All she could taste was Griffin. He invaded her, surrounded her, and she knew, without a doubt, that she’d been waiting for this moment, to find this level of connection. With anyone. It wasn’t something she could force with Chimeran-taught brash words or bold actions, or by opening her legs for whomever she desired back in the valley. This is what her soul had needed, and it had been waiting for Griffin.

And here he was. Touching her, pulling her into him with such exquisite, nearly painful gentleness.

Slipping her hands between their bodies, her palms rested on his chest. There was something about the cool, smooth cotton stretched over him, that delicate divider between her fingers and his skin, that made a starburst of longing explode in her mind. The force of it pressed thought and rationalization into the deepest recesses. Filled her only with the awareness of him and the various places they were connected.

Lips.

Hips.

Hands.

Hearts.

They’d never shared this kind of innocent, covered, slow touch. Why did it drive her this crazy when she’d already seen him naked, when she knew firsthand what beauty was underneath?

Time had never been in their favor, but now it seemed like they had forever. The clock and all the minutes and seconds in the world belonged to them. She’d bundle them inside her and keep them always, every single one of them packed with memories of their mouths together, the wet press of their tongues, and the low sounds that echoed the movement of their bodies.

Beneath her palms his pecs tightened, and she lost control of the tenderness of her touch. Her fingers curled, her ragged nails digging into the cotton, searching for the skin underneath but only getting his heat. His hands gripped her tighter, sliding down from her waist to her hips to her ass. He hiked her body harder against him, and she could feel his restraint, the way he was holding back, too.

She wanted to stretch this out, wanted to know every single molecule of him. She wanted to learn everything her heart hadn’t already felt. There was so much of it, she realized. So much she’d never opened herself up to. Because she’d never wanted to with anyone but him.

The realization made her shiver, and her skin pebbled. Such an alien feeling.

Griffin released her, his lips gently pulling away, his hands leaving her hips to skim lightly up her arms, trailing more gooseflesh in their wake. He was watching the path of his hands, his head tilted. “Am I doing that?” he murmured in wonder.

Pressing herself against him, she opened her mouth on the hard column of his throat, loving the way he sagged under her tongue. “Yes,” she whispered into his hot, hot skin. “It’s you.”

The vulnerability of that admission scared her, but that fear turned out to be a potent aphrodisiac.

His big, graceful arms folded around her, and even though they were nearly the same height she felt enclosed and cherished, but also his equal. They merely held each other, her breath fanning warmly across the skin below his ear, his clutch on her intensifying with every second, a vise whose pressure was most welcome. Then his head drew back, her hands automatically sliding around his short, soft hair that felt so lovely in her fingers, and they were kissing again.

A pure sweep of lips and tongues. A trembling of bodies.

He pushed off the door, walking her backward. He led like a dancer, and her body followed without thought or stumbling, as though she’d anticipated his movements and already knew the steps. As though her desire had conjured them in her head moments before and he was reading her mind.

And then he did something entirely unexpected.

He bent down, wrapped one arm around the back of her knees, and picked her up. Cradled her.

The Keko who belonged to the Chimerans would have fought this instantly, this blatant overtaking. The Keko who’d been general, and before that the highest ranking warrior, would have squirmed and kicked out, maybe thrown the heel of one hand into his nose or an elbow into his throat. She would have swept out a leg to knock him to the ground. They’d tussle, and maybe she’d let him pin her eventually, let him take her on the tail end of the fake fight, just to let him know she could win . . . if she’d wanted the victory.

But the Keko who belonged to Griffin wanted none of that right now. She wanted to know how he would care for her, how he would tend to her on his own terms. She wanted to know what his control was like, what he desired from her. So she chose not to fight, and instead curled an arm around the back of his neck and stared into his eyes. Waiting. Issuing a challenge of the silent kind.

He walked her toward the bed and she tensed, waiting to be thrown over it, like she’d done to him their very first time together. Like he’d done to her on their second. The corners of his lips, gone all soft and swollen, ticked up, because he knew she was thinking of that. Expecting it. Instead, his strong legs bent and he sat her on top of the green tropical bedspread. The cool polyester felt strange and wonderful against her skin that burned under the gooseflesh.

A slow, soft hand passed over her shoulder to rest on her heaving breastbone. Just a shadow of the first time they’d touched, when she’d grabbed his hand and gave him no choice about how he was to touch her. Now the choice was all his, and her brain buzzed with this new kind of power—watching the way she affected him. And there was no mistaking it, because his hunger was sewn into his expression.

The concept of being wanted that much, and to witness it in person, was more than overwhelming. This wasn’t just sex, a conquest, a physical need. For her, it was a kind of birth, and it was both painful and beautiful.

He gave her a slight push. “Lie down,” he whispered.

Scooting back on the bed diagonally, she slowly let her body arch backward, watching his face the whole time—a searing focus that declared he’d found his goal and would go after it with everything he had.

She longed to ease the tortured expression that knitted his brow. With an arch of her spine, his lips parted and he came down to join her.

Crawling, his biceps bulging out of the sleeves of his T-shirt, he straddled her thighs, towering over her. Her hands rested by her head, and though she was dying to reach for his zipper, to yank it down and have what was inside, she told herself that knowing his mind and what he wanted at that moment was far, far more desirable. This would be a lesson for both of them.

His stare pinned her with an invisible strength. He sat on her legs, hands slowly rubbing up and down her thighs, then he reached forward. The tank top was a piece of crap and he had an easy time ripping it away from her body. Just shredded it down the center. Flipping back the halves, he stared down at her chest, his tongue making a slow sweep of his inner lower lip. With even less care, he swept his own T-shirt from his body.

There was something about being underneath a man she’d never truly appreciated before. Something about reducing such a warrior—because that’s what he was, as she learned to redefine the title—to the wordless staring, to the mindless desire circling in those eyes, that made her feel more powerful than the Queen.

Then he moved, shifting back, bending at the waist. Coming down over her.

Closing her eyes, listening to her own breath rattle in anticipation, she awaited the lick on a nipple, the stroke of the generous curve underneath, maybe a full-on grab, tight and needy. She wasn’t at all expecting the feel of his torso, all that hard muscle and skin that she’d touched through his shirt, slide up over hers. There was a different kind of sensation on her nipples as his chest and heavy body covered hers. And then a familiar sensation on her mouth as he kissed her.