Chapter 23: The night before the claim

The eastern tower roof belonged to us that night, no guards, no king, no prophecy breathing down our necks. Just the two of us, thick furs spread beneath the open sky, and the moon hanging so low and full it felt like it could reach down and touch us.

I lay on my back, the gray cloak fanned out around my shoulders like spilled moonlight. Genesis hovered above me, braced on his forearms so his weight never crushed me, though I wanted it to. His breath was warm against my throat, his eyes molten silver in the dark, drinking me in like I was the only thing worth seeing in all the worlds.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of my ear.

“Not from cold,” I whispered.

He smiled, slow, predatory, tender, and lowered his head to kiss the pulse at the base of my neck. The same spot he would mark later. The same spot he’d already claimed in every way that mattered without even touching me.

I arched under him, fingers sliding into his hair, tugging just hard enough to pull that low growl from his chest. The sound vibrated through me, liquid heat pooling low in my belly.

“Genesis…” His name came out half plea, half command.

He answered by sliding one large hand down my side, tracing the curve of my waist, the flare of my hip, memorizing me through the thin wool of my dress. When his palm reached my thigh he pushed the fabric up, slowly, deliberately, until cool night air kissed bare skin.

I gasped.

He paused, eyes searching mine. “Tell me to stop and I will. Always.”

“Don’t you dare,” I breathed.

That was all the permission he needed.

He kissed me then, deep, devouring, tongue stroking mine in a rhythm that promised everything he was about to do to the rest of my body. One hand stayed tangled in my hair, angling my head so he could taste me deeper. The other slipped beneath the dress, callused fingers finding the soft skin of my inner thigh and stroking upward until I was trembling, hips lifting toward his touch.

When he finally cupped me through the thin cotton of my underwear, I moaned into his mouth, loud, shameless. He swallowed the sound like it was sacred.

“So wet already,” he rasped against my lips, voice wrecked. “All for me.”

“Always for you,” I managed.

He rewarded me by sliding the fabric aside and stroking me bare, slow circles over the most sensitive part until my thighs shook and my nails dug into his shoulders.

“Genesis, please—”

He kissed me again, harder, while his fingers slipped lower, teasing my entrance before pushing inside. One finger. Then two. Curling. Stroking. Finding that spot that made my back bow off the furs and a broken cry tear from my throat.

He watched my face the whole time, eyes fierce, reverent, like he was memorizing every flutter of my lashes, every hitch in my breath.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he whispered. “Coming apart for me. Trusting me.”

I clenched around his fingers, hips rocking shamelessly. “I trust you with everything.”

He groaned, deep, animal, and lowered his head to my breast, sucking the peak through the wool until the fabric was damp and clinging. When he finally tugged the neckline down and took me bare into his mouth, teeth grazing, tongue soothing, I shattered.

The orgasm hit hard and fast, ripping through me like wildfire. I cried his name, sharp, desperate, nails scoring his back, thighs clamping around his wrist as wave after wave rolled through me.

He didn’t stop until I was limp and trembling, little aftershocks still fluttering around his fingers.

Only then did he ease them out, bringing them to his mouth and licking them clean while I watched, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, utterly wrecked.

“Your taste,” he growled, “is going to ruin me for anything else.”

I reached for him, shaky hands tugging at his tunic. “Your turn.”

He helped me strip him, slow at first, then frantic. Tunic. Trousers. Until he was bare above me, broad, scarred, beautiful, every inch of him hard and ready.

I wrapped my fingers around him, hot, velvet steel—and stroked once, twice, until he hissed and caught my wrist.

“Careful,” he warned, voice gravel. “I want to be inside you when I come. Not your hand.”

“Then come here.”

He settled between my thighs, careful, reverent, nudging at my entrance.

“Look at me,” he said.

I did.

He pushed inside, slow, inch by inch, stretching me, filling me until we both groaned at the perfection of it.

When he was seated fully, hips flush to mine, he stilled, forehead pressed to mine, breathing ragged.

“Feel me,” he whispered. “All of me. Yours.”

I clenched around him, deliberately, and he cursed under his breath.

Then he began to move.

Slow at first, long, deep rolls of his hips that dragged against every sensitive place inside me. Then faster. Harder. The slap of skin on skin mingling with our gasps, our moans, the soft creak of the tower stones beneath the furs.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, nails raking down his back.

“Harder,” I begged.

He gave it to me, snapping his hips, driving into me with a force that should have been too much but was exactly right.

The bond flared, bright, golden, letting me feel every pulse of his pleasure, every desperate beat of his heart, every time he thought mine, mine, mine.

I shattered again, clenching around him so tightly he lost rhythm, hips stuttering.

“Penny—” His voice broke on my name.

“Come with me,” I gasped.

He buried his face in my neck, right over the claiming mark, and thrust once, twice, then buried himself to the hilt with a guttural groan. Heat flooded me as he came, deep, pulsing, endless, his whole body shaking with the force of it.

We stayed locked together for long minutes, sweat-slick, trembling, breathing each other in.

When he finally eased out and rolled to the side, he pulled me against his chest, wrapping both arms around me like he could shield me from the dawn that would come too soon.

“I love you,” he whispered into my hair. “No matter what happens tomorrow.”

I pressed a kiss over his heart. “I love you too. And tomorrow… we face it together.”

The moon watched us, silent, approving, as we held each other under the open sky.

One last night.

One last claiming.

One last promise before the world tried to tear us apart again.