A shadow slithered up his chest and coiled around his throat like a silk ribbon.
He shivered.
"Okay. Okay. Kinky. Is this a combat scenario or a very intense audition for my fantasies?"
She landed beside him, crouched low. Sweat carved a path down her cheek. Her eyes glinted like the edge of a blade.
One sharp flick of her fingers—and the vines around him tightened.
He groaned. Louder this time. Dramatic. Obnoxious. Deliciously unbothered.
"Oh gods, tie me up harder, why don't you? Use the shadows too. Let's make it a theme."
The shadows obeyed. Curled tighter around his legs, possessive and pleased.
He thunked his head against the floor, laughing like a man who absolutely deserved this.
"Sweetheart, if you keep restraining me like this, I'm going to start saying 'yes, mistress.'"
She didn't smile.
But her mouth twitched. Just enough.
"Annie," he murmured, voice slipping low and rough, "I need you to understand something very important."
She raised a brow.
"This is the hottest you've ever been in your entire life."
She rolled her eyes.
But the vines didn't release. Neither did the shadows.
Malvor exhaled, letting his magic crackle beneath his skin like something tethered on purpose. Barely.
"And just for the record—I was already in love with you. But now?" His voice dropped to a reverent whisper.
"Now I'm considering building you a shrine. A throne. Possibly a very private dungeon."
The vines coiled around his waist.
He moaned—on purpose.
"Ohhh yes. Punish me with botany—"
Her gaze flicked to his lips. Then to the vines across his chest. A pause. A decision. Then—
She kissed him.
Hard. Fast. Ruthless.
It wasn't soft. It was a command. A collision of breath and heat and all the want they'd both swallowed for months.
He gasped into it, her lips bruising, her hands tangled in his hair, her body anchoring him like gravity had a grudge.
The vines tightened.
The shadows pulsed.
And Malvor kissed her like he needed to.
Like he'd dreamed about this while she slept on his chest. While she stole his coffee. While she broke his ribs during training.
Her fingers slid beneath his collar, nails scraping his skin.
He growled.
"You have no idea what you're doing to me," he whispered against her mouth.
She pulled back just enough to smirk—then mouthed:
Oh yes, I do.
And then kissed him again.
Slower. Worse. Better.
The vines didn't loosen. Neither did the shadows.
The kiss turned from a spark to a spiral. From chaos to claiming.
Her hands found his shirt. Slid beneath it. No hesitation. No permission asked.
Fingers rough. Reverent. Greedy.
Malvor arched beneath her like a man starved for touch that meant something.
"I swear," he gasped, "if you use vines on me again, I will propose."
She didn't answer. She just dragged her nails down his chest.
Shadows coiled around his wrists, pinning them above his head.
He whimpered.
"Oh gods, yes. This is why we don't train more often. I'm going to develop a kink for violence."
She ground her hips against his. Her expression dared him to deny it.
"You already have one," she mouthed.
"Okay, that's fair—" he panted. "But I didn't know I had this one."
The vines dipped lower. Tugged at his waistband like they had thoughts.
"Annie," he whispered, voice wrecked, "this is dangerously close to me begging."
Her tongue brushed the hollow of his throat.
He whimpered.
"Okay. I am begging. Please."
She kissed her way down his chest. Slow. Intentional. Like she had all the time in the world.
And wanted him to suffer for it.
The air shimmered.
Chaos hummed under her skin like a stolen heartbeat—his magic, remade in her. She bent space, just a little. Angles wrong. Pressure impossible. Heat unnatural.
Malvor arched, gasping.
"Ohhh this is cruel," he moaned. "You're using my own reality against me."
...Wait, that's my chaos. She's...gods, she's wearing it like skin.
Her mouth hovered just above his stomach.
He looked down at her, breathless. Ruined. Radiant. Hers.
"I love you," he rasped. "But I'm gonna need a safe word that isn't 'more.' Because it's not working."
She smiled.
Bit his hip.
He howled.
"Yes! Marry me right now—I'll officiate it myself—"
The vines shifted again.
Lower. Slower.
The shadows swirled like a satisfied smirk.
Malvor was about to say something deeply inappropriate about plant-based intimacy when—
Arbor's voice cut in, flat and judgmental:
"Privacy protocol forcibly activated. You are now in an isolated containment bubble. Carry on."
Malvor's head dropped back.
"I hate you."
"You're welcome," Arbor replied. "And please water the vines afterward."
Annie didn't laugh.
She just looked down at him, eyes half-lidded and blazing.
The shadows pulsed with her heartbeat.
The vines moved again.
Lower. Smoother. More deliberate.
They moved like they knew things. Like they'd learned his favorite shivers from watching her touch him.
Malvor swallowed hard.
A single tendril traced beneath his ribs—teasing, slow, not tight.
Curious.
"Annie," he whispered, reverent, "I hope you know what you're doing."
She mouthed: I do.
Then kissed him again. Slower. Languid. Possessive.
Her body pressed into his like a secret she was done keeping.
Her hand slid beneath his shirt, fingertips trailing fire over skin that sparked with magic.
His chaos coiled behind his ribs—crackling, dizzy—bending space with every pant.
She pulled his shirt off in one swift motion and tossed it aside like it had offended her.
He'd never been stripped like a gift.
And gods…He wanted to be opened.