Chapter 91 – Yours, Now and Forever
Leonhardt's breath was warm against her lips, his hands steady against her waist. There was no hesitation in his touch, no uncertainty—only the quiet certainty of belonging.
Aetheria shivered.
Not from cold.
But from the overwhelming sensation of having him close—of feeling his heat, his presence, his devotion wrapped around her like a shackle she never wished to break.
His hands slid down her back, fingers tracing the elegant curve of her spine with an intimacy that spoke of centuries of longing.
Aetheria did not stop him.
She never would.
Instead, she tilted her head back, baring her throat to him.
A silent invitation.
A command.
Leonhardt's crimson eyes darkened.
"You are dangerous," he murmured, his lips brushing over the exposed skin of her neck.
Aetheria's breath hitched—just slightly.
"And you are reckless," she countered, gripping the front of his tunic and pulling him closer.
Leonhardt did not resist.
His mouth traced along her throat—slowly, deliberately.
Aetheria felt it all.
The heat of his breath.
The ghost of his lips.
The unspoken devotion in his every touch.
She exhaled sharply, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling.
Leonhardt groaned against her skin.
Aetheria smirked.
"You like that," she noted, her voice filled with quiet amusement.
Leonhardt chuckled against her collarbone.
"I like you," he corrected.
Aetheria's smirk faltered.
For the briefest moment, something raw and unguarded flickered in her gaze.
Leonhardt saw it.
Felt it.
Recognized it.
And before she could mask it, before she could retreat into the fortress of her usual control, he captured her lips in another kiss.
This time, it was desperate.
This time, it was devouring.
Leonhardt pulled her against him, his grip on her waist firm—unyielding.
Aetheria responded instantly, her arms locking around his neck, pressing herself against him as if she could burn herself into his very existence.
The world around them blurred.
Nothing else mattered.
Not the gods.
Not the mortals.
Not the passing of time.
Only this.
Only them.
Aetheria moaned softly into his mouth, her nails digging into his shoulders as his hands traced the delicate curve of her waist.
Leonhardt swallowed the sound—claimed it.
He pressed her back against the marble pillar behind them, trapping her beneath his body, his weight pressing into hers in a way that was unmistakably possessive.
Aetheria let him.
Because she wanted it.
She wanted him.
Leonhardt's hands slid lower, tracing the fabric of her gown, his fingers curling against her hips.
"Aetheria," he whispered against her lips, his voice husky, reverent.
Aetheria exhaled sharply, her head tilting back as his lips found the sensitive spot just below her ear.
"Say it again," she commanded.
Leonhardt obeyed immediately.
"Aetheria."
Her name had never sounded so divine.
Aetheria's nails dragged down his back, her smirk returning as she felt him shudder beneath her touch.
"You are mine," she whispered.
Leonhardt's eyes darkened.
"Say it again," he echoed, his fingers tightening on her hips.
Aetheria's lips curled.
"You. Are. Mine."
Leonhardt growled, his mouth crashing against hers.
This time, there was no gentleness.
No hesitation.
Only raw, unfiltered desire.
Aetheria met him with equal intensity, her hands exploring the hard planes of his body, the sharp contours of his muscles, the power coiled beneath his skin.
Leonhardt groaned, his grip tightening around her as if afraid she would disappear.
Aetheria understood.
Because she felt the same.
She never wanted to let go.
And so, she didn't.
She let him consume her.
She let herself consume him.
And as their magic intertwined—as their souls burned together in a way no mortal could ever comprehend—
The world outside their embrace ceased to exist.
Because they were each other's universe.
And nothing would ever change that.