CHAPTER 465: KISSING HER NECK

Why is her hair up? he thought, almost dazed. She always wears it down. She should know what that will do to me...

The exposed skin caught the light in a way that made it impossible to look away. He imagined pressing his lips there, trailing kisses down to the hollow of her collarbone, feeling her shiver beneath him. Gods, he imagined far worse—his teeth grazing that perfect skin, biting just enough to draw a gasp from her lips.

Alaric’s jaw flexed as he swallowed, guilt and hunger battling somewhere in his chest.

She was so unguarded like this. So utterly beautiful it hurt. And he wanted—oh, he wanted far too much.

Before his mind could spiral further into places it shouldn’t, he moved forward, silent as the predator he was, the soft crunch of gravel under his boots the only sound marking his approach.

Salviana didn’t turn; she didn’t seem to hear him at all. Her gaze was still locked on the flowers, her fingers trailing lazily along a blooming rose.

Alaric stopped just behind her, his chest almost brushing her back. For a second, he just stood there, drinking her in.

Then, almost without thinking, he wrapped his arms around her from behind—slowly, firmly, pulling her into him.

Salviana gasped softly, startled, but he felt her relax almost instantly, her hands resting lightly over his forearms.

"Alaric," she breathed, her voice already softer, warmer.

He bent slightly, his lips hovering near her ear. His voice was low, sweet but rough with something he wasn’t sure he could hide.

"Fiery wife..." he murmured, "are you trying to kill me? Standing here, looking like this... with your hair up?"

She blinked, cheeks heating as she glanced at him over her shoulder. "What do you mean?"

His lips ghosted along the shell of her ear, and she felt the faintest brush of his breath.

"You know what I mean," he whispered. "This neck... this little trick of yours. You’ve been plotting, haven’t you?"

Salviana laughed nervously, her blush deepening. "I wasn’t plotting—"

"Little liar." His chuckle rumbled against her back as he rested his chin lightly on her shoulder. "You’ve been distracting me since the moment I saw you. And it’s working."

Her heart skipped at the admission, and for a moment, she thought she felt his lips brush just barely against her neck—a promise or a threat, she couldn’t tell.

She leaned slightly into him, smiling now. "Maybe I am plotting."

Alaric groaned softly, tightening his hold on her as if pulling her closer might keep his restraint from snapping completely.

"Gods, Salviana... you want to be the death of me."

Alaric’s arms tightened once more before he slowly shifted, his hands gliding down her arms as he turned her gently to face him.

Salviana blinked up at him, her breath catching as his hands rose to cup her face, thumbs brushing over her soft cheeks. His dark eyes locked on her like she was his entire world—no, his entire reason for existing.

For a moment, he just looked at her, his gaze wandering over every inch of her face like he was memorizing it for the hundredth time. His thumb paused just at the corner of her mouth, tracing her lower lip as though he wanted to taste it already.

"You are smiling more today," he murmured, his voice low, velvet-soft. "What has my fiery wife been up to while I was asleep?"

Salviana’s lips curved faintly, her fingers brushing lightly over his wrists. "I was with Florence," she said softly, almost shyly. "She... she took care of my garden while I was away. Can you believe that? She kept it alive, Alaric. She said she thought of me every time she watered it."

Alaric’s expression softened, his thumbs stroking her cheeks slowly. "And that makes you happy?"

Salviana nodded, her smile more tender now. "It does. It feels... nice. To be missed. To have someone care even when I’m not here." She hesitated, her gaze flicking to the flowers. "I think I’d like to be that kind of person too. Someone who makes people feel... safe, even when I’m gone."

Alaric tilted his head, studying her, and for a second, something unreadable flashed in his eyes—pride, affection, maybe even awe.

"You already are that person, Salviana," he said simply. "You’re that person to me."

Her breath hitched, her blush deepening, but before she could respond, Alaric’s teasing smirk returned, slow and dangerous.

"Though," he murmured, tilting his head closer, "I can’t say I’m grateful for what Florence has done to you today."

She blinked, confused. "What do you mean?"

His gaze dropped deliberately to her neck, lingering there with a heated intensity that made her shiver. "She’s given me the most distracting view of my life. This neck... gods, Salviana, do you want me to lose control?"

Her cheeks flamed. "Alaric! That’s not—"

"Don’t lie to me, fiery wife," he murmured, leaning closer, his forehead brushing hers. "You’ve been plotting all morning, haven’t you? Wearing your hair up, standing here in the sun, looking like something I should worship."

Salviana tried to laugh it off, but her voice trembled. "You’re ridiculous."

"Am I?" His thumbs traced along her jaw, his lips now only inches from hers. "Because right now, I don’t want to hear anything from you, Salviana. Not one word. Not one excuse."

She swallowed, her heart pounding as his voice dropped lower, softer, almost a command.

"The only thing I want to hear... is your lips on mine."

Before she could answer, he kissed her—soft, lingering, a kiss that was more promise than passion. His lips moved against hers with slow reverence, his hands holding her face like she was something sacred, untouchable.

Salviana melted into him, her hands resting against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath her palms. He deepened the kiss just slightly, enough to steal her breath, before pulling back to look at her, his forehead still pressed to hers.

"There," he whispered, his breath warm against her lips. "That’s all I want to hear. Just you. Always you."

Salviana smiled softly, almost dazed. "Then don’t stop hearing me, Alaric."