After Dorian and I got the Mating Decree, it was as if a hard outer layer he'd always kept up had finally fallen away.
He no longer held onto his usual calm, distant demeanor. He'd rub my temples when I had a headache. He'd grab my wrist on the couch and pull me into these deep, desperate kisses—his hands all over me, tearing my clothes off, taking me hard and fast, totally claiming me. When I tried to read, he'd just flop down and lay his head on my lap and refuse to move. Then one morning, I was still buried in bed, too lazy to move. The air suddenly filled with this rich bone broth smell—mixed with pine and fir.
Dorian walked in holding a bowl. He knelt on one knee beside the bed and leaned down to my ear. His warm breath brushed against my earlobe, his voice low and husky. "If you ke
