Acacia didn't hesitate. She gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into the fine white linen of his shirt. "No," she gasped, her eyes blazing with a fierce, rediscovered vulnerability. "You don't need permission to take what's yours. I have always been yours, Seron."
The confession was the final spark. Seron stood, lifting her effortlessly as if she weighed nothing, and carried her to the massive bed. He moved with a hunger that had been suppressed by concrete walls and iron bars for too long.
He pulled himself into her with a forceful, desperate rhythm, and the pace became a blur of motion. It was long, grueling, and intense, neither of them willing to let go until they had squeezed every drop of sensation from the moment.
