Alaric's mouth claimed mine with desperate hunger the moment we stumbled into the closet. His hands gripped my waist so tightly I knew there would be marks tomorrow—not that I cared. After hours of worrying, of imagining the worst, I needed the physical reminder that he was here, alive, with me.
"I missed you," I gasped between kisses, my fingers tangling in his hair.
He responded by pressing me against the closet door, his body hard against mine. "I couldn't stop thinking about you," he murmured, his lips trailing down my neck. "Even when I should have been focused elsewhere."
I shivered as his teeth grazed my collarbone. "That sounds dangerous."
"You have no idea," he growled, hiking up my nightgown with impatient hands. "I need you, Isabella. Now."
The urgency in his voice sent heat rushing through me. I fumbled with his trousers, my hands trembling with desire and lingering anxiety. Alaric was never this rushed, this desperate, unless something had truly shaken him.
