"I know." She cups my face with both hands. "I trust you."
Nothing in my life has ever hit as hard as those words. I kiss her again—deep, slow, with the reverence she deserves—and then I slide my palm down, past her stomach, between her thighs.
She cries out softly with her back arching and her hips lifting to meet my hand. Her warmth, the way she trembles under my touch, it's almost too much to bear.
"Perfect," I rasp. "You're perfect."
Her breath comes faster now, and her fingers grip my shoulders as I stroke her, building her gently, watching her lose herself under my hand. When she shudders and goes tight around my fingers, moaning into my mouth, the bond surges—blinding and consuming. Her pleasure hits me like flame.
When she comes apart, panting and trembling, I drop my forehead to her shoulder and fight for control. She pulls me closer with her legs wrapping around my hips.
"I want more," she whispers. "I want you."
I lift my head, my breath ragged. "I'll go slow."
"I don't want slow," she says, her eyes dark with heat. "I want you to lose yourself in me."
I line myself against her, moving carefully and giving her time to adjust to my size. Her breath catches in a sharp, sweet sound, and she digs her fingers into my arms.
"Ava—" I choke out. "Tell me—"
"Don't stop," she gasps. "Please, don't stop."
I drop my head and kiss her fiercely as I push deeper, every slow inch a battle against instinct screaming to take, to claim, to bond fully. But she clings to me, meeting me with equal hunger, her hips lifting and her voice breaking on my name.
Hearing it like that unravels me completely. We move together, finding our rhythm, and the bond pulls tighter, building between us like something inevitable. Every movement draws a sound from her throat, every gasp a spark straight into the bond.
"Look at me," I whisper.
She does, and I break. I kiss her hard as my release tears through me, the bond flaring white-hot—not snapping into place, not trapping—but opening like a door thrown wide.
Her arms wrap around me, and I know she feels it too. When it fades, I collapse gently onto my forearms above her, breathing like I've climbed the mountain three times without stopping.
Ava strokes my jaw, soft and slow, her body still trembling under mine. "You okay?" she whispers.
I nod once. "You undid me."
She smiles—small, tender, devastating. "Good."
I ease onto my side and pull her carefully into my arms with her head on my chest and her fingers tracing slow circles against my skin. The storm outside has quieted almost completely, and inside, her heartbeat settles against mine.
Chapter 7
Ava
WhenIwake,thefirst thing I notice is heat. The second is muscle.A lotof muscle.
I blink up at the ceiling, then at the thick arm draped across my waist, then at the large olive-gray hand resting over my stomach like it was molded there. Right, so last night wasn't a dream, and neither is the gigantic, warm, tusked man pressed against my back, breathing slow and even like holding me is something his body has been waiting decades to do.
My face goes hot, my chest goes warm, and everything else goes melty. I shift slightly, and his arm tightens around me, pulling me closer without him even waking. That shouldn't make my heart flip the way it does, but it does.
I turn in his arms slowly, careful of my ankle, and study him. His eyes are still closed with lashes dark against the skin of his cheeks. He looks younger like this, softer, vulnerable in a way I never expected someone as strong as him could be.
I reach up and brush a thumb along his jaw. His skin is warm, textured, real.
His eyes open instantly, gold and alert, but when he sees me, they soften immediately. "Ava," he murmurs, voice low and rough from sleep. "You stayed."
The way he says it makes my heart squeeze. "I'm not going anywhere," I whisper.
