He kissed her shoulder, his voice a low rumble against her skin. "Here's how the game works, darling." A kiss to her collarbone.
"You don't have to perform." A kiss to the soft curve of her breast.
"You don't have to impress me."
Another slow, lingering grind of his hips—She bit her lip hard, but he felt the jolt of heat that tore through her.
"All you have to do," he whispered, "is feel."
He dragged his mouth down her body, slow and deliberate, nipping lightly at her ribs. Her back arched instinctively, a real gasp slipping free—and the bond sang.
"Fuck," he muttered against her skin. "You're going to destroy me, aren't you?"
She made a breathless, confused sound, half laugh, half whimper. She was trying so hard to hold onto control. To stay composed. To stay trained.
Malvor grinned. Good. He loved a challenge.
He kissed lower, lower, mapping every inch of her with his mouth and hands. Sometimes soft. Sometimes sharp. Sometimes just the ghost of touch—barely there, just enough to make her writhe.
Every real reaction sparked through the bond like fire. Every fake one? Flat. Empty.
He ignored those. Punished them with neglect. Moving on, denying her until she couldn't help but give him something real.
When he finally slid his tongue along the inside of her thigh, teasing and slow, she bucked against him without thinking.
The pleasure that slammed through the bond made Malvor groan against her skin.
"That's it," he murmured. "That's you."
He didn't give her what she expected. Didn't rush. Didn't fill the empty spaces with easy pleasure.
Instead, he forced her to feel every touch, every kiss, every pulse of anticipation until she was trembling, until the bond between them was a live wire.
And when he finally—finally—put his mouth where she needed him most, she shattered so beautifully Malvor almost forgot to breathe.
Her climax hit like a thunderclap—raw, real, hers—and he rode the wave of it through the bond, every pulse and quake and desperate sob ripping through his own body like an echo.
By the time he crawled back up her body, she was wrecked. Panting. Wide-eyed.
And gloriously, beautifully real.
He cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb lightly across her swollen bottom lip.
"Game's not over yet," he whispered, kissing her forehead.
"Not even close."
She lay boneless beneath him, skin flushed, chest rising and falling in uneven gasps.
But beneath the haze of pleasure—Beneath the wrecked beauty of her—Malvor felt it.
Green.
New. Raw. Wild.
Untouched in all the ways that mattered. Not her body. Her soul.
A soul no one had ever bothered to learn. Only used. Trained. Expected.
The thought made something savage curl low in his gut.
Not rage. Not pity.
Possession.
Mine.
He kissed the corner of her mouth softly, savoring the faint tremble he felt through the bond.
She wasn't thinking now. Wasn't planning. Wasn't performing.
She was feeling.
And he wanted more. So much more.
Slowly, he brushed the back of his fingers along her throat, watching the goosebumps rise in his wake. The bond sparked at the touch—sharp and sweet and real.
"Look at you," he murmured, almost to himself.
She stirred—frowning, wary, the instincts drilled into her kicking up like smoke.
He saw it. Felt it.
The moment her mind started building walls again.
No.
Not today. Not with him.
He moved faster than she expected, flipping her easily onto her stomach. She gave a startled gasp—one hand flexing, almost defensive—but he caught her wrist and pinned it gently above her head.
"Shhh, love," he said, his voice velvet-wrapped iron. "Don't think. Just feel."
He pressed his body along her back—skin to skin, heat to heat—and kissed the nape of her neck.
The reaction was instant. She arched into him without thinking, a broken sound slipping from her lips.
There.
Another crack.
Malvor's mouth curved into a slow, wicked smile against her skin.
He kissed his way down her spine—slow, deliberate, claiming. His free hand mapped the planes of her body: the hollow of her back, the curve of her hip, the trembling inside of her thigh.
Every real reaction hit the bond like lightning. Every fake flicker? He ignored completely.
Annie whimpered, writhing under him. Half wanting more. Half terrified of how easily he was pulling her apart.
She was fighting herself.
Malvor leaned down, teeth grazing the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. Not biting. Just threatening.
And she broke.
A raw, desperate sob tore from her throat—shockingly soft, heartbreakingly real—and the bond detonated.
Pleasure. Fear. Need. Hope.
All tangled into a single wild surge that nearly knocked Malvor off his axis.
He swore under his breath, pulling back just enough to see her face.
Tears. Silent. Unwanted.
She hated herself for them. He could feel it.
But gods, she was beautiful. More beautiful than anything he had ever touched. More beautiful than anything he had ever wanted.
He brushed his knuckles down her cheek, achingly gentle.
"You don't have to be perfect," he whispered. "Not for me."
The bond thrummed—hot, dizzy, stunned.
She blinked up at him, confused, vulnerable, still trying to rebuild her armor from the inside out.
Malvor smiled—soft this time. Real.
And leaned down to kiss her. Not hungry. Not teasing. Just a kiss.
A simple promise: I see you. I'm not leaving.
When he pulled back, her walls were still broken. Cracked. Green.
New things growing through the wreckage.
Malvor settled beside her, drawing her back into his arms without asking. Without demanding. Just being there.
And for once, she let herself be held. No performance. No act.
Just her. Just him. Just them.
The bond purred between their bodies—sated for now, but restless beneath the surface.
And Malvor smiled against her hair, already planning how to make her fall apart again. Beautifully. Honestly. Completely.