“You’re so much more than that,” I said, voice low, reverent.
Then I kissed her.
Not soft. Not sweet.
It was a claim.
My lips crashed into hers like I could kiss the fire back into her bones, like I could brand my name onto her soul just by breathing against her mouth. She melted against me, and I took. I gave her nothing to lean on but me.
When I pulled back, her eyes—fuck, those eyes—were glassy with something raw. Something only I got to see.
“Your hair’s still wet,” I murmured, because touching her felt safer than letting her think. My hand slid down, cradling her jaw like it was something fragile. It wasn’t. She wasn’t.
She tilted her head. “I can dry it later.”
No. She wouldn’t. I’d dry it for her, if I thought she’d let me. I’d do anything to erase the scent of fear from her skin.
The towel slipped. Gravity didn’t even matter—my hunger did.
She didn’t cover herself. Didn’t hesitate. And that was mine too—her trust, her defiance, her silence.
“You came back to me,” I growled, voice dark and rough against her throat. My hands were on her hips now, holding her steady, grounding us both. “You’re mine.”
She pressed her body against mine like it was a vow. Like the fire hadn’t touched her, but I had. Her arms wrapped around my neck and I felt it—her need, her surrender, her choice.
The world outside could burn again.
I had her.
And I wasn’t letting go.
I pulled her into me like I was starving—because I was. Starving for her warmth, her breath, her yes. The fire outside could rage all it wanted—hell could open its mouth and swallow the world whole—and I wouldn’t have noticed.
Not when she was in my arms.
Not when I could feel her heart racing against mine.
I kissed her again—deeper this time, longer. Like I could write over the scars with my mouth. Like I could make her forget. My hands roamed down her sides, relearning every curve I’d spent too long dreaming about. She trembled beneath my touch, and fuck, I lived for it. That tiny shiver—the proof that she felt this too. That she needed me.
“You’re beautiful,” I murmured against her lips, my voice rough with things I didn’t dare say aloud. Then I moved lower. Kissed down her throat, tasted her skin—smoke and sweetness and something holy. My mouth kept moving, tracing paths only I was allowed to walk.
I lifted her like she weighed nothing, like she was something sacred I had to protect with my own damn life. She didn’t resist. She wrapped her arms around me and held on.
The bed waited—sheets still rumpled from nights I’d spent alone, imagining this exact moment. But she was real now. No more smoke. No more distance. Just her.
I laid her down slow, savoring every second she let me keep her like this. She looked up at me, hair a halo against the pillows, chest rising fast.
I didn’t rush. I unwrapped her like a gift I’d bled for. I watched her breathe, watched her flush under my gaze. Her eyes never left mine.
I kissed my way down, slow and reverent. From her collarbone to the curve of her breast, I worshipped every inch. She gasped when my lips brushed sensitive skin, and the sound went straight to my core.
“Tell me you want this,” I rasped, voice barely holding back the edge that lived in my bones.
“I want you,” she breathed, and fuck—those words shattered something in me.
Need surged through me—fierce and unrelenting. I slid between her thighs like I belonged there, because I did. Her warmth wrapped around me, pulled me under, and I let it. Let her consume me.
I moved slow at first. She deserved slow. She deserved everything. But every roll of our bodies, every sigh, every frantic heartbeat dragged me deeper. Our rhythm found itself—something primal, something sacred.
