He lies back against the pillows, golden eyes—more gold than black now, the rut beginning to ease—watching me with something like wonder as I sink down onto his cock. My thighs burn with the effort of lifting and dropping, of controlling the pace, but I don't care. I want to see his face like this, want to watch his expression fracture as I work myself on him.
His hands settle on my hips, not guiding, just holding. His thumbs trace circles on my hip bones as I move, and his eyes never leave my face.
"Beautiful," he murmurs. "You're so fucking beautiful."
I plant my hands on his chest and lean forward, changing the angle, grinding my clit against him with every roll of my hips. His head tips back against the pillow, throat exposed, and I lean down to bite—not hard, just enough to feel his whole body jerk beneath me.
"Kess—" My name is a prayer on his lips.
I ride him until we both shatter.
The fourth wave is the gentlest, the heat finally burning down to embers. He spoons behind me in the gray pre-dawn light, one arm under my head, the other wrapped around my waist, and slides into me slow and easy. No urgency now—just a lazy rhythm, his cock moving in and out of my slick cunt while he kisses my neck, my shoulder, the sensitive spot behind my ear.
"I could do this forever," he whispers against my skin. "Stay inside you forever. Never stop."
His hand slides down to cup me where we're joined, fingers finding my clit, working me in slow circles while his cock drags against my inner walls. I come quietly this time, shivering in his arms, and he follows soon after—the knot smaller now, easierto take, still locking us together but without the overwhelming stretch.
We fall asleep like that, still joined, his breath warm against my hair.
By the time gray light filters through my window, we're both exhausted, wrung out, lying in sheets soaked with sweat and slick and cum. I should be disgusted. Should want to bathe, to clean up, to restore some dignity to the situation.
Instead I curl closer to him, my head on his chest, listening to the steady drum of his heart. I trace the scars on his ribs, the claiming marks on his throat. Memorize the feel of his skin beneath my fingertips, the rhythm of his breathing, the way his arm tightens around me when I shift.
I'll remember this. All of it.
The way he looked at me when he first pushed inside—like I was something precious, something worth being careful with. The gold breaking through the black of his eyes as the rut eased and the man returned. The sounds he made when he came, desperate and broken and beautiful. The weight of him above me, the heat of him behind me, the strength in his arms as he held me close.
Every touch. Every kiss. Every whispered word in the darkness.
I'll remember.
"It's passing," I murmur against his chest. "The heat. It's almost gone."
"Already?" He sounds surprised. "It's only been?—"
"I know." I trace idle patterns on his chest, feeling the raised edges of scars beneath my fingertips. "They're changing. Coming faster, burning shorter. The contamination is doing something to them."
His hand stills where it's been stroking my hair. "Are you worried?"
"I don't know." I consider the question honestly. "I should be. Everything about my body is changing, and I don't know what I'm becoming. But I can't make myself feel afraid of it."
"Maybe that's the warrior omega in you." His voice is soft. "Maybe your blood knows this is what it was always meant for."
Maybe.
Or maybe my body knows something I don't. Maybe these flash heats—coming faster, burning hotter, demanding him inside me again and again—are trying to do what heats are designed to do. Tie me to him. Bind us together in a way that can't be undone.
Make something permanent.
I don't say it aloud. Don't want to see his reaction, don't want to know if the thought terrifies him the way it should terrify me.
Because it doesn't. Not completely.
And I don't know what that means.
The bond flickers in my chest—that strange muffled quality still present, like hearing music through a wall. I should ask him about it. Should mention that it feels different lately, quieter, less vivid.
But his breathing has gone slow and even, sleep finally claiming him after a night of exertion. I don't have the heart to wake him for questions I'm not sure I want answered.
