“How’re you feeling this morning?” Newt asked, voice husky from sleep.
Vaughn leaned down, his lips ghosting over Newt’s. A soft whisper of skin, a gasp he caught and treasured. The kiss started gentle, almost hesitant—an apology, a question, a confession all at once. Newt’s lips were impossibly soft beneath his, parting slightly with a hitch of breath that tasted like possibility wrapped in tenderness.
A possibility that Vaughn could somehow make this work. He had no idea how, but the thought of letting Newt go was starting to become unbearable.
His fingers found their way to Newt’s cheek, tracing the curve of it as the kiss deepened. Heat bloomed between them, slow and steady as sunrise. Newt’s hand slid up to cradle the back of Vaughn’s neck, pulling him closer with surprising strength for someone so small.
The scent of him, sweet and wild like a forest after rain, filled Vaughn’s lungs, driving away the lingering shadows of last night’s terrors.
Trembling hands found their way to Vaughn’s shoulders, fingertips massaging muscle, turning the gentle press of lips into something hungrier.
He rolled until his mate was spread out beneath him, pulling back just enough to see Newt’s face—cheeks flushed, eyes half-lidded, lips parted. The sight hit him like a punch to the gut.
“Good morning to you too,” Newt murmured, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
Lowering his head, Vaughn nuzzled the sensitive spot beneath Newt’s ear. His mate’s pulse jumped under his lips, a rapid flutter that matched the rhythm building in his own chest.
He kissed a path down Newt’s neck, savoring the soft gasp when he grazed teeth against tender skin. He fisted that impossible hair, using the gentle grip to tilt Newt’s head back, exposing more of his throat.
“Your bedside manner has improved significantly since last night.” Newt’s voice hitched when Vaughn’s teeth found his earlobe.
A laugh rumbled from Vaughn’s chest, surprising even himself. “Low bar.”
“I’m not complaining.” Newt traced the contours of Vaughn’s face, mapping him with curious touches. “Though I’m starting to think wolf shifters might be morning people.”
“Not in the slightest.” He captured Newt’s wandering hand, pressing a kiss to his palm before returning to his mouth. This was the kind of morning he could get used to. Soft kisses and an even softer mate curled in his arm.
“You taste like magic,” Vaughn murmured against the pulse point at Newt’s throat.
The sound of Newt’s laugh rippled softly, carrying a cadence that felt alive and bright. “Is that good or bad?”
“Definitely good.” He nipped at the sensitive skin beneath Newt’s ear, drawing another of those addictive little gasps. “Though I’m pretty sure you've cast some kind of spell on me.”
“I hope not. You might end up with polka-dotted fur and a sudden craving for cat food.” Newt’s fingers dug into his shoulders, clinging to Vaughn like he was the last lifeboat on a sinking ship.
Their kisses became edged with a desperation that made Vaughn’s pulse thunder in his ears. He’d forgotten what this felt like—wanting someone so badly it hurt. Or maybe he’d never known it at all, not like this.
Mouth dragged along Newt’s jaw, down the column of his slim throat, breathing in the scent of his mate. Newt’s pulse fluttered beneath his lips like a captured bird.
His wolf stirred, demanding more. Closeness, contact, claim.
The urge was tamped down, leaving him to focus instead on the way his mate arched against him, small body fitting perfectly under his larger frame. His hand slid down Newt’s side, feeling the contours of ribs and hip beneath the borrowed shirt.
“Your stubble is determined to sandpaper my face off,” Newt groaned, though his hands contradicted his complaint by pulling Vaughn closer.
“Want me to stop?” lips asked against skin that tasted like warm honey.
“Ask me again in ten minutes.”
The whimper sent a fresh surge of heat through him. Vaughn slid his hand down Newt’s side, over the borrowed shirt that had ridden up to expose a strip of pale stomach. His fingers traced the edge of his mate’s waistband then dipped lower to palm the hard length straining against thin fabric.
Newt’s body went rigid. His hand shot out, grabbing Vaughn’s wrist in a grip that belied his size. “I—”
The single syllable shut everything down instantly. Vaughn pulled his hand away, fighting to keep his expression neutral when everything inside him crumbled.
“Sorry,” he said, forcing a smile that felt like broken glass cutting his lips. “Got carried away.”
Newt’s brow furrowed, mouth opening as if to say something more, but Vaughn was already moving, untangling himself from the blankets and Newt’s limbs.
