He did so, drew the curtains. They weren’t blackout curtains, would allow in sunlight in the morning, but at night, they shut out the world, cloaking the room in privacy. Turning after that was done, he found Zaira had moved toward him.
A soft kiss before she placed her hands on his chest and stroked down, the lamplight setting her ring afire. That he’d never seen her without the ring since the day he gave it to her was another unexpected and wonderful gift.
“Take this off.”
Skin tight, he undid the top three buttons of his shirt, then reached back and tugged it over his head to drop it on the handwoven rug that covered the wooden floor. Zaira touched him again, the contact making him suck in a breath. It was always a delicious shock, the contact, like lightning through his veins. “Zaira.”
Lashes lowered, she ran her fingers over his pectorals. “I like touching you skin to skin,” she murmured, her breath kissing his chest. “I can feel your life, your strength, your need.” Her lashes rose. “The tension in your muscles, it’s for me.”
“Yes.” He cupped the side of her neck, his fingers curving partly around her nape and his thumb brushing her jaw. “You are my addiction.”
• • •
ZAIRA felt her pulse kick.
Leaning in, she pressed her lips to his skin, just because she wanted to do it. His hand curved farther around her nape, the hold nothing she would’ve permitted any other individual. It left her too vulnerable, but she knew that right then, he was vulnerable, too—his body was taut, his muscles bunched, and when she tasted him with her tongue, a tremor shook his frame.
That felt good, too. To know that her touch gave him pleasure.
Bending his head, he pulled her hair away from the side of her face to kiss her temple, her cheek. The heat and strength of him surrounded her, the slick strands of his hair brushing her skin. Sinking into the sensation, she turned and lifted her face toward him. And their lips were touching; the contact somehow reached into her stomach, made it flutter, stealing the fear that had the rage curled up into a tight ball of worry.
Her hands stroked up to his shoulders of their own accord, her body rising on tiptoe to better fit herself against him. Continuing to hold her with his hand around her nape, his other hand spread on her lower back, he angled his head, and their kiss grew deeper. But he broke it too soon. “What’s wrong?” Eyes of deepest brown looking into hers. “I can feel your muscles about to snap.”
Nails digging into his shoulders, she swallowed. “I’m afraid.”
“Of this?” He brushed his thumb over her cheekbone, and she knew if she answered in the affirmative, he wouldn’t berate her, wouldn’t blame her, wouldn’t reject her.
And in that reminder, she found her courage. “I got you a gift.” Bending her neck slightly, she undid the clasp of the fine gold necklace she wore. It was long, had dipped between her breasts. Removing it, she pulled off the ring she’d slipped onto the chain. “This is for you,” she said, not quite daring to look up. Possessive and feral she might be where he was concerned, but he also meant too much to her for this not to matter.
Taking the simple platinum band, Aden curled his arm around her shoulders. “Are you asking me to marry you?” he said and she heard the delight in his tone.
It made her look up, and his smile had every part of her ready to dance. “Yes,” she whispered and kissed him. Will you marry all of me?
Aden went to answer when Zaira dropped her shields. It felt as if his mind and hers had been stretched to their limit and suddenly, the tension broke. Everything collided in a wild ricochet, his mind smashing into hers, hers into his, both of them totally out of control.
He saw the broken, jagged shards of her, saw the incandescent and stubborn fire that had never stopped burning, saw her endless, fierce love for him. He was her hope and her dream and her passion, and the knowledge brought him to his knees. She fell with him, her eyes silver mirrors when he looked at her.
“You love me that much?” she whispered, tears rolling down her face.
No answer was needed, his heart and soul bare to her, as bare as hers was to him. They just held on to one another as the storm crashed. When it finally began to subside, their minds separating but for a single link he knew no force on this earth could sever, they were both breathing hard.
As he watched, Zaira’s eyes became her own and she met him on the PsyNet, the two of them looking in astonished wonder at the jet-black rope that tied them to one another, the twin strands both Arrow black. But hidden in the black was a brilliant fire that only became apparent if you stepped close.
“Thank you,” he whispered back in the room in the desert, his voice raw. “Thank you for giving me you.”
More tears before she threw her arms around his neck and held on tight. “You love me,” she whispered again. “All of me.” Drawing back, she kissed him again, and the intimacy was a punch of intoxication, the bond feeding him her pleasure as well as his. He had the feeling he could shut that off, but he didn’t want to, wanted to drown in her.
He’d intended to give her romance tonight, too, but the bond pulsed with a visceral need he had to assuage. Realizing he was still gripping the ring, he pushed it into her hand. “Put it on me.” He was hers in every way that mattered—the ceremony would be for others, for their friends and those in their care. This was for them.
Kissing his jaw, his throat, she looked down and, picking up his hand, slid on the ring. “All mine.”