Chapter 41 Where We Learn to Breathe 2
Chapter 41 Where We Learn to Breathe 2
Nyra
Malakai’s hands settle under my thighs, lifting me just enough to guide me down onto him. I sink slowly, taking him inch by inch, the stretch delicious and familiar. When he’s buried to the hilt, we pause—foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air, savoring the perfect way we fit.
Then I begin to move.
Slow, rolling circles of my hips at first, rising and falling in a rhythm that draws a low groan from deep in his chest. Water splashes gently around us with every glide. His head tips back against the edge of the tub, throat exposed, eyes half-lidded as he watches me take my pleasure on him. I brace my palms on his shoulders and ride him harder, faster, chasing the heat building low in my belly.
His fingers tighten on my hips, guiding but never controlling. “Nyra,” he rasps, voice rough with awe. “You’re perfect.”
The praise undoes me.
I grind down hard, clit rubbing against him on every thrust, and pleasure coils sharp and bright. Malakai meets me stroke for stroke now, hips rising to drive deeper, water spilling over the sides of the tub in careless waves. The sounds we make—wet skin, breathless moans, the splash of water—fill the quiet room.
I’m close—so close—when he suddenly grips my waist and lifts me. Water streams from our bodies as he steps out of the bath and carries me, still impaled on him, to the bed. He lays me down on the cool sheets and settles over me, sliding back inside in one smooth, possessive thrust that steals my breath.
Our rhythm turns urgent. His mouth finds mine again, kissing me filthy and deep as he drives into me—hard, steady strokes that hit every sensitive place inside. My legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his back, urging him deeper. I rake my nails down his shoulders, over the faint scar of my own mark on his neck, and he growls my name against my lips.
The coil snaps.
I come with a sharp cry, body arching off the bed, inner walls pulsing around him in long, milking waves. Malakai follows moments later—thrusting deep one final time, hips jerking as he spills inside me with a low, ragged groan. I feel every hot pulse, every throb, as he fills me completely.
When the tremors ease, he doesn’t pull away. He stays buried deep, arms braced on either side of me, forehead resting against mine. Our breaths mingle, slowing together.
Eventually he rolls us so I’m draped across his chest, his cock softening slowly inside me. His fingers trace lazy patterns along my spine, over the curve of my hip.
“This,” I whisper against his skin, echoing my earlier words, “will always be enough.”
He presses a kiss to my temple. “More than enough,” he murmurs. “Everything.”
The bond glows warm and steady between us—quiet, content, complete.
Just us. Just this.
Always.