Gods, he will give this woman anything and everything. It is all hers. The thought does not scare him. If anything, it urges him to finally break down the last of her barriers.
She makes the most wonderful noise. Not that he needed more encouragement. But that is encouragement.
Malvor drinks in every sound she makes, every single one, like they are his new favorite thing. He commits them to memory, hoards them like a dragon hoards gold, because gods above and below, he has never wanted to give so much in his entire immortal existence.
Her fingers drag down his chest, over the shifting tattoos that ripple with his rising heat, and he shudders.
A rare, genuine shudder that has nothing to do with magic and everything to do with her. Annie. His Annie.
He needs more. More.
His hands roam over her, mapping out every inch of soft, warm skin, rediscovering her like he has not already traced every one of these runes, has not already touched the history carved into her body. But this, this, is different.
This is real.
His mouth follows where his hands go, tracing those delicate, swirling runes on her ribs, the ones that belong to him. His mark on her, whether he meant it to be or not. He presses his lips there, lets them linger, savoring the way she gasps, the way her breath catches, the way her body responds to him.
"Annie," he murmurs against her skin, reverent. Worshipful.
She says his name like the divinity he is. Her own form of worship.
His restraint is hanging by a very thin thread.
She snaps the last of it with a whispered, "I want you, Malvor."
Malvor stills, his breath uneven, his body wound tight as if she had just spoken the most dangerous words in existence. Because maybe she had.
He lifts his head from where his lips had been tracing the runes on her ribs, searching her face.
There is no hesitation in her eyes. No second guessing. Just the simple, undeniable truth of what she said.
She wants him.
Gods, if she only knew what that did to him.
His hand slides to her cheek, his thumb brushing over her soft skin as he drinks in the sight of her. Annie, warm and waiting beneath him, looking at him like he is something real. Not a god, not a trickster, not a legend, just Malvor.
He leans in, slow, deliberate, his lips ghosting over hers.
"Say it again. Please."
Her fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, her voice a soft whisper between them.
"I want you, Malvor."
His control shatters.
His lips crash against hers, urgent and unrestrained. He drinks her in, deepening the kiss, pouring everything he feels into it. Every touch, every movement, every unspoken word between them is a declaration.
He will give her everything. Every moment, every whispered name, every slow-burning, devastating second of this.
Because this is not just want.
This is something more. So much more.
Malvor's grin sharpens, predatory and full of dark amusement.
"Oh, Annie," he purrs, his voice like velvet-wrapped steel, heavy with promise. "You demand so beautifully."
His hands roam, exploring her with deliberate care, sliding under fabric and slipping it away inch by inch, like unwrapping something sacred. He traces the curve of her waist, the slope of her hip, the line of her thigh, as though every inch of her has meaning, because to him, it does.
She arches into his touch, sighing his name as if it's the only word she knows. Every soft breath, every little sound that escapes her lips is a symphony, and he is already addicted.
She is not just participating. She is here. Wanting. Wanting him.
That thought alone nearly undoes him.
His lips brush against her ear, his voice dropping to a sinful whisper.
"Do you even realize what you do to me, Annie?"
She meets his gaze, her eyes burning with the same hunger he feels.
"Then show me."
Malvor growls, low and approving.
"Oh, I intend to, darling."
He kisses her again, fierce and unrelenting, while his body settles between hers. He grinds against her, slow and maddening, letting her feel the heat of him through the last remaining barriers between them. The friction is unbearable, in the best way.
She moans into his mouth, and he swallows it greedily.
Clothes vanish, whether by magic or by sheer impatience, she doesn't know, doesn't care. Her fingers dig into his back as he presses her down into the bed, claiming every part of her with mouth and hands and body.
He slides inside her with a groan that's nearly a growl, and for a breathless moment, they both go still. The connection is too much, too perfect, too real.
He leans his forehead against hers, panting, trembling, his voice ragged.
"You feel like…"
He can't even finish. Words fail. Only feeling remains.
She wraps her legs around his waist, her body rising to meet his, urging him forward. He begins to move, slow at first, deliberate, as if savoring every inch of her.
Every thrust is a promise.
Every gasp is a revelation.
She gasps, her back arching, her fingers clutching at him as sensation floods her, too much, not enough, all at once. Heat coils low in her belly, spreading like wildfire through her veins, leaving her breathless.
Malvor's hands grip her thighs tighter, holding her in place as his pace deepens, steadier, sharper. His mouth finds her throat, his lips trailing fire along her skin, murmuring possessive, reverent words against her pulse.
"You are mine," he rasps, his voice thick with heat, with hunger. "And I am going to make sure you never forget it."
Her hands roam his body, exploring the hard lines of his muscles, the shifting ink of his ever-changing tattoos. The marks flicker, rearrange under her fingertips, responding to his emotions, to her touch.
A thrill runs through her at the realization. She is unraveling him as much as he is unraveling her.
He watches her with dark, burning eyes, reading every little shift, every small intake of breath.
"Annie," he breathes, softer now. Reverent.
His lips brush against hers, once, twice, before deepening the kiss, slow and consuming, like he has all the time in the world to memorize her.
Their rhythm builds again, faster, harder, deeper, their bodies moving together like they were made to fit. His hand slides between them, fingers finding just the right spot, and she cries out, clinging to him, falling apart beneath him.
He follows her over the edge with a groan that sounds like her name and a prayer twisted into one.