was pure Alaric.

I grabbed the front of his shirt, yanking it up and over his head in one impatient pull.

The fabric hit the floor somewhere behind us.

He didn’t even pause—just cupped my face again, fingers tangling roughly in my hair, tilting my head exactly how he wanted it so he could deepen the kiss, devour me like he’d been starving for weeks instead of hours.

We stumbled blindly across the room—my back hit the edge of the dresser, then the wall, then the doorframe—neither of us caring about direction, only about staying connected.

When my spine finally slammed against the bedroom wall, the impact jarred through me hard enough to make me wince.

Alaric ripped his mouth away instantly, eyes wide with panic.

“Oh fuck—sorry—”

I didn’t let him finish.

I hooked both hands around the back of his neck and dragged him back down, crashing our lips together again before he could spiral.

“Shut up,” I mumbled against his mouth, half-laugh, half-moan.

“Don’t stop.”

He groaned—low, wrecked—and obeyed.

My hands slid down his bare chest, nails dragging lightly over the hard planes of muscle, feeling him shudder under my touch. I fumbled with his belt buckle, fingers clumsy and impatient.

“Easy,” he mumbled against my lips, voice thick and strained, like he was holding himself together by a thread.

His hands moved over mine—gentle but firm—taking control of the belt buckle I’d been fumbling with.

He tugged it free in one smooth pull, the metal clinking softly before the whole thing dropped to the hardwood with a quiet thud.

The second the belt was gone, I didn’t hesitate.

I jumped—legs wrapping around his waist, ankles locking at the small of his back.

He caught me without missing a beat, big hands sliding under my thighs to hold me up like I weighed nothing.

My fingers dove into his hair—thick, slightly damp from the day’s tension—and I tugged hard at the strands on the crown of his head, needing to feel him unravel just a little.

The throaty moan that tore from his throat vibrated against my mouth, low and primal, sending a shiver racing down my spine.

He kissed me harder for it—teeth grazing my bottom lip, tongue sweeping in deep and claiming—while his hips rocked forward in a slow, deliberate grind that made me gasp into his mouth.

“Fuck,” he breathed, the word half growl, half plea.

“You’re gonna kill me.”

I smiled against his lips, tugging his hair again just to hear that sound once more.

“Good,” I whispered back, voice shaky with want.

“Then we’ll both go down together.”

The hard length of him pressed hot and insistent against my center through the thin fabric still between us, sending a fresh wave of heat rushing through me.

Our mouths met again—messier now, teeth and tongue and desperation.

I bit his bottom lip just hard enough to make him growl, and he retaliated by sucking my tongue into his mouth, deep and filthy, until I was trembling against him.

When we finally broke apart—just enough to breathe—his forehead dropped to mine, both of us panting, chests heaving.

“Fuck,” he whispered, voice wrecked.

“I needed you. Needed this. Needed to feel you.”

“Then take it,” I breathed against his mouth.

“Take everything. I’m right here.”

He groaned—deeper this time—and walked us backward until the backs of my knees hit the edge of the desk.

He didn’t let go, didn’t lower me yet—just held me there, suspended in his arms, mouths fused, bodies pressed so close I could feel every frantic beat of his heart against mine.

When he finally eased me down onto the desk—never breaking the kiss, never letting even an inch of space form between us.

I arched up into him instinctively, chasing more contact, more heat, more of him.

We weren’t gentle.

We weren’t careful.

We were just desperate—two people who’d spent the day terrified of losing each other, finally crashing back together like the world might disappear if we didn’t hold on tight enough.

And right then?

Nothing else existed.

With one impatient sweep of his forearm he cleared the surface of the desk—lamp, sketchbook, pencils, the little ceramic dish I kept my rings in—everything went flying.

The lamp base hit the hardwood with a sharp, shattering crack that made me jump in his arms.

“Easy, baby,” he murmured against my ear, voice gravel-rough and amused.

“I’ll buy a new one.”

His hands slid up my thighs—slow, possessive—slipping under the hem of the oversized T-shirt I’d stolen from his drawer earlier.

He hooked his fingers under the shirt and dragged it up and over my head in one smooth motion, before it landed somewhere behind us.

Cool air hit me, then his gaze—hot, dark, devouring.

He froze for half a second when he realized I was completely bare underneath, nothing between us but skin and heat.

A low, guttural groan tore out of him.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath,

“You little devil,” he said, voice playful but thick with want.

He braced both hands on either side of the table, caging me in, muscles flexing under his skin as he leaned closer.

“Did you plan this?”

I looked down at myself—naked, flushed—then back up at him with a small, breathless smile.

“This?” I asked innocently, tilting my head.

“No.”

He rolled his eyes, lips swollen and glistening from our earlier kiss, smirk tugging at one corner.

“Liar.”

I laughed—soft, shaky—and reached down between us, fingers trembling as I started on the buttons of his jeans.

I fumbled the first button, then the second, impatient and clumsy.

He watched me the whole time—eyes hooded, breath coming faster—until I finally got the zipper down.

As soon as I tugged the jeans past his hips, he stepped out of them in one quick motion, kicking them aside without looking.

Then his hands were under my thighs again, lifting me off the nightstand like I was weightless. My legs automatically locked around his waist as he carried me the last few steps to the bed.

He laid me down gently—almost reverently—against the cool sheets, but the careful way he lowered me didn’t match the fire in his eyes.

He followed me down, bracing himself on his forearms so his weight didn’t crush me, but close enough that every inch of our skin touched.

His chest pressed to mine, hard planes and rapid heartbeat.

His hips settled between my thighs, the thick length of him hot and heavy against me through the thin barrier of his boxers.

He paused there—just breathing me in—nose brushing along my jaw, my neck, my collarbone like he was trying to memorize the scent of my skin after a day apart.

His hands roamed—slow, possessive—one sliding up my side to cup my breast, thumb circling the peak until I arched under him with a soft gasp.

The other tangled in my hair, tilting my head back so he could claim my mouth again.

This kiss was slower than the frantic ones before—deeper, hungrier, like he was pouring every second of worry and fear and need into it.

I kissed him back just as hard, fingers digging into his shoulders, nails leaving half-moon marks on his skin. When he finally pulled back—just enough to breathe—his forehead rested against mine, eyes molten gold.

My hands slid up the thick cords of his arms, over the broad expanse of his shoulders, until my fingers finally buried themselves in his hair.

I cradled the back of his head, pulling him closer as his mouth left a slow, burning trail down the side of my neck.

He lingered at my collarbone, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the delicate ridge, teeth grazing just enough to make me shiver.

The ache between my legs flared hotter—sharper—when he finally reached my chest.

His lips closed over one nipple, warm and wet, sucking gently at first, then harder, teeth scraping the sensitive peak in a way that sent lightning straight to my core.

My toes curled against the sheets. He pinched the other between his thumb and forefinger—firm, deliberate—rolling it just shy of pain until I arched off the mattress with a broken moan.

He switched sides without warning, lavishing the neglected breast with the same ruthless attention: tongue swirling, teeth tugging, lips pulling until I was trembling beneath him, every nerve singing.

When he finally released me, I was panting—chest heaving, skin flushed and sensitive.

His eyes—dark, molten gold—locked on mine for one searing second before his mouth started its descent again.

He dragged his lips down the center of my stomach, teeth nipping lightly at the soft skin just above my hip, making me twitch.

His hands slid under my hips.

He lifted me effortlessly, sliding a pillow beneath me in one smooth motion. My lower body tilted up, thighs falling open, completely exposed to him.

Cool air kissed the wet heat between my legs, and I felt myself clench in anticipation.

His breath ghosted over my inner thighs—hot, teasing—as he settled between them.

He hooked my knees over his wide shoulders, the coarse hair on his chest brushing the backs of my thighs.

Then he looked up at me again—eyes locked on mine, pupils blown wide—and pressed one slow, deliberate kiss right against my center.

I gasped.

His tongue followed—flat and warm—dragging through my folds in one long, languid stroke that made my hips jerk. He groaned against me, the vibration humming straight through my clit.

Then he focused there—lips closing around the swollen bud, sucking gently at first, then harder, tongue flicking in tight, relentless circles.

My back bowed off the bed.

My hands flew to the sheets, twisting the fabric into tight fists as pleasure coiled low and tight in my belly.

He didn’t let up—sucking, licking, teasing—until I was shaking, thighs trembling around his head, breath coming in short, desperate pants.

Right when the pressure built to the breaking point—when I was sure I was going to shatter—he pulled back.

I whimpered at the loss.

His thumb replaced his mouth—broad, calloused pad circling my clit in slow, firm strokes while he watched my face with dark, hungry eyes.

“Does that feel good, baby?” he murmured, voice wrecked and low, lips shiny with me.

“Tell me.”

I could barely form words.

“Yes,” I gasped, hips rocking shamelessly against his hand.

“God—yes—don’t stop—”

When he suddenly stilled.

Completely motionless.

My eyes flew open.

“Alaric—?”

“Not yet,” he whispered again, lips brushing mine.

“Beg for it.”