My Sister Stole My Mate, And I Let Her

Chapter 535: Chapter 535 AFTER (BONUS Chapter 2)

SERAPHINA’S POV

Nothing kills libido like seasickness.

I’d amassed more power in the months since I’d last visited Kieran’s island, and none of it, not one shred, meant anything to the churning, merciless tide beneath Ashar’s Pride.

I was humbled—thoroughly, wretchedly humbled—folded over a basin for most of the crossing while my stomach turned itself inside out and the horizon refused to hold still.

My only saving grace was my doting fiancé.

Although the misery of the yacht ride was the same as the last time I’d been on it, one thing had changed.

This time, I didn’t have the urge to push Kieran’s hands away when he pressed a cool cloth to the back of my neck, didn’t grit my teeth when he murmured for the crew to bring more water, more crackers, more of the bitter chalky medicine that never quite worked fast enough.

This time I let myself be weak in front of him, let myself lean into the solid, steadying wall of his chest without the reflex to prove I didn’t need it.

I’d learned that being cared for wasn’t the same as being controlled, and I would happily be a damsel in distress as long as Kieran Blackthorne was my knight in shining armor.

Even now, as we came up the path from the dock, I was cradled against him, my cheek resting over the steady drum of his heart, my body still rocking with phantom waves that no longer existed.

I heard him, distantly, instructing the staff in that low, even Alpha voice. "Take our things to my room. Then you’re done for the night—everyone clear out of the villa till further notice."

As he carefully climbed the steps, I buried my head in his neck, breathing him in, and felt my erratic heartbeat steady.

He laid me down on the bed with a care that still, after everything, undid something soft in my chest.

I was too tired to take in much, my eyes already slipping shut, but I registered the dark, masculine lines of the room and the wall of glass at my back giving onto nothing but ocean and the setting sun.

Though Kieran hadn’t been here in months, his scent was everywhere, woven into the sheets beneath me, and I couldn’t stop myself from burrowing deeper and filling my greedy lungs.

“Get some rest,” he murmured, tenderly brushing a stray strand of hair from my forehead.

When he made to rise, I caught the hem of his shirt in my fist before he could straighten. My grip had no strength behind it, but that didn’t stop me from tugging, weak and insistent.

“Don’t go,” I slurred. “We’re supposed to be having hot, torrid sex. Get in here, and let me jump your bones.”

He laughed, the low and warm sound rumbling through my palm where it rested against him.

"Save your strength, kangaroo. When you’re feeling better, you can jump my bones all you want."

I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell him that need didn’t wait for regained energy, and I didn’t give a shit that my stomach still rolled like the tide.

But my eyes were already falling shut, and the last thing I registered was the press of his lips against my forehead, soft and lingering, before I was pulled under.

When I woke, it was dark. The moon hung just past its fullest self, swollen and radiant, with the faintest silver shaved from one edge.

Although it cast a softer light than the night before, I still felt the effects of my heat—wild, consuming need that made me squirm in the sheets.

I sat up slowly, testing my body the way you’d test ice on a pond, and found the nausea gone, replaced by a hollow, insistent ache in my stomach.

I’d thrown up more of myself into that basin than I cared to remember, and my body wanted restitution.

As if on cue, a smell drifted into the room—something buttery and warm—and my stomach growled, loud and undignified in the silence.

I laughed under my breath as I slipped out of bed and padded out of the room barefoot, following the smell that led me to the villa kitchen.

The moment I looked in, however, all thoughts of food evaporated from my mind.

Kieran stood at the stove, shirtless, the low light gilding the lines of his back, a towel slung low over his hips like an afterthought.

He moved with the same effortless competence he brought to everything, spatula in hand, utterly unaware—or utterly aware, and utterly unbothered—of what the sight of him did to me.

Heat uncoiled in my belly, sudden and sharp, and a memory rose that I thought I’d buried long ago: this same kitchen, another night, his mouth on mine, his hand slipping beneath my shorts.

I remembered the interruption, the ache that had followed me to my room, the humiliating, furious relief I’d had to find alone.

My body remembered too, tightening in anticipation before my mind had even finished the thought.

But this time, there was no Samantha to interrupt us. No Daniel asleep down the hall. No prying eyes or listening ears.

Kieran turned, and when he found me standing there, something in his expression shifted—softened first, then darkened, quick as a match catching.

He gave me a smile, that devastating one that promised all sorts of maddening, filthy things and made me weak in the knees.

"Hungry?" he asked, voice low, rough with sleep and something else entirely.

My teeth sank into my lower lip as my eyes took a leisurely stroll up and down his body.

"Starving," I murmured, letting him hear exactly what I meant.

His eyes were all black now, and he didn’t take his eyes off me as he reached back and clicked off the burner, the flame dying with a soft hiss.

He closed the distance between us in three unhurried strides, as though he had all the time in the world to claim what he wanted.

My breath caught as his hand came up to cradle my jaw, his thumb sweeping once over my cheekbone, and then his mouth found mine—slow at first, almost reverent, before the restraint cracked and the kiss turned deep and devastating, hungry in a way that had nothing to do with food at all.