Chapter 118: Marking Every Inch

Zoriana could not hold back her tears, the salt stinging the small cuts on her cheeks.

“Doll, it is not so easy to kill me. Stop weeping like I am dying,” he joked, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated in the quiet room. He brushed her tears away, his calloused fingertips grazing her skin with a sandpaper heat that made her shiver.

“I was so afraid to lose you. That we would be too late…” she sobbed, the sound muffled against the stiff, over-bleached fabric of his hospital gown.

“Thanks to you, my savior, I am alive and well,” Tristan said, pulling her into a warm embrace. She breathed him in—underneath the sharp, biting scent of antiseptic and rubbing alcohol, there was still the underlying musk of rain and cedar that was uniquely his.

“I need to call a doctor,” Zoriana whispered against his neck, but Tristan did not lose his grip. He pulled her closer, the friction of his chest hair against her cheek sparking a different kind of urgency.

“I am perfectly fine. Actually, your touch is healing me more than any doctor ever could. I need more of this magic medicine,” he teased, planting a soft kiss on her nose.

She giggled and looked into his eyes, and at that moment, the air shifted. The heavy, ozonic scent of an approaching storm seemed to fill the small room. His gaze darkened with lust and his mouth crushed against hers—not gently, but strong and demanding, tasting of faint mint and the metallic tang of adrenaline. He squeezed her breast, his grip rough and possessive through the thin lace.

“Tristan!” Zoriana warned, the word catching in her throat as liquid heat coiled in her lower belly. “We are in the hospital.”

In one swift motion, he shifted. The bedsprings groaned a protest as she was pinned underneath him.

“I do not care,” he vibrated against her skin, the damp heat of his breath sent jolts of electricity down her spine as he sucked her neck. “In that courtroom, you finally made your choice. You chose me, and now I will show you what it means to be mine.”

Zoriana did not stop him. Her body was a fever, desperate for the weight of him. He peeled off her clothes, the hiss of fabric sliding over skin the only sound in the room. He covered her in kisses, his lips searingly hot against her cool skin, marking every inch.

She didn't even process how she was already in only a lace thong, the delicate threads digging slightly into her hips as a shirtless Tristan devoured her. She arched her back, a throaty moan escaping her as he took her nipple into his mouth—the sharp sting of his teeth followed by the soothing swirl of his tongue.

“Tristan, I need you…” she pleaded, her hands mapping the hard, ridges of his scarred back.

“You are so impatient, moya zira,” he groaned, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. He spread her legs, the cool air hitting her damp skin for only a second before his mouth replaced it. When he licked her, the slick, rhythmic sound of his tongue against her folds made her eyes roll back.

Zoriana had only been intimate with Ryder, but Tristan was a different beast. His tongue was flickering, plunging, and relentless. The pleasure was unbearable—a tightening coil that threatened to snap. She tried to move, her fingers bunching the damp sheets, but he locked her hips with a grip of iron. She saw stars, her muscles going boneless and heavy as she experienced a shattering orgasm.

As she reached her peak, the world narrowed to the sound of her own ragged gasps, and Tristan licked away every last drop, the roughness of his tongue a final, delicious torture.

“The sweetest thing I’ve ever had,” he said, his voice a dark honeyed swirl. He undid his pants and leaned down, kissing her forehead. "I really want you, but only if you’re ready. How are you feeling?"

She smiled, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. “I've been waiting for this. Don't hold back.”

She claimed his lips, biting his bottom lip until she tasted the faint salt of him. As he thrust inside slowly, she felt the stretching fullness, a delicious ache that forced a long, low whine from her throat. He moved slowly at first, the rhythmic slide of skin on the skin creating a hypnotic heat.

Zoriana rolled her hips, the slap of their bodies together echoing in the sterile wing. She shifted him, taking the lead. She laughed, straddling him and pinning his hands above his head against the cold metal of the headboard.

“Now you are mine. Don’t move.” She purred, moving faster. She gripped the headboard, the vibration of the moving bed matching the frantic beat of her heart.

Through her hooded eyes, she saw Tristan’s eyes go pitch black. “You have no idea how beautiful you look right now,” he groaned, his fingernails leaving faint crescents in the tops of her thighs.

She was drenched, lost in a symphony of wet sounds, heavy breathing, and the scent of raw, primal need. Tristan gripped her harder, his muscles taunt and trembling beneath her.

Both of them saw the world disappearing into white light. They screamed each other's names, the sound tearing through the quiet hospital corridor as they reached their release. Zoriana fell onto his chest, the pounding of his heart loud against her ear as she panted for air.

“I love you,” he whispered, his lips grazing the sensitive shell of her ear.

The words came out naturally, a soft breath of air: “I love you too.”

Thoughtfully, Roman and Fairuza, hearing the faint, rhythmic thudding and muffled cries from afar, closed off the hospital wing.

Tristan and Zoriana could not get enough. They were two starving souls finally at a feast, their sweaty bodies tangled in the ruined sheets, oblivious to the fact that the world was already moving to pull them apart.