She rocks against me, and the friction sends heat racing through my veins. I groan against her mouth, my hand tightening on her waist.
"Is this okay?" she breathes against my lips. "Tell me if I should stop."
"Don't stop." I pull her closer, nearly crushing her against me. "Please don't stop."
She doesn't. She kisses me harder, deeper, her hands exploring my chest, my shoulders, mapping every scar and muscle. And through the bond, I feel what she feels: desire, yes, but also affection. Trust. The bone-deep certainty that this is right.
That I am allowed to want this. To want her.
My hand slides up her back, feeling the delicate curve of her spine through the thin shift. She shivers, but not from cold this time. From pleasure. From a desperate want mirroring my own.
"Cadeon." My name is a prayer on her lips. "Touch me. Please."
"Where?" The word comes out harsh, desperate. "Tell me where you want me to touch you."
"Everywhere." She rocks against me again, and I can feel her heat even through our layers. "I want your hands everywhere."
I nearly come undone right there.
Instead, I kiss her throat, feeling her pulse jump beneath my lips. She gasps, arching into me, and I can feel her pleasure through the bond so sharp and sweet and overwhelming.
"Can I?" I press my mouth to the spot where her pulse beats strongest. "May I feed? Not much. Just a taste."
"Yes." No hesitation. "Yes, please."
I bite down gently, just enough to break skin, and her blood floods my mouth in a rich wave so sweet and laced with magic. She moans, her hands fisting in my hair, and through the bond I feel the way feeding affects her. The heat that pools low in her belly. The pleasure that mixes with the sting.
I take only a few swallows, then seal the wound with my tongue. She's trembling against me, breathing hard, her pupils blown wide.
"That was incredible, I... " She can't seem to finish the sentence. "I didn't know it could feel like that."
"Neither did I." I rest my forehead against hers, trying to regain control. "You're intoxicating."
"Good." She kisses me again, slower this time. Deeper. "I want to intoxicate you. I want you to feel everything."
I do feel everything. Her heart racing. Her skin flushed with heat. The way she fits perfectly against me, like she was made to be here.
The way I've never wanted anything as much as I want her.
We kiss until the fire burns low, until her shivering has completely stopped, until we're both flushed and breathless and tangled together under the blanket.
When we finally break apart, she stays in my lap, her head on my shoulder, her hands resting against my chest.
"The storm's dying down," she murmurs. “We didn’t bring our decorations.”
"I’ll get them." I don't loosen my hold. "Later."
We sit in comfortable silence, and I let myself have this. This moment of peace. This feeling of rightness. This woman in my arms who looks at my scars and sees survival, who kisses me like I'm precious, who gives me permission to want.
"Cadeon?"
"Hmm?"
"When I’m warm and we don’t have an excuse," She looks up at me through her lashes. "Can we continue this?"
"You think I was looking for an excuse?"
"No." She smiles. "No, but maybe permission from your partner."
