Of course Lykor hesitated, fearing to become someone who’d hurt what he wanted to protect.
Drawing back, Jassyn made the decision for both of them. Blood surging, he moved across the couch. He lifted one knee and then the other, until he straddled Lykor’s hips.
Lykor’s head tipped back a fraction, but his gaze never wavered. His breath caught as his hands rose, uncertain, hovering between them as if he didn’t know where he was allowed to touch. Heat kindled in his eyes, but he held motionless, closing no distance without permission.
Jassyn did it for him, twining their fingers, guiding Lykor’s hand to his hip. When he reached for his claw, Lykor tensed, but Jassyn tightened his grip, anchoring that palm against his cheek.
Lykor swallowed before skimming his talons through Jassyn’s curls, settling at the base of his scalp in a way that ignited every nerve.
A groan slipped from Jassyn as he brushed his lips over Lykor’s again, grazing the corner of his mouth before drifting lower to his jaw and throat—hungrier now, tasting the heat and wreckage of want.
He rolled his hips once, and Lykor answered with a guttural snarl.
Their bodies pressed flush, friction catching, heat building. Still Jassyn didn’t rush, kept the beastblood to a simmer, unwilling to let this moment completely combust.
And with Lykor clinging to him, steadying him more than he knew, Jassyn felt the heat settle in his chest. For now, what they had was enough.
CHAPTER 40
LYKOR
Fucking stars.
Lykor forgot how to breathe as Jassyn kissed him within an inch of his life. It began slow, then deepened—gravity tilting into a single pair of lips, a pull Lykor had no defense against.
Shoulders locked, spine braced against the couch, he sat frozen beneath Jassyn’s thighs. Caged and tense, clinging to restraint like that alone could keep him from flying apart.
Warmth spilled through every point of contact. Chest to chest, skin to skin, heat sank past muscle and marrow, filling hollows Lykor hadn’t known were starving until they sparked awake under Jassyn’s touch.
And beneath it all—faint but unmistakable—the scent of rain tangled with citrus, a storm breaking over sun-warmed stone. It burrowed deep, striking a feral instinct that wanted that smell pressed into his skin until it branded him there for good.
He hadn’t meant to shred Jassyn’s shirt. Like a fucking animal. But in that blinding second, he couldn’t bear being the only one stripped bare. Not with Jassyn looking at him as if he were something worth wanting.
And now he couldn’t look away. Couldn’t pretend he didn’t notice the way Jassyn fit against him—lean muscle, desert-touched skin, a beauty fierce enough to wrench Lykor’s pulse off its axis.
Jassyn didn’t flinch or hide. He offered himself without hesitation.
And Lykor didn’t know what to do.
Didn’t know where to touch.
How to move.
How not to shatter the fragile, wordless trust Jassyn had already given him—guiding Lykor’s palms exactly where he’d wanted them, steady and sure.
No one had ever offered him that before. He’d made sure theycouldn’t, torching every bridge before it could even begin to form.
Untouchable by design.
Untouchable because survival demanded isolation.
Steel forged to withstand fire, not to be softened.
Certainly not to be wanted.
But now…
His body turned traitor before he could brace for it.
