"I hate that you're right."
"I know that too."
He lifted me—hands under my thighs, my legs wrapping around his waist—and carried me to the bed. Dropped me onto the mattress, covered my body with his, kissed me until I couldn't think. "If anything happens to you tomorrow?—"
"It won't."
"If it does—" His forehead pressed to mine, breath ragged. "I won't survive it, Kai. You understand? I won't survive losing you."
"Then we both make it back." I cupped his face, made him look at me. "Together. That's the only option."
Something broke in his expression. Relief, maybe. Or surrender. "Together," he repeated.
"Now stop talking and fuck me."
He didn't need to be told twice.
This was different from before. Not the rough, desperate claiming after Chen's threat. Not the tender first time he'd taken me. This was both and neither—passionate and raw, but underneath it, something deeper. An apology. A promise. A sealing of the partnership we'd just forged. He undressed me slowly, mouth following his hands, worshipping every inch of skin he uncovered. When I was naked beneath him, he just looked—grey eyes dark with want, mapping my body like he was memorizing it.
"Beautiful," he murmured. "How did I get so lucky?"
"Shut up and do me."
He laughed—a real laugh, surprised and warm—and then his mouth was on my cock, stopping my thinking altogether.
He'd learned so much in such a short time. Knew exactly how to use his tongue, his lips, the careful suction that had me seeing stars. I fisted my hands in the sheets, fought to keep my hips still, failed miserably.
"Axel—fuck—I need?—"
He pulled off, lips slick and swollen. "What do you need?"
"You. Inside me. Now."
He prepared me with maddening patience. One finger, then two, then three, working me open until I was writhing, begging, beyond coherent speech. Only then did he slick himself up and press inside.
The stretch was perfect. The fullness was overwhelming. He sank into me inch by inch, watching my face, waiting for any sign of discomfort. There was none. Only pleasure, only connection, onlyhim.
"Move," I breathed. "Please."
Long, deep strokes that hit every nerve ending. His hands pinned my wrists above my head. His mouth found my neck, my jaw, my lips. We moved together like we'd been doing this for years—perfectly in sync, anticipating each other's rhythms.
"I love you," he said, punctuating each word with a thrust. "I love you, I love you, I love you?—"
"I love you too—fuck, right there?—"
He angled his hips, hit my prostate dead-on, and I shattered. The orgasm crashed through me without warning, my cock pulsing between our bodies, his name torn from my throat. He followed seconds later, burying himself deep, groaning into my shoulder as he came.
We lay tangled together afterward, sweat-slick and trembling. "You're coming tomorrow," he said finally.
"I know."
"But you stay with Tyler. Medical support, not front lines."
"That's fair."
"And if I tell you to run?—"
"I'll make my own call." I propped myself up, met his eyes. "But I'll listen. I promise."
