Caralee's bare feet made no sound as she crossed the stone floor, drawn to him by an invisible tether stronger than iron. She could feel his eyes devouring her with every step, each inch she closed between them causing the hunger in his gaze to darken, deepen.
When she came within reach, Merrick's hand shot out — swift and sure — grasping her wrist and tugging her forward. She stumbled lightly, falling into the cradle of his lap. His hands splayed over her hips, holding her there possessively, as if daring the very air to try and steal her away.
He said nothing. Words had no place here. Only need.
Merrick's mouth found hers again, but this kiss was nothing like before. Gone was the soft coaxing; this was a claiming. His lips crushed hers with feral intensity, his tongue delving past them to taste, to dominate. Caralee whimpered into his mouth, the sound swallowed greedily by him. Her hands, desperate for something to anchor her, gripped his shoulders, feeling the iron-hard muscle coiled beneath his fine shirt.
His hands roamed her body freely now, large palms gliding up her sides, thumbs brushing the sensitive swell of her breasts, fingers gripping tightly enough to bruise had she been mortal still. His touch was commanding, purposeful, mapping every inch of her newly awakened form as if branding her to him.
And she wanted it.
Merrick broke the kiss with a low growl and without preamble lifted her as easily as one might lift a feather. She gasped at the sudden movement, but it turned into a helpless cry when he tossed her onto the bed, her body bouncing lightly against the plush surface.
Before she could even think to rise, Merrick was over her — a looming, predatory shadow — and then he was on her, his body pressing hers into the mattress, caging her in. His hands seized her wrists and pinned them above her head with one hand, his other hand roaming possessively over her curves.
"You are mine," he growled into her ear, the deep vibration of his voice making her shudder from the inside out. "Say it."
Caralee's lips parted, but no sound came at first. She writhed beneath him, but not in protest — her body sought friction, craved the contact of his strength pressing into her softness. The fresh blood still singing through her veins made every sensation sharp, overwhelming. She needed him. Needed him like air.
"Yours," she finally whispered, her voice ragged with desire.
The answering snarl Merrick gave was one of pure satisfaction.
He wasted no more time. His free hand trailed lower, fingers exploring with rough reverence, skimming down her side, her waist, her hip. When his fingers dipped between her thighs, Caralee cried out, arching her back in response. He found her slick and ready, and his chuckle was low and dark against her throat.
"So eager," he murmured, nipping at the sensitive skin beneath her ear. "So perfect."
Caralee gasped as he withdrew his touch, only to feel the brush of fabric — his shirt — being yanked over his head and tossed aside. She caught only a fleeting glimpse of his bare chest, the lines of muscle chiseled and pale in the low light, before he returned to her, his mouth claiming hers once more in a brutal kiss that left her dizzy.
He released her wrists then, but only to position himself, gripping her hips with bruising force as he aligned himself at her entrance. He paused, the only sliver of mercy he would offer, his dark gaze locking with hers.
"This will not be gentle," he warned, voice guttural with restraint.
Caralee's heart—if it still beat—would have thundered. Instead, she nodded once, utterly unafraid. She wanted it. She wanted him, the rawness, the truth of it.
With a single, brutal thrust, Merrick buried himself inside her. Caralee cried out — not in pain, but in a fierce, exquisite pleasure that tore through her like a lightning strike. He filled her completely, stretching her to the brink of what she could bear, and yet her body welcomed him, clung to him.
He did not wait. He pulled back and drove into her again with merciless force, setting a punishing rhythm that stole the breath from her lungs and replaced it with desperate moans. She clutched at him, nails raking down his back, drawing blood — and he purred at the sensation, as if her very pain was a gift.
Their bodies moved together in a wild, frantic dance — the sound of flesh meeting flesh echoing against the stone walls, mingling with their ragged gasps, their feral sounds of need. Every thrust drove her higher, made the world fall away piece by piece until there was nothing left but the feel of him inside her, the primal pleasure he wrenched from her with every savage stroke.
Merrick gripped her thighs, yanking her closer, deeper. His mouth found her throat, fangs grazing her skin — not enough to pierce, but enough to tease, to remind her that he could. That he would, if he so chose.
And she would let him.
Caralee's head fell back, surrendering everything to him. His dominance, his strength, his brutal tenderness — she craved it, reveled in it.
Her body tightened around him, a scream building in her throat as the inevitable approached. Merrick must have felt it too, because his pace became frantic, desperate, as if chasing his own release through the inferno they had built together.
"Come for me, little one," he growled against her throat, his voice the final spark.
With a broken cry, Caralee shattered, her release crashing over her in violent, exquisite waves. Her body convulsed, trembling beneath him, around him, and Merrick let out a guttural roar as he followed her into oblivion, driving deep one final time and emptying himself inside her.
For a long moment, the world was nothing but the sound of their mingled breathing, the faint creak of the bed beneath their trembling bodies.
Slowly, Merrick lowered himself, resting his weight carefully against her, burying his face against her neck as if to shield himself from the enormity of what had just passed between them. Caralee's fingers threaded into his hair instinctively, holding him close, grounding them both.
Minutes passed, or maybe hours — neither one could tell, not that it mattered.
When Merrick finally pulled back to look at her, there was something raw and unguarded in his gaze. Something that made Caralee's heart — her soul — ache.
Merrick brushed a lock of hair from Caralee's damp forehead, his fingers lingering as if reluctant to lose even an inch of contact. His thumb traced her temple with reverence, a touch so gentle it stole her breath in a way no passion ever could. For a long, quiet moment, he simply gazed at her, as though committing every detail of her to memory — the flushed glow of her cheeks, the swollen fullness of her lips, the starry glint still shimmering faintly in her wide, silvered eyes.
Without a word, he shifted beside her, gathering her into his arms. Caralee did not resist. She burrowed closer, resting her head against his chest, where the steady, unnatural stillness of his body contrasted the storm of emotion that raged quietly within it.
His arms tightened around her, one slipping beneath her shoulders, the other wrapping firmly across the small of her back, molding her body perfectly against his. She fit against him like she had been made for no other purpose than to lie here — his, completely.
The bed's heavy quilts lay rumpled beneath them, forgotten, but Merrick reached out lazily, dragging one upward until it draped over their entwined forms, cocooning them in warmth and darkness.
Caralee listened to the silence between them, a silence that felt sacred. Her fingers trailed faint patterns over his bare chest, idly tracing the lines of muscle and the scar she found there — a mark of some ancient battle, a life he had lived long before she ever drew breath. A life she could not yet imagine, but would someday come to know.
Merrick's hand found her wandering fingers and stilled them gently, tangling his fingers with hers. He brought their joined hands to his lips, brushing a kiss across her knuckles — a kiss so soft, so heartbreakingly tender, it made her chest ache.
"You are a marvel," he whispered, his voice low and roughened with exhaustion and something far deeper. "You have no idea... what you mean to me."
Caralee closed her eyes against the sudden sting of emotion. No one had ever spoken to her that way. No one had ever held her this way — not as a possession, not as a prize, but as something precious. Something irreplaceable.
She swallowed hard, lifting their joined hands to press them against her own heart — or where her heart used to beat — as if to show him that she understood. That she felt it too.
The air grew heavier, thicker, and Caralee could feel sleep pulling at her, the luxurious, bone-deep exhaustion of a body thoroughly loved and thoroughly spent. Merrick shifted slightly, adjusting his hold, and she melted further into him, allowing herself to surrender entirely to his embrace.
His chin came to rest atop her head, and she felt the faint brush of his lips against her hair.
"Rest, little one," he murmured. "The night is ours... and the world can wait."
Safe. That was the word that drifted through her mind as she let her eyes fall shut. For all the fear he once stirred within her, for all the power he held over her, in this moment Caralee had never felt safer in her entire existence.
Enfolded in Merrick's arms, the worries of destiny, of duty, of dark futures waiting just beyond the horizon, faded into nothingness. There was only now — the steady, protective weight of his body, the faint scent of salt and stone, the sweet ache still blooming between her thighs.
"You are mine," he whispered again, but this time, the words held a reverence that made her chest tighten with something dangerously close to love.
Caralee smiled weakly, exhausted, sated, and utterly undone.
"Yours," she whispered back, and meant it with every fiber of her being.