Twenty minutes of lying tangled together, her body wrapped around mine, my cock still buried inside her. We don’t talk much—just breathe, touch, exist together.
It’s the most intimate thing I’ve ever experienced.
“How do you feel?” I ask when I finally feel the lock releasing.
“Full.” She laughs softly. “So full. Is it always like this?”
“First knot during heat is always intense.” I shift, testing if I can pull out. Almost. “Takes the edge off like nothing else can.”
“It worked. The pain is completely gone.” She sounds amazed. “I feel... good. Really good.”
“That’s the goal.” I ease out of her slowly, and we both hiss at the sensation. The sight of my come dripping from her pussy makes my cock twitch with interest, but I ignore it. She needs rest, not another round.
“Milo.” Ben’s voice, from the edge of the nest. I’d almost forgotten he and Elijah were watching. “You okay?”
I realize I’m shaking. The adrenaline of fighting my instincts is finally catching up with me.
“Yeah.” I roll onto my back, stare at the ceiling. “Just... that was intense.”
“You did good.” Elijah’s voice, low and steady. “She’s okay. You didn’t bite.”
“Almost did.” The admission costs me. “There was a second where I—” I can’t finish.
“But you didn’t.” Ben settles beside me. “That’s what matters.”
Tessa curls against my side, her hand over my heart. “You were perfect,” she murmurs. “Thank you.”
“For what? Mind-blowing sex?” I try for humor. It comes out shaky.
“For keeping your promise.” She presses a kiss to my chest. “For proving I can trust you.”
That hits different. Harder.
“Milo?” Her voice is drowsy. Already drifting.
“I’m here.” I stroke her hair. “Rest. You need to sleep while you can.”
“Don’t leave.”
“Never.” I press a kiss to her forehead, keeping my mouth far from her neck. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She’s asleep within seconds. Just like that—one moment awake, the next completely out. Her body knows what it needs, and right now it needs rest to prepare for the next wave.
But I’m exhausted—physically and emotionally drained—and her warmth and scent are like a drug. One minute I’m watching her breathe, the next I’m jolting awake to the sound of her whimpering.
“No.” She’s thrashing in the blankets, her skin flushed, her scent spiking with distress. “No, please.”
“Tessa.” I grab her shoulders. “Wake up. You’re okay.”
Her eyes fly open. Wild. Panicked. Then she focuses on me and crumples.
“Milo.” She’s crying, clutching at me.
“I’m here.” I pull her against my chest. “Not going anywhere.”
“Hurts.” Her voice is small.
She’s right. Her scent is shifting—that desperate, needy edge returning. The heat isn’t done with her yet.
