Eiravyne's breath hitched, her mind swirling with the intensity of the moment. "Huh?" she managed to ask, her voice barely more than a whisper.
"You can't deny me my place," Ilkar murmured, his lips brushing against the burn mark again, his voice dark and possessive. "This mark is mine.."
Eiravyne shivered, the weight of his words and the intensity of his touch sending a rush of conflicting emotions through her.
"But I..." she started, her voice faltering as his kisses continued to weaken her resolve.
"No," he interrupted, his grip tightening almost obsessively. "You chose this, Eira. You chose me. This burn, this mark on your body—it's mine. You can't pretend otherwise. You can't deny me what's already mine."
The strength in her legs was nearly gone, and Ilkar sensed she was about to fall.
