He peeled her leggings off, then her panties, slow enough to look, to memorize. His pupils blew wide, lion close. She felt entirely seen. Entirely wanted.
“You’re perfect,” he said. “Every damn inch.”
She rolled her eyes, heat blooming in her cheeks anyway. “Stop talking like that.”
“Why?” His hands gripped her thighs, thumbs stroking the insides. “Truth make you nervous?”
“It makes things real.”
“It is real.”
Then he lowered his head.
He licked her slow at first, like he was tasting something rare. Then he found her rhythm, the one that made her hips jerk and her hand fly to his hair. He groaned into her when she tugged, like he liked being held there. His tongue worked her, deliberate, clever, circling where she needed it most, then sucking, then flattening, switching it up so she never quite knew when the next wave would hit.
“Don’t stop.” Her voice emerged rough, almost a growl.
“Not planning on it,” he said against her, and did exactly what she asked.
Pleasure built, hot and fast. The storm outside battered the walls, but up here everything had narrowed to fire, his mouth, her heartbeat. Her lioness rose to meet it, to rub against him, to claim and be claimed. She pressed her heel to his shoulder to get more, to angle him, to take what was hers.
When she came, it was sharp and hard and too much. She slapped a hand over her own mouth to muffle the sound. He felt it, felt the trembling, and rode her through it, tongue easing, hands holding.
“Yeah,” he murmured, sliding up her body, bracing over her so his weight didn’t crush her. His face was flushed, hair a mess, mouth wet with her. “That’s mine.”
She huffed a laugh, dazed. “You wish.”
“I do.” He kissed her, letting her taste herself. “I really do.”
Their bodies were flush now, skin to skin, heat to heat. She hooked her leg over his hip and dragged him closer.
“Condom?” she said, because no matter how far gone she was, she wasn’t stupid.
“Back pocket,” he said, already reaching. He tore it, rolled it on, eyes never leaving hers. “Say it, Maeve.”
She swallowed. This was the moment. Choice or fear.
She had already slept with him once and told herself it was a distraction, a way to burn off anger. This time wasn’t that. This time she’d heard him talk about choosing her over duty. This time she’d seen his regret. This time he was trapped in a blizzard with her because he stayed. This time, she knew, on a level deeper than logic, that he would have walked through worse to get to her.
She didn’t have to make it a bond.
She could just make it tonight.
“Yeah,” she said, hand cupping his jaw. “I want this.”
His eyes flared. “Good.”
He pushed into her in one strong, steady stroke.
Her mouth fell open. He filled her, stretching her, heat and pressure and him. Her lioness rolled, pleased. He went slow, watching her face, giving her body time to take him. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him down, needing his weight.
“Maeve,” he rasped. “You feel… gods.”
“You too,” she said, because honesty was the theme tonight, apparently. “You always did.”
He laughed, breathless, and started to move.
He found a rhythm that was deep and sure, hips rolling, hitting the place inside that made her eyes go hot. She met him, no passivity, no surrender that wasn’t her idea. Every time he drove in, she pushed up. Every time he set the pace, she stole it and made it hers. Equal power. Equal hunger.
