Their movements never slow. Never hesitate.If anything—they grow hungrier.More needy.More real.
Annie, without even breaking the kiss, had his shirt off—a feat of skill he should probably be impressed by if he weren't so utterly consumed by her.
Malvor is flawless.
Every inch of him.
From his broad shoulders down to the defined ridges of his stomach—sculpted perfection.
His tattoos shift with every breath.Lightning veins flicker under her touch.The trickster's mask at his collarbone tilts, its expression changing with every pulse of desire.
Anastasia drags her hands across his skin.Exploring. Testing. Learning.
The sound he makes—guttural, needy, raw—sends a thrill through her.
He groans.Hands splaying over her body.Touching everything.
He could stay like this forever.
His fingers slide under the fabric of her dress—pulling it up, up, off—his grip firm, but never demanding.
Her shorts follow.
Leaving her in just her bra and panties.Beautifully undone.
His hands skim her skin—over her waist, her stomach—
Then—
Still.
Right there.
The runes on her ribs.His runes.
Delicate, intricate—chaotic swirls carved long before he ever met her.
And now?
Now he aches to claim them.
His fingers brush over the patterns.His own mark.Something he never asked for—but can't deny.
His head lowers, lips ghosting over the runes—Then he gives in.
Tracing every swirl with his mouth.His tongue.His teeth.
Anastasia shudders.
Breath hitching.
Fingers digging into his shoulders.
His hands roam—
Hips.Waist.Stomach.
He memorizes her.With touch.With lips.With worship.
She was something stolen.Something given.Never truly her own.
But in this moment?In his hands?
She is hers.
And gods help him—
He wants to keep her that way.
"Annie. Oh Annie. Annie."
Her name becomes his prayer.Whispered between urgent, desperate kisses.
"My beautiful Annie. My Annie."
Every time he says it, every time his voice wraps around her name—She melts further.
Aching.Unraveling.Giving in.
She'd never been anyone's before.
Never had someone say her name like it meant something.
Malvor kisses her harder.Deeper.His grip unrelenting.
Not possessive—Just needing.
And gods, he is losing himself in her.
Losing the persona.Losing the lines he never let blur.
They're falling.
Both of them.
And neither of them realizes it yet.
He rocks his hips into her, holding on for dear life.
She matches him—moving with him, against him—like they've done this a hundred times before.
"Malvor…" she breathes.
His name on her lips is sin and salvation all at once.
Something breaks in him.
His mouth crashes back to hers—greedy, consuming.
His hand finds her hip, then higher—Over her ribs—Over her chest—
Kneading. Exploring. Memorizing.
Until—
His fingers brush against bare skin.
Her ribs.
The runes they carved for him.
And something inside him snaps.
He freezes.
Breath shallow.Eyes locked on the markings.
His fingers press against them, like he's trying to feel through them.
Trying to understand something impossible.
Annie pulls away. Instantly.
Sharp. Burning.
The warmth—Gone.
The intimacy—Shattered.
Her arms wrap around herself.
Her body curls inward—Guarded again.
"I—"
Malvor says nothing.
Because what the hell was this?
Annie steps back.
Lips swollen.Breathing uneven.Arms crossed tight around her body.
He feels the loss of her immediately.Like stepping from sunlight into cold.
"Annie?"His voice is softer than he means.
Too real.Too bare.
"I'm sorry. Did I do something wrong?"
Gods above and below.
What is happening to him?
She shakes her head.
Eyes flicking away.
"I don't want you to want me because you're pulled to me. To my runes."
Dense.Brilliant.Beautifully dense woman.
Malvor exhales sharply.
Dragging a hand through his hair.
"Annie," he huffs. "I don't give a damn about your runes. I care about you."
Oh.
Oh hells.
He said it.
Not like that.Not like this.But it's out.
Anastasia stills.
Eyes snap to him.
Wary.Uncertain.
"Annie, look at me."
Slowly. Hesitantly.
She lifts her gaze—
And there it is.
Tears.
Blue eyes filled with unscheduled, unexpected tears.
Something in him breaks.
His stomach sinks.
His voice is barely a whisper.
"Annie… I care about you."
She just stares.
No detachment.
No smirk.
No mask.
Just something raw.Deep.Too much.
She keeps staring.
Long enough that even Malvor—God of Chaos, Lord of Illusions—starts to feel… uncomfortable.
Ridiculous.He's stared down kings, monsters, entire armies—
But this?
This is worse.
This is her seeing him.