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He reaches for me again, and the next kiss has none of the uncertainty of the first. My arms wind around his neck while his hands slide along my back. He touches me like he’s learning every inch, and the connection pulses between us, his hellfire running hot beneath it, my siren rising to meet him, until the more tangled they become, the harder it is to tell which of us started each new surge.

By the time he eases me back onto the bed, my silver hair is everywhere, his mouth has left mine swollen from kissing, and whatever Thessaly dragged into this room has finally lost its grip.

Carnage braces himself above me. He goes still again. Even now, even after I said yes, even after I pulled off his shirt and kissed him until neither of us could breathe properly.

He waits.

My fingers slide into his long hair and pull him down until his forehead rests against mine.

“I’m here because I want to be.”

His eyes close. The reaction travels through our connection so strongly that my breath catches, relief first, then something deeper, carrying enough emotion that I stop trying to translate it before I ruin it with words.

I brush my mouth against his. “And before you ask again…” My lips curve. “Yes.”

His eyes open in question, and I smile. “Still yes.”

Carnage shakes his head, but there’s a smile pulling at his mouth before he kisses me again.

This time I stop thinking so damn much and kiss him back, letting myself feel everything he’s been holding inside. All that hellfire. All that chaos. Everything he’s been forced to hold inside since Malgrave stole his voice.

For once, I don’t try to understand any of it. I just let myself feel him.

He can’t tell me what he wants.

He doesn’t need to.

Because every time he touches me, he asks.

And every time I pull him closer, I answer.

Carnage stays braced above me for another second, just looking. Then he moves. His mouth drops to my jaw, then lower, dragging slowly along my throat. One hand stays at my waist while the other slides up my side, his thumb brushing the edge of my breast. He doesn’t rush. He keeps that steady pressure, searching for every place that makes my breath hitch.

I arch into him when his palm finally covers me, rough and warm. He circles once, twice, then pinches just enough to pull a sound out of me. His eyes flick up, checking again.

I dig my fingers into his shoulders in answer.

He takes that as permission and keeps going, his mouth on my collarbone, then lower, sucking one nipple into his mouth while his hand works the other. Slow and deliberate. Like he’s got all the time in the world and zero interest in skipping ahead. Every time I try to pull him back up, he presses me down with his weight and keeps working me over.

His free hand trails down my stomach and stops just above where I want him. He waits there, teasing the edge of my pussy with his fingertips until I’m shifting under him, trying to get closer. Only then does he slide lower, two fingers finding me already wet.

He groans against my skin—quiet, rough—the only sound he can make, and starts stroking. Slow at first, learning the angle that makes my hips kick. When I gasp, he does it again and again, building it steadily, never quite giving me enough to tip over.

I try to reach for him, but he catches my wrist and pins it firmly above my head. His mouth comes back to mine for a second, just long enough to kiss the frustration out of me, then he’s moving down my body again.

By the time he settles between my thighs, my legs are already shaking. He looks up once, eyes dark and focused.

I nod, breathless.

He doesn’t smile this time. Just lowers his head and puts his mouth on me.

The first slow drag of his tongue over my clit has my back arching off the bed. He holds my hips down and keeps going, steady, thorough, like he’s got a point to prove. Every time I get close, he eases off, switching to lighter strokes, then he builds me right back up again. Working me higher without ever letting me fall.

I grip the sheets, then his hair, then anything I can reach. Carnage watches every reaction he pulls from me, learning fast what makes my breath catch and what has my thighs tightening around him. The second he finds something that makes me curse, he does it again, and the smug look he gives me says he knows exactly what he’s doing.

When he finally slides two fingers inside while his tongue keeps working, I almost come right there. He feels it, slows just enough to hold me on the edge, then starts that same ruthless rhythm again.

Fucker.