The roughness of his hands became a comfort, the solid weight of his arms around her a promise she no longer wanted to resist. Her back met the edge of the bed. He hesitated, searching her face as if for permission, and in that pause she saw everything—his fear of hurting her, his longing to protect her, the war he fought inside himself.
She lifted a hand to his cheek. “Aidan,” she whispered. “Take me.”
Whatever words he might have said were lost as he kissed her again, and the last of their restraint vanished.
His mouth didn’t leave hers, but the kiss turned frantic, open-mouthed, and sloppy as his hands moved with a desperate, fumbling need. He found the laces of her gown, his fingers rough and clumsy in their haste. He cursed, a low, frustrated sound against her lips when the knots wouldn't give, his knuckles grazing her skin. She arched against him, trying to help, the agonizingly slow progress making her whimper. Finally, giving up on finesse, he undid and tore open her bodice.
A sharp, startled gasp left her as the cool air hit her skin, followed instantly by the searing heat of his palms. His hands splayed wide, his calloused skin a rough, wonderful friction against her. He cupped the line of her ribs, his thumbs brushing the heavy underside of her breasts, before his hands slid down to grip her waist, pulling her hard against him.
He tore his mouth away, his breathing harsh, and his gaze dropped. It wasn't a fire; it was raw hunger. He stared openly at her mouth, then down her throat, to the swell of her breasts above the bunched fabric, his pupils wide and dark.
She answered with a fumbling urgency of her own, her fingers tearing at the linen of his shirt, pulling it free. She needed to feel him. The solid, warm expanse of his chest met her breasts, skin to skin, and a ragged groan tore from his throat this time. It was a jolt, a lightning strike that grounded them both even as it set them ablaze. He tore his mouth from hers, kissing adesperate path down her throat, over her collarbone, his stubble a delicious torment against her tender skin.
He moved over her, his weight a beloved, necessary burden. His knee nudged her legs apart, and she opened for him without hesitation. She felt the blunt heat of him press against her, a question and a promise all in one. He didn't move, just watched her face in the firelight, his expression taut with a control she knew was costing him everything.
“Catherine,” he whispered, a final, ragged plea for a consent she had already given.
She answered by lifting her hips, a small, undeniable movement that took the choice from both of them.
“Please,” she breathed.
He drove into her with a low groan that was half-possession, half-surrender. It was a sharp, perfect invasion, a feeling of being filled, stretched, claimed. She cried out at the sudden, breathtaking fullness of it, her nails digging into the hard muscle of his shoulders.
He froze, his body trembling, his forehead pressed to hers.
“Am I hurtin’ ye?” he rasped, his voice thick.
She shook her head, unable to speak, her eyes blurred. It wasn’t pain; it was a deluge. It was too much, and not nearly enough.
She moved against him. “Nay. Dinnae stop.”
The last of his control shattered. He began to move, in a slow, deep rhythm. But the fire between them was too hot for slow. The tempo broke, becoming frantic, desperate. His thrusts were deep, certain, aimed at the very center of her soul. She met him, matching his rhythm, her legs locking around his waist, pulling him deeper still, claiming him as surely as he claimed her.
The world dissolved into sensation: the slick, wet heat of their joining, the scrape of his stubble on her throat, the scent of sweat and woodsmoke andhim. His name was a broken prayer on her lips, over and over.
She felt the pressure building, a tight, burning coil deep inside her, winding unbearably, drawing every nerve taut. He must have felt it, too. His hand found hers, lacing their fingers together, gripping her as if she were his only anchor in a storm.
“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice raw.
She opened her eyes, locking with his dark, dilated gaze. He thrust one last time, deep and final, and the world exploded. She cried out, her body arching off the bed as the wave of pure, white-hot pleasure consumed her. His roar of release followed hers, a guttural sound that vibrated through her chest, his own body convulsing as he poured himself into her.
The force of it left them shattered and shaking. For a long, breathless moment, the only sound was their ragged gasps for air. He didn't move, collapsing onto her, his weight a heavy,welcome reality. Time blurred. The fire roared, shadows swayed across the walls, and all she knew was his touch and the quiet, unspoken truth of what they were to each other.
When the moment finally broke, they didn’t move right away. The world had gone quiet, as if even the fire understood what it had witnessed and dared not intrude. Their breathing found the same rhythm. Her fingers were still tangled in his hair, the strands warm and damp against her skin. His face rested against the curve of her shoulder, his breath ghosting over her collarbone, each exhale a reminder that he was real and she was too. The weight of him, the heat of his body pressed close, anchored her to something she had never felt before—safety, belonging, a kind of peace that hurt to touch because it could never last.
He murmured something then, low and rough, his lips brushing her skin as he spoke. “Catherine… lass… I dinnae ken how I’m meant tae let go o’ ye now.”
Her eyes closed at the sound of it, the truth in his voice making her chest ache. “Ye willnae have tae,” she whispered, her hand sliding down to cradle the back of his neck. “Nae taenight.”
He shifted just enough to look at her, his forehead pressed lightly to her cheek, his thumb brushing the inside of her hip in a slow, absent circle that stole her breath. “I shouldnae want ye this much,” he said, voice hoarse with honesty he had spent months avoiding. “But I dae. God help me, I dae.”
A quiet laugh left her then, soft and trembling with relief. “I’ve been tryin’ tae forget ye,” she admitted, the confession barely a breath. “And every time I thought I was succeeding, ye’d appear again… and it all fell apart.”
He let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh, his mouth brushing her shoulder again. “Aye. I ken the feelin’.”
For a moment they only lay there, wrapped around each other, the fire painting the room in gold and shadow, the scent of smoke and sweat and him clinging to her skin. She felt the weight of him, the heat of his body pressed close, anchoring her to something she had never known she needed—safety, belonging, a fragile, impossible peace that hurt to touch because it felt so right it frightened her.
It felt like the end of every battle she had ever fought, every wall, every word of defiance, every lonely night spent pretending she didn’t care. It felt like coming home to something she hadn’t known she was searching for.
