If this is the only night I get with her—if tomorrow brings departure and distance and the slow agony of wondering whether she's safe—I refuse to walk away with regrets. I refuse to let caution rob me of this chance to show her what she means to me, even if I can't find words adequate to express it.
My hands slide down her back, memorizing the curve of her spine through the layers of wool and leather. She's smaller than me, delicate in ways that make my protective instincts roar to life, but there's steel beneath the softness—strength forged in survival that draws me like nothing else ever has.
When I lift her, her legs wrap around my waist with an eagerness that steals my breath. The trust in that gesture, the way she lets me support her weight completely, sends possessive satisfaction coursing through me. Mine, something deep and primitive whispers. Mine to protect, mine to pleasure, mine to keep safe.
I press her back against the wide trunk of a pine tree, positioning us where the branches screen us from the lean-to, where Eira sleeps safely unaware of the fire building between her mother and me. The bark scrapes against Mara's coat, but she doesn't seem to notice, too focused on the way my mouth traces the column of her throat.
Her pulse flutters beneath my lips, rabbit-quick with arousal and anticipation. The scent of her skin—clean and warm despite days in the wilderness—fills my head until thinking becomes secondary to touching, tasting, claiming every inch of her I can reach.
"What do you want this winter?" I murmur against her neck, my voice rougher than intended. The question carries weight beyond the physical, asking what she needs from me, from this moment stolen from the edge of danger.
Her answer comes in a whimper that goes straight to my cock. "To let go. Just this once. To have someone take care of me."
The vulnerability in those words breaks something open in my chest. This woman who's survived impossible circumstances, who's protected her daughter through strength and determination alone, asking to surrender control for a handful of moments. Trusting me with that surrender despite every rational reason not to.
My hand slides between her thighs, finding the heat of her through the layers of clothing that separate us. Even through the fabric, I can feel her warmth, the way she arches into my touch with a gasp that makes my blood sing. She needs this—needs to feel desired and cherished and safe enough to lose herself in sensation.
I work her trousers down just enough to access what I need, the cold air making her gasp until my palm covers her mouth, muffling the sound before it can carry. We can't afford to be loud, can't risk drawing unwanted attention, but I can still give her what she's asking for.
She's already wet when my fingers find her, slick and ready in ways that make my restraint feel paper-thin. Her body responds to my touch like she's been starving for it, hips rocking against my hand as I explore the soft heat of her. Every whimpervibrates against my palm, every tremor in her thighs feeds the fire building in my gut.
I take my time, learning what makes her breath catch, what pressure draws those desperate little sounds from her throat. Two fingers slide inside her easily, her body welcoming the intrusion with a flutter that makes me groan. She's tight and warm and perfect, taking my fingers like she was made for my touch.
When I curl them just right, finding that spot that makes her back arch and her eyes roll closed, she comes apart in my arms with a muffled cry that I muffle against my palm. Her body clenches around my fingers, waves of pleasure making her shake as I work her through it, drawing out every sensation until she's boneless and panting.
She feels incredible—responsive and passionate in ways that make me want to map every inch of her skin, discover every sound I can coax from her lips. But even as satisfaction at her pleasure courses through me, I know I should step back. Should let this moment stand as enough, prove that I can restrain myself even when she's soft and willing in my arms.
I can't afford to make her more suspicious than she already is. Can't risk her seeing this as manipulation rather than genuine desire. She needs to know she can trust me, that I'll never take more than she's willing to give.
But before I can force myself to step away, she's kissing me again, her hands working at the laces of my trousers with desperate efficiency. Her mouth moves against mine with new urgency, tongue delving deep as her fingers find the evidence of my arousal straining against leather.
"I need more," she breathes against my lips, the words punching through my restraint like arrows through armor. "Please, Nelrish. I need more."
The sound of my name on her lips, rough with want and need, destroys any remaining illusion of control. When her hand wraps around my cock, stroking with tentative pressure that makes my vision blur, I'm lost.
I lift her higher, positioning her carefully as she guides me to where she needs me most. The first press inside her steals the breath from both our lungs—she's so tight, so perfect, taking me inch by inch until I'm buried deep and she's trembling in my arms.
For a moment we just breathe together, foreheads pressed close as we adjust to the sensation of being joined. Her eyes are wide and dark in the moonlight, pupils dilated with pleasure and something deeper that makes my chest ache with emotions I can't name.
Then I start to move.
Not frantic or desperate, but slow and deep, savoring every slide of skin against skin, every gasp that escapes her lips. This isn't about conquest or possession—it's about connection, about showing her through touch what words seem inadequate to express. She takes me so well, her body welcoming every thrust like she was made to fit against me perfectly.
My mouth finds her neck, her jaw, mapping the curve of her throat with kisses that make her shiver. She tastes like winter and want, like promises I'm afraid to make and hopes I'm terrified to voice. Her hands tangle in my hair, holding me close as I move inside her with a steady rhythm that builds heat between us like a slow-burning fire.
When I capture her lips again, she meets me with equal hunger, tongue dancing with mine as her hips roll to take me deeper. There's still so much uncertainty between us, so many questions that need answering, but right now none of it matters. Right now there's only this—the slide of our bodies together, theshared breath and tangled heartbeats, the way she looks at me like I'm everything she's been searching for without knowing it.
She's close again, I can feel it in the way her muscles flutter around me, the increasing desperation in her movements. When the tremors start, I kiss her deeply, swallowing the moans that would otherwise echo through the forest as she comes apart in my arms once more.
The sensation of her climax pushes me to my own edge, pleasure building at the base of my spine until I can barely think past the need for release. At the last moment I pull out, spending myself on the snowy ground as waves of satisfaction crash over me, leaving me breathless and shaking with the intensity of it.
I can't remember the last time anything felt that good—if anything ever has. The physical pleasure was incredible, but it's the emotional satisfaction that leaves me stunned. The way she trusted me with her body, her pleasure, her vulnerability. The way she looked at me not as a threat to be endured but as a man she wanted.
We stay pressed together, breathing hard as we slowly return to ourselves. The cold air raises goosebumps along our exposed skin, but neither of us seems eager to break the connection, to return to the world of uncertainty waiting beyond this stolen moment.
15
MARA
