Alaric pressed soft kisses to her shoulder, her jaw, then finally her lips—slow, unhurried, savoring her like a man in no rush to let go.
"You drive me insane," he whispered, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze.
That wasn't the first time she had heard those words. Ronan used to whisper them too, but back then they had always felt hollow, meant only to justify the way he took his pleasure from her. With Alaric, it was different. His words unsettled her, not because they were crude, but because they carried a weight that made her heart stir.
She didn't know why it felt so strange to be praised by him, or why his shameless dirty murmurs made her blush instead of recoil. Something coiled tightly inside her, warmth blooming in her chest and heat rushing to her cheeks.
Alaric reached out, brushing stray strands of hair from her face, his eyes softer than she had ever seen. "And yet," he whispered, his voice low but steady, "every time I look at you, I want you again."
