The air between them grew heavy, the fire crackling behind them as their breaths mingled, anticipation tightening its hold on them both.
Alaric released her breasts, leaving a cool emptiness in their wake that made Salviana shiver slightly.
His hands moved to cradle her neck, steadying her head as his intense gaze held hers captive. Slowly, he leaned in, pressing his lips to hers.
Salviana held her breath as his soft lips moved over hers, tentative yet deliberate.
They matched hers in texture, gentle and unhurried, savoring each moment. Her hands instinctively gripped his muscular arms as he deepened the kiss.
This kiss was different from the one outside. It wasn't forceful or commanding. Instead, it was tender, persuasive, filled with patience and purpose.
When his tongue brushed against her lips, she opened for him, allowing him to explore. His tongue ventured into her mouth, claiming every corner, tasting her as though memorizing her essence.
He groaned lowly, pulling her closer, his chest pressing against hers as if trying to meld them together.
She gasped when she felt his hard arousal pressing against her front. The sound only spurred him on, intensifying the kiss.
One of his hands trailed down to her back, firm and grounding, drawing her even closer.
Alaric needed her warmth, her presence, the reassurance of her being here, in his arms and safe.
Salviana broke the kiss to catch her breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
Alaric, unwilling to let the connection fade, pressed a kiss to her chin, then licked a trail along her jaw before returning to her lips.
"Alaric," she murmured softly, her voice a mix of disbelief and longing.
"Yes, my fiery wife?" he replied, his voice a husky whisper against her lips.
She had no words to offer; she only wanted to say his name, to hear him reply.
Her fingers brushed her own lips, still tingling from his kiss, while his hands roamed her back, sides, and neck.
Each touch was reverent, almost worshipful, as though he wanted to commit every inch of her skin to memory.
"Come," he commanded gently, taking her wrist in his large hand and leading her to the bed.
"Climb on," he whispered, his voice softer now, yet filled with unmistakable desire.
Salviana avoided his gaze, her cheeks flushed with both embarrassment and anticipation, as she began to crawl onto the bed.
Her movements were tentative but graceful, her body curving as she shifted, and Alaric's heart thundered at the sight of her.
The way her hips arched and her back dipped stirred something primal within him.
She settled onto the bed, propping herself on her elbows as she turned to face him.
Alaric followed her, climbing onto the mattress with slow, deliberate movements, the towel still clinging loosely around his waist.
Reaching her, he leaned down to press a soft kiss to her reddened nose, making her blink in surprise.
His lips curved into a faint smirk as he pushed her shoulders back, silently guiding her to lie flat.
She obeyed, her back meeting the soft mattress. Her breaths came faster, anxiety mingling with anticipation as she realized what was happening—or about to happen.
Alaric leaned down, kissing her lips once more, each press of his mouth leaving her breathless and yearning.
His kisses trailed lower, brushing over her chin, her neck, and then lower still, his lips ghosting over the delicate line of her collarbone.
He lingered at her chest, placing tender kisses there before continuing his descent, his lips mapping her stomach and igniting a fire beneath her skin.
When he reached her hips, his hands gripped her waist firmly, steadying her as her body writhed under his touch.
Salviana's breaths grew shallow, her arousal thick in the air between them.
Alaric inhaled deeply, savoring the intoxicating scent that only made his need for her more urgent.
He looked up at her through the dark strands of his hair that had fallen over his face, his gaze locking with hers.
Her lips were parted, her chest rising and falling rapidly, and her green eyes shimmered with eagerness and hunger.
She was ready for him. Desperate for him.
And Alaric, staring up at her, knew he would give her everything she craved—and more.
Alaric parted her legs slowly, his hands firm yet careful as though handling something fragile.
Salviana tensed beneath him, her body rigid with anticipation as he settled himself between her thighs.
Her breath hitched when her most intimate place was revealed, the delicate ginger hairs framing her core catching his attention.
Alaric stilled, blinking as though mesmerized. He had never done this before, but the hunger that clawed at him was undeniable. He had starved for this—for her.
"Do you wish to know what will happen if I drink from between your thighs?" he asked, his voice a low growl, rough with restrained desire.
Her breath came in short gasps. "I might die?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
He shook his head, the soft strands of his hair brushing against her inner thighs, sending tingles through her. She instinctively tried to close her legs, but his strong hands held her in place.
"No, fiery wife," he murmured, his voice dark and rich like velvet. "It is I who will die without a taste."
His words sent a shudder rippling through her, her body reacting to the weight of his declaration.
"There's hair," she mumbled, embarrassment coloring her cheeks a deeper red. "I didn't… I didn't prepare."
"This," he said, his voice thick with reverence, "is all you, Salviana. And I want all of you. Every part, just as you are."
He gently spread her wider, his movements deliberate, almost worshipful.
Then, with a deep breath, he lowered himself, pressing his lips softly to her inner thigh before trailing upwards.
His breath warmed her sensitive skin, and when his tongue finally made contact, dragging a long, deliberate path up her slit, Salviana spasmed in shock.
Alaric groaned, the sound primal and guttural, vibrating against her as he gripped her thighs tightly.
His tongue moved again, swiping from the bottom to the top of her honeypot with unhurried precision, savoring her like the rarest delicacy.
Her back arched off the bed, her hands gripping the sheets as a flood of unfamiliar sensations overwhelmed her. It was foreign, startling, and so intensely good that it left her trembling.
Her mind raced as heat spread through her veins, tangled with both pleasure and a faint unease.
What was happening to her?
How could something so unfamiliar feel this addictive?