I throw a pillow at him. He catches it one-handed and tosses it back before heading for the kitchen.
I lie there for another moment, just breathing. Processing the fact that this is my life now. Mated to a Grayhide historian who makes me feel things I never knew existed. Part of something bigger than just myself or my pack. Connected to someone who sees all my broken pieces and chooses to love them anyway.
Love.
The word feels foreign and familiar at the same time. I’ve never said it out loud. Never felt it without the curse dampening the emotion into something manageable. But now…
I get up and find one of Reeyan’s shirts on the floor and pull it on before I follow the smell of coffee to the kitchen.
He’s at the stove, scrambling eggs with one hand while pouring coffee with the other. The domesticity of the scene makes something warm bloom in my chest.
“You look good in my clothes,” he comments with a smirk.
“Your shirt was the closest thing I could find.”
“Keep it. Looks better on you anyway.”
I pour myself coffee and lean against the counter, watching him cook. “Reeyan?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
His hand stills on the spatula. He turns to face me, and the look in his green eyes makes my breath catch.
“Say that again.”
“I love you. Not because of the mate bond or because you saved me from Thornridge. I love you because you’re brilliant and kind and you believe in me even when I don’t believe in myself.”
He crosses the space between us in three strides and gathers my face in his hands. “I love you. I’ve loved you since that first moment on the desert road when you bit that Thornridge operative and refused to stop fighting.”
“That’s a weird moment to fall in love with someone,” I reply, scrunching up my nose.
“You’re a weird person. It fits.”
I laugh and pull him down for a kiss. He tastes like coffee and promises, and I never want to stop kissing him.
His hands slide under the shirt I’m wearing, warm palms running up my sides. I arch into his touch, already aching for more despite how thoroughly he claimed me last night.
“The eggs,” he murmurs against my mouth.
“Can wait.” I nip his bottom lip. “This can’t.”
He turns off the stove and lifts me onto the counter in one smooth motion before he steps between my thighs and kisses me like he’s trying to memorize the taste of my mouth. My legs wrap around his waist naturally, pulling him closer until I can feel how much he wants this, too.
“I need you,” I whisper between kisses.
He groans and slides his hands into my hair, angling my head for better access. His mouth moves from my lips to my jaw to the spot just below my ear that makes me whimper.
“Tell me what you want,” he prompts.
“You. All of you. Every way I can have you.”
His sweatpants hit the floor. I yank the shirt over my head and toss it aside. He lifts me off the counter and carries me to the bedroom, our mouths never breaking contact.
We fall onto the bed in a tangle of limbs. No more talking. Just touch and taste, and the insatiable need to be as close as possible.
He moves down my body, kissing and licking everywhere he can reach. When his mouth finds the place between my thighs, I cry out and fist my hands in his hair.
