Mav’s eyes traced over me, memorizing every scar, every shadow, every line of my body. His hands rose to cradle my face. His thumbs traced reverent paths along my cheekbones, my lips, the fragile edge of my jaw.
I closed the space between us and pressed my lips to his. The kiss began soft, hesitant, then deepened into a kind of desperation that left no room for thought. A groan rumbled low in his chest, a raw note of longing that shivered through me. We sank together onto the bedrolls.
Mav kissed me as though the world were ending and he intended to claim every heartbeat this night offered. I kissed him back with equal devotion. We moved with intention. Each motion a word, each sigh a sentence; our bodies writing letters to one another while there was still ink to spill.
His tongue stroked against mine, and I gasped into his mouth, a soft, startled breath that unraveled whatever fragile restraint remained between us. His hands hesitated as he reached to peel away the remaining fabric of my chemise. He met myeyes, waiting for my permission; a silent vow that no part of me would ever again be touched without my choosing. I nodded and smiled. He removed the last of the clothing keeping us apart.
His hands charted me with adoration, tracing the line of my collarbone, the subtle curves of my ribs, the narrow sweep of my waist. My fingers mapped him in return, following the hard planes of his back, the powerful hinge of his shoulder, the familiar scar at his ribs. The taste of him flooded my senses until there was only the raw, aching certainty of us.
When his mouth closed over the peak of my breast, I arched into him with a cry I could not swallow, my hands tangling in his hair. He moved down my body with a series of kisses toward the mounting ache between my legs. His stubble rasped against the delicate flesh, leaving a trail of sparks in its wake. He worshipped me with lips and tongue until my pulse became a wild, ungoverned drum.
He paused, forehead to mine, before kissing me softly. When he entered me at last, the world stopped. A sharp gasp tore from my lips as he filled me, stretching me to the brink of pain and then beyond, into something vast and consuming. We moved together, tide to moon, as though an ancient gravity had waited centuries to draw us into alignment. I arched beneath him, and he spoke my name against the hollow of my throat. I breathed his name back, trembling, as though speaking it aloud might keep him with me forever. The pace quickened. His hips drove deeper, harder, until my back bowed and my body sang with sensation. I clung to him, lost in the symphony we created: the syncopated rhythm of motion, the rush of breath, the soft moans of pleasure.
When the pleasure crested, it was not a single sharp note but a chord so rich and full it reverberated through every nerve and bone. My fingers dug into his shoulders as stars burst behind my eyes. Mav followed me into the breaking, his release shudderingthrough him as though his very soul poured into mine. He pressed a gentle kiss to my lips. We lay together in the aftermath, skin slick with sweat and the fading echoes of heat.
After we dressed in borrowed clothing to stave off the chill, I curled into his chest, and he stroked my hair.
Then, with the smirk that had unmade me from the first hour, “You’re not allowed in my dreams tonight.”
“I do not understand your meaning.”
“I’m serious,” he said, mock stern. “You always mess with my head when you’re in them.”
“Mav, I swore I would never use magic on you. It remains so.”
He tilted to look at me. “Then why have I dreamed about you every night since the day we met?”
I kissed the place over his heart. “Perhaps you ought to ask yourself the question.”
His laugh was quiet. His arms gathered me closer, tucking my back to his chest. Within minutes, his breathing slowed to a restful pace.
Sleep tugged at the corners of my sight, heavy and warm. Before I let it take me, I spoke the words I had hoarded far too long.
“I love you, Mav. I always will.”
I wished to ink the truth of it into his skin—so he could never forget me.
I was out of time.
ONE DAY REMAINING
50
MAV
Quinn lay beside me beneath the blanket, cheek pressed to my arm. Her hair—tousled from sleep, wild from the night before—spilled over my skin in dark ribbons. If I could have frozen time, I would’ve lived in this hour forever.
She’d whispered it when she thought I was asleep.“I love you, Mav. I always will.”I hadn’t said it back—hadn’t been able to. Not because I didn’t feel it. Because I was afraid I’d fall apart if I did.
What waslove, compared to what I felt for her?
Love was insufficient.
Love was a campfire.Thiswas a blaze capable of reducing continents to ashes.
I loved her.
I loved her with a certainty that outshone every doubt I’d ever carried.
