I didn't know it could feel like this.
Didn't know kissing could be something yousavorinstead of something you endure. Every other time I've been intimate with an Alpha, there was a countdown running in the back of my head.How long until this is over? How long until I can be alone again? How long until I can stop pretending this isn't hollow?
There's no countdown now.
There's just him.
The warmth of his hands on my face.
The vanilla-smoke scent that's becoming my new favorite thing.
The soft sound he makes against my mouth when I tug on his soaked shirt, pulling him closer.
The letters fall from my grip.
I hear them hit the floor—a wet splat of ruined paper—but I can't bring myself to care. Not when his arms are wrapping around my waist. Not when my fingers are fisting in his jacket. Not when every nerve ending in my body is singing with the kind of awareness I've never experienced before.
This is real.
He's real.
This is happening.
We make out slowly and deeply, and I lose track of time entirely. Lose track of everything except the press of his body against mine, the exploration of his tongue, the way his hands splay across my lower back like he's trying to memorize my shape.
When was the last time I was intimate with an Alpha?
Where it felt this...refreshing?
This empowering?
Where I actually hummed to their warm touch instead of enduring it? Where their large hands felt like safety instead of threat? Where the tenderness in their movements didn't make me count down the seconds until I could escape?
I can't remember.
"Shower," I mumble against his mouth. "You mentioned shower."
He pulls back just enough to look at me—at my smeared makeup and ruined hair and probably deranged expression—and his smile is soft in a way that makes my chest ache.
"Lead the way, Sweets."
My bathroom is small.
Functional.
The only personal touches are the collection of candles on the counter—various sizes and scents, most of them stolen from different parts of the academy because I like the way they flicker—and the aerial ring I installed over the tub for when I need to hang upside down while the water runs.
Normal people don't have aerial equipment in their bathrooms, I think distantly.
But I've never claimed to be normal.
I turn on the water, adjusting the temperature until steam starts to rise. The warmth fills the small space immediately, fog blooming across the mirror, softening the harsh edges of reality.
His hands find the laces of my corset.
"May I?"
The question is quiet.
