Imara Diversifies The Beastmen World

Chapter One Hundred and Fifty One: Beneath His Hands

His eyes shimmered, and for a moment, he just looked at me. Like he couldn't believe I'd let him close.

A miracle he didn't know if he had permission to touch.

But then he did.

Finally.

His hand slid behind my head, fingers threading through my coils like he'd dreamt of this for years. He didn't tug or grip. He just cradled—like he wanted to hold every thought, every ache, every part of me in the palm of his hand. His thumb moved slow over my scalp, drawing lazy circles that made my spine arch and my chest loosen. I didn't even realize how much tension I was holding until he melted it out of me with nothing but his fingertips.

Then came his lips. He kissed the top of my head with a stillness that stole the words from my throat. That was undoing me. No rush, no pressure—just presence. A kiss that lingered like a prayer, like he was giving thanks just to have me breathing beneath him. One that whispered, I cherish you.

His mouth kept moving, trailing soft heat down the center of my face. A rhythm I could barely breathe through.

A kiss to my forehead, another between my brows, then the tip of my nose. He paused there, lips close enough for me to feel his breath but not quite touch it. When he finally kissed the corner of my mouth—not my lips—it made my toes curl.

He was savoring me. Building something slow and deliberate, and I was burning in it.

I smiled before I could stop myself, fingers reaching into his locs to pull him closer, just long enough to catch his eyes. His gaze never faltered, but it softened as he looked at me like I was the answer to every question he'd never asked out loud.

"You don't have to do anything. I got this," he whispered, his voice like velvet dragging over the rawest parts of me. He meant it. Not just with his mouth. With his whole body. With the way his hands held me.

My breath caught and all I could do was look at him, trying to tame my breath, trying not to cry. Because it was too much. My heart felt cracked wide open—held in his hands like something so sacred and he was holding it so gently like something fragile and irreplaceable

I really love this man....

Then his lips brushed my forehead again, firmer this time. Slower. Like each kiss was a vow whispered into my skin.

I will protect you. I will honor you. I will never fail again.

I felt it in the weight of his mouth, in the pause between each kiss like he was sealing something spiritual into me with every touch.

His hands cupped my face, thumbs tracing slow, tender circles along my cheeks. His nose nudged mine, soft and careful, before he kissed the bridge gently and began to trail downward—like he was mapping every inch from memory. Like this wasn't the first time he'd been here, just the first time he was allowed to show it.

When he reached my eyes, he didn't rush. He paused.

Then kissed each closed lid—soft, reverent, patient. Like he was asking permission to see deeper. To look into the part of me no one else had earned. To see into my soul.

My breath caught. My chest rose sharply beneath him. My fingers curled tighter into his locs, clutching like if I let go, I might come apart completely.

"You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he whispered, voice low against my skin. "Inside. Outside. Even when you're laughing like a wild thing."

A trembling giggle slipped out of me—softer than before. No longer wild. This one shook with something richer, fuller. Like the giggle was cradling the emotion instead of floating above it.