“You see, a name is the most effective spell in the world. When you call someone’s name, in that moment, an invisible bond is formed.”

The quirk on Rafayel’s lips fades when your fingers catch his chin, tugging his face toward yours as your question falls from distractingly kissable lips. He lives for this feeling of surrender.

”Will you also be mine when I call your name?”

Gods, don’t you get it? A thousand times yes.

“You should try it yourself, you know.” He leans in until his forehead touches yours, losing himself in your scent, your closeness. He’s endured centuries for this; a chance to be near you again. No more waiting. Whether you remember or not, he’s meant for this.

His exhale is slow and measured, eyes closing as he feels the pulsing heat of the Lemurian mark glowing on his chest. He would give it all to you. Everything that he is, was, or will be. It’s always been yours; he’s always been yours. His hand comes up, fingertips gently angling you just right, and his lips meld over yours in the most tender kiss he’s ever felt.

You taste sweeter than he imagined; heady and rich and going straight to his head. It’s a struggle to pull away, but he has to. Any longer and he’ll be unleashing centuries of need on you, begging for more of your taste.

His thumb glides the line of your jaw as your eyes linger on his mark. It glows through his suit, small and vibrantly red, planted directly over his heart; only the two of you can see it.

“…do you know what this means?” he asks, head tilting, the telltale smirk returning to his lips. His eyes travel your face and linger on your mouth.

“It means I’m allowing myself to be trapped.” As if there was any other choice.

The truth is he’s been trapped. You have owned him from the very start. Now he’s just handing you the leash that was already wrapped around his heart.

He leans in again, cupping your face and stealing another kiss. Longer this time, deeper, and suddenly he’s very grateful for the private seclusion of this corner of the garden.