Shards of Hope(186)

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.”

“Always have been.”

Zaira rubbed her nose against his, and the spontaneous act of affection tipped him over. Shoving up the skirt of her dress as desire burned, he kissed her hard. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her tongue licking against his. Groaning, he reached between them and somehow managed to undo his jeans, shove down the denim and his briefs. It took a little more effort to kick them off, but he was highly motivated.

Naked at last, he nudged aside the gusset of her panties. A single stroke of his finger through her wetness and her back arched, the sensations that came shooting back at him through the bond threatening to make his eyes roll back in his head. Then she bit him on the jaw and it was all over.

He thrust into her wet heat in a single, demanding push.

Clenching around him as their mouths tangled, Zaira moved with him, the rug bunching up under her body. Some small part of him realized she’d be bruised from being on the bottom, so he flipped them over, but they stayed locked together, his right hand holding the back of her neck and his left gripping her hip as they rocked together.

Her own hands were all over him, petting and clawing and owning.

When her body stiffened on his, her pleasure went straight to his blood, a drug punched into his system. He could no more stop the orgasm than he could let her go.





Chapter 81




ZAIRA WOKE NAKED in bed under the diffuse sunlight that filtered in through the curtains. Her ears and other senses told her it wasn’t long after dawn, the village yet waking. The man who slept with his leg thrown across her thighs and his arm curved below her breasts, however, wasn’t awake. Turning only her head so as not to disturb him, she watched him sleep.

His hair had fallen across his face, his features relaxed, and she suddenly realized how young he truly was. Twenty-nine a bare three weeks ago. Less than a quarter of the normal life span of a hundred and thirty. And yet he’d been a leader since as long as she could remember. He’d been that when he was a mere boy unlocking her manacles.

All his life, he had been forced to be older than his years, to make decisions that should’ve been made by those who’d lived far longer. All Arrows were forced to grow up fast, but Aden, he’d been born into a pressure cooker that had never let up. She’d seen how his parents treated him—not as a son, but as a soldier in their war.