"We shouldn't," I managed. "The mountain—"
"I know."
"We have to focus—"
"I know."
"If we start this, what if I don't want to stop—"
"Then don't stop." He cupped my face in his hands, holding me still. "Or stop. Whatever you need. I'm not going anywhere."
The words cracked something open in my chest. I stared down at him—this ridiculous, stubborn, impossibly kind man who'd followed me into the wilderness with borrowed gear and no plan.
"Why?" The question came out broken. "Why do you keep doing this? Keep showing up?"
"Because you're mine." He said it simply. Certainly. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I don't know how I know that. I don't know what it means. But I know it's true. You're mine, and I'm yours, and I'm done pretending otherwise."
The hum settled into something deeper. Not a roar anymore—a purr. Recognition. A homecoming.
“This is crazy,” I whispered.
“Yeah.”
“You don’t even know what you’re claiming.”
I kissed him again—softer this time. Slower. Learning the shape of his mouth, the taste of him, the way his breath hitched when I traced my tongue along his lower lip.
His hands mapped my body with the same patient attention, learning me, memorizing me.
We didn’t stop.
I don’t know who moved first—only that suddenly there was no space left between us, no room for hesitation or second-guessing. James’s mouth crushed to mine, all heat and hunger, and I gasped as his hips rocked instinctively, grinding against me through layers that were already far too thin.
I felt him then. Hard. Fully. Pressed against me with nowhere to go.
The hum surged—violent, demanding—and heat flared at my wrist, the mate mark burning beneath my skin like it was being called awake. A sound tore from me, soft and broken, and his hands tightened on my hips like he’d been waiting for permission his entire life.
“Lumi,” he groaned, his forehead dropping to my shoulder. “You feel—fuck—you feel so good.”
I was already shaking.
I dragged my hands down his chest, lower, feeling the solid heat of him beneath my palms, the unmistakable proof of what I was doing to him. His breath stuttered when I touched him properly, fingers curling reflexively like he was bracing for impact.
The control I’d spent my life perfecting shattered.
“Don’t stop,” I whispered. “Please—don’t stop.”
That was all it took.
His hand slid between us, clumsy and urgent, and when his fingers found me—warm, sure, devastating—I cried out, biting down on his shoulder to keep from screaming. I was already soaked, already aching, my body wide open to him in a way that felt terrifying and inevitable all at once.
“God,” he breathed, voice wrecked. “You’re so wet. You’re—Lumi—”
I rocked against his hand, desperate, shameless, the hum roaring so loud it felt like it might tear me apart from the inside.Every nerve ending lit up, every touch magnified until I couldn’t tell where sensation ended and need began.
I came fast. Hard.
My body locked around nothing, shaking violently as release tore through me, stars bursting behind my eyes. I clutched at him, nails digging in, breath coming apart in broken sounds I didn’t recognize as my own.
