She sighed as he sat down with her cradled against him. The water was hot, soothing, easing the ache in her bones. He settled her between his strong thighs, pulling her back until her spine rested against his chest.
She fit. She fit perfectly. As though she’d been made to be there.
Picking up a washcloth, he foamed up the soap and began to wash her.
Starting at her shoulders, he worked the tension out of the muscles with firm, circular motions. Her arms came next, and he traced the old scars on her forearms gently, as if to wash away the memory. He moved up to her chest, the touch not lingering as he cleaned the sweat and fear from her skin.
Tears pricked at her eyes. She hadn't cried during the confrontation. She hadn't cried when the security team leveled weapons at her. But this—this quiet, undemanding care—broke her.
"I'm sorry," she choked out.
The cloth paused on her stomach. "For what?"
"The ID. Trying to run. I was just... I thought I was saving you." She tipped her head back, looking up at him. "I didn't want you to lose your rank. I didn't want you to end up like everyone else who gets close to me."
"Hush." He dropped the cloth and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tighter against him. The water lapped at her collarbones. "You were protecting your mate. You were misguided, stubborn, and foolish, but you were acting out of love."
His voice dropped, edged with command. "But you will not run from me again."
“No, never,” she breathed as his forgiveness settled over her. He wasn't angry. He wasn't holding it against her. He saw the intent, not just the action.
She didn't want to be passive anymore. She didn't want to just be held. She wanted to show him how she felt.
She shifted in the water. It sloshed over the sides as she turned, maneuvering until she was straddling his lap. Her knees pressed against the porcelain, her thighs bracketing his hips. She sat back, sinking down until the water covered them both to the waist.
He went still, hands coming up to rest on her hips. His gaze locked onto hers, burning gold.
She braced her palms on his shoulders—steadying herself more than him. "No more running. I'm here." Her fingers wrapped around the mate marks on his wrist as far as she could.
"Say it again." His thumbs swept her hipbones; his gaze didn't soften. "Look at me when you promise."
"I'm not leaving." She held his eyes. "Not because I can't—because I won't."
"Good." His grip tightened. "Because I am not letting you go."
Leaning forward, she kissed him.
It started slow. Soft. A tasting of lips, a mingling of breath. But the heat flared in a heartbeat. It wasn't the frantic, tearing need from when he’d claimed her, or the desperate comfort of their first time. This was deep. It was real, and it felt like coming home.
She slid her hands into his wet hair, gripping the short strands. He groaned low in his throat, his hands sliding up her back to press her closer. The friction of skin on wet skin sent shivers racing down her spine.
Shifting her hips, she adjusted herself until she felt him right… there. Right where she needed him.
Their gazes locked as he entered her slowly.
The water made everything slick and easy, but he took his time. Filling her inch by inch, stretching her, claiming her with deliberate, agonizing slowness. She gasped, burying her face in the crook of his neck. He was huge. Thick and wide…
He stopped when he was seated to the hilt inside her, his balls pressed against her ass. Holding still, he let her adjust and get used to the feeling of him inside her again.
"You are mine," he murmured against her temple. "My heart. My kelarris. My mate."
"Yours," she breathed.
They moved together in the warm water. He did most of the work, lifting her hips, guiding her, his strength effortless. She clung to him, wrapping her legs around his waist. Every thrust filled her completely, making her gasp.
She watched his face. His expression was one of pure, unguarded worship. Open and honest. He wasn't looking at her like a possession to be guarded. He was looking at her like a miracle he couldn't believe he got to keep.
Pleasure built, a slow, steady climb. Not jagged or sharp, but a swell that rose and rose until it broke over her. When the crest came, she didn't scream. Instead, she cried out his name, shuddering in his arms, holding him as tight as she could as she shattered apart around him.
