"Bunny—" He started to sit up.
I pushed him back down. "No. My turn to teach." I leaned forward, hands braced on either side of his head. "Lesson one: reading micro-expressions. Right now your pupils are dilated, pulse visible at your throat. Your hands are clenched because you want to touch but think you shouldn't. Classic arousal markers fighting with perceived propriety."
"We're supposed to be training."
"We are." I rolled my hips, drawing a hiss from him. "You're teaching me to trust my instincts. I'm teaching you to read the person beneath the training." I straightened, hands going to the waistband of my shorts. "Want to know a secret?"
He nodded, eyes tracking my movements.
"Didn't wear anything underneath." I lifted just enough to shimmy the shorts down, proving my point. "Instinct told me training might become something else. Old me would haveignored it, added layers for protection. New me decided to see what happened."
"Fuck." His hands found my hips, not pulling me down but not pushing away either. "You're going to be the death of me."
"Small death," I echoed our previous conversation. "You'll recover."
I reached between us, finding him hard and ready through his sweatpants. A few tugs freed him, and I positioned myself carefully, letting the head brush where I was already wet and aching.
"This okay?" I asked, needing to hear it.
"More than okay." His thumbs stroked my hipbones. "But only if you're sure. Only if this is what you want, not what you think—"
I sank down, cutting off his words with action. We both groaned at the stretch, the fullness, the perfect friction of coming together. I stayed still for a moment, adjusting to the invasion that felt nothing like violation.
"You're not broken," Nathan said, voice wrecked. "You're feral. Difference is, broken means damaged. Feral means wild. Untamed." His hands tightened on my hips. "I like feral."
Something cracked open in my chest at the words. I started moving, slow at first, then finding rhythm. His hands guided but didn't control, letting me set pace and depth. The power of it went to my head like whiskey.
"Lesson two," I managed between gasps. "Body language. You bite your lip when you're close. Right fist clenches tighter than left. Your breathing goes shallow then deep just before—"
He surged up, capturing my mouth in a kiss that derailed all thought. I'd never initiated kissing during sex before, too vulnerable, too intimate. But now I chased his tongue with mine, nipped at his lower lip, claimed his mouth like I was claiming his body.
When we broke apart, I didn't stop moving. If anything, I rode him harder, chasing something more than physical release. His hands mapped my body like territory to memorize—the curve of breast, the dip of waist, the flex of thighs working to take him deeper.
"So fucking beautiful," he said against my throat. "So strong. Look at you, taking what you want. Using me for your pleasure."
"Not using." I had to correct that, make him understand. "Sharing. Want—need you to feel good too."
"I am. Christ, Bunny, never felt anything like you."
I believed him. Could read the truth in how his body tensed beneath mine, how his fingers dug into my hips hard enough to bruise, how he fought not to thrust up and take control. He was letting me lead, letting me learn what I liked when choice was mine alone.
"Nathan," I gasped as pressure built to breaking. His name on my lips during sex felt like crossing a bridge I couldn't uncross. "Nathan, please—"
"I've got you." One hand slipped between us, finding that bundle of nerves that made me see stars. "Let go. Want to feel you come on me. Around me. For me."
The combination of friction and his voice shattered my control. I came with a cry that might have been his name, might have been prayer, might have been something altogether new. He followed seconds later, spilling inside me with a groan that I felt in my bones.
I collapsed against his chest, both of us panting like we'd run marathons. His arms came around me, holding loose enough I could move if needed, tight enough I felt anchored.
"That wasn't in the training manual," I said eventually.
His laugh rumbled through me. "Best lessons never are."
I pushed up enough to see his face, suddenly needing to mark him the way he'd marked me. I pressed kisses along his jaw, down his throat, then sucked at the junction of neck and shoulder until he hissed. When I pulled back, a purple bruise was already forming.
"Mine," I said, then froze. Possessiveness was dangerous. Led to obsession, control, all the things I was supposed to be escaping.
"Yours," Nathan agreed easily. "Just like you're mine. Equal possession. Mutual belonging." He traced my cheekbone. "That scare you?"
