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The afternoon is chaos—feeding schedules and diaper changes and the constant background noise of two babies who haven't learned the concept of taking turns. By the time we get them down for their afternoon nap, I'm exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with curses or transformations.
Just parenthood. Just the ordinary miracle of keeping two small humans alive.
"They're asleep." Rhystan closes the nursery door with exaggerated care. "Both of them. At the same time. I think that's only happened twice before."
"Don't jinx it."
"I'm not jinxing anything. I'm stating facts." He pulls me against him, my back to his chest, arms wrapped around my waist. "We have maybe an hour before one of them wakes up screaming. What do you want to do with it?"
I lean back into him. Feel his heartbeat against my spine, steady and strong. The bond hums between us—quiet contentment, banked heat, the ever-present awareness of each other that's become as natural as breathing.
"I can think of a few things."
His hands slide lower. "Yeah?"
"We could take a nap."
"We could."
"Or eat something that isn't mashed vegetables."
"Also an option."
"Or..." I turn in his arms, loop my hands around his neck. "You could take me back to our chambers and remind me why I keep you around."
The heat that flares through the bond makes my breath catch.
"That," he says, voice dropping to something darker, "is the best idea you've had all day."
We don't make it to the chambers.
We make it to the hallway outside the nursery before he presses me against the wall and kisses me like we have all the time in the world. We make it to the stairs before my hands are under his shirt, claws tracing paths I've memorized over months of this. We make it to the landing before I'm wrapping my legs around his waist and he's carrying me the rest of the way, mouths still fused together.
The door barely closes before he's laying me on the bed.
"We have an hour," I remind him, already pulling at his clothes. "Maybe less."
"Then I'd better work fast."
He doesn't work fast.
He works thorough—mouth and hands everywhere, learning my body all over again the way he does every time, like he can't quite believe I'm still here. The scales don't slow him down. Never have. He traces them with his tongue, finds the places where they're thinner and more sensitive, makes me gasp and arch and forget that there are two babies sleeping down the hall who could wake up at any moment.
"Rhystan—" His name comes out desperate. "Stop teasing."
"I'm not teasing. I'm savoring."
"Savor faster."
He laughs against my hip. Then his mouth finds my cunt and I stop being able to form words.
The orgasm builds slow—his tongue working me with maddening patience, fingers sliding inside to stroke the spot that makes me see stars. I come with my claws buried in the sheets, transformed throat producing sounds that are more growl than moan, pleasure rolling through me in waves that leave me shaking.
He doesn't stop. Doesn't let me come down. Just keeps working me through it until I'm desperate again, until I'm pulling at his shoulders, demanding more.
"Inside me." I manage to gasp it out between aftershocks. "Need you inside me. Now."
