The bond between them still thrummed, low and steady, wrapping around them like a living thing. The sheets were still twisted around their legs, their bodies still slick with the aftermath of shared pleasure—wrecked, open, undone.
But Malvor wasn't thinking about the physical. Not anymore.
He was thinking about her.
Feeling her. Shaping her. Pulling her closer.
The bond wasn't idle—it was a tether, a current he was weaving tighter between them with every steady breath.
Her breath. Her heartbeat. The way her body tensed and softened as her mind tried to return from wherever he had wrecked her.
He didn't wait. He didn't leave her adrift.
He reached for her—not with hands, but with the bond itself.
A soft, golden pulse just beneath his skin—warm, insistent, inevitable. Drawing her deeper. Drawing her into him. Into something new.
Something she had never been allowed to want before.
And gods help them both—he wasn't going to let her go.
It was addictive. It was dangerous.
And it was his new favorite thing.
Annie shifted beside him, tucking herself into his side with a soft sigh. It wasn't conscious. It wasn't trained.
It was real.
Malvor smiled lazily up at the ceiling, his fingers drifting along her spine in absent patterns. He let the bond stretch between them, exploring it like a new toy.
He brushed his fingers lower, across the curve of her hip.
A tiny ripple of pleasure—hers, sharp and startled—flashed through the bond.
He went still. Grinned wider.
Well, well, well, he thought. What do we have here?
Another slow stroke of his hand—lighter this time, tracing the outside of her thigh. Another ripple. Another jolt, like an echo in his own blood.
It wasn't just touch. It wasn't just sensation.
It was her reaction.
And for the first time, Malvor realized—He could feel what was real.
Not what she'd been taught. Not what she thought he wanted. Only what she actually felt, pure and raw and impossible to fake.
He turned his head slightly, catching the curve of her cheek with his gaze. She looked so peaceful. So unaware.
It would be so easy to poke at this. To pull her apart thread by thread. To find her beneath all the armor.
He grinned—a slow, wicked thing—and let his hand drift higher. Across her ribs. Light. Teasing. Testing.
The bond sparked again—another flicker of sensation. Stronger this time. More surprised. More vulnerable.
He chuckled under his breath.
"You're terrible at hiding from me now," he murmured.
She stirred, blinking sleepily up at him. "Hiding what?"
He only smiled, dragging his fingertips up her side again—there—and watched her whole body flinch in a way she clearly hadn't meant.
The bond practically sang with it.
He caught her chin between his fingers, tilting her face up to meet his eyes.
"No more pretending, darling," he said, voice low and silken. "I can feel you now."
She narrowed her eyes, still half-lost in sleep. "You've always been able to feel me."
"Not like this."
He kissed the corner of her mouth, feather-light.
"Not every gasp you try to swallow." Another kiss, just beneath her jaw.
"Not every shiver you try to hide." Another kiss, slower, dragging heat along her throat.
"And not every time," he whispered, "you want to beg me to touch you just a little bit more, but you're too proud to say it."
Her breath caught. The bond flared—raw, electric.
Malvor laughed softly against her skin.
"Oh yes," he murmured. "I think we're going to have so much fun with this."
He rolled her onto her back with a playful growl, looming over her. Her hair fanned out across the pillow, her lips parted in surprise. Beautiful.
"Game on," he purred.
And before she could think, before she could build her walls back up—He dove back in.
Slow. Teasing. Methodical.
Learning her reactions like he was studying scripture—And writing his name across her soul.
Malvor settled over her like a shadow, braced on his elbows, letting just enough weight press her into the mattress. Not enough to trap. Just enough to remind her she wasn't escaping.
Her breath hitched, and the bond between them flickered, sparking against his skin.
He smiled—lazy, wicked—and traced the line of her throat with a single finger. Slow. Teasing.
She squirmed under him, still blinking sleep from her eyes. Still trying to pretend she had a say in how this would go.
Adorable.
"You're thinking too much," he murmured. He trailed that finger lower, along her collarbone, feather-light.
The bond hummed at the touch—pleasure, confusion, defiance all tangled together. Messy. Beautiful.
"Stop that," she muttered, trying to glare at him.
He laughed—a soft, delighted sound—and pressed a kiss to the center of her chest. "I haven't even started yet, darling."
She opened her mouth—probably to argue—He slid his hands up her sides, thumbs brushing the edges of her ribs—And her words dissolved into a soft gasp she tried (and failed) to swallow.
Malvor's smile sharpened.
"There," he purred. "That's what I want."
She glared harder. "Want what?"
He tilted his head, studying her like she was the most fascinating puzzle he'd ever been given. "You," he said simply. "The real you."
He rocked his hips against hers, just a little grind of friction—enough to make her eyes flutter closed for half a second.
Pleasure. Desire. Frustration. It all bled through the bond, sharp and immediate.
Gods, it was addictive. Every little flicker, every shift in her body, every unguarded sound—he felt it. Like tasting lightning.