I nod, heart thudding. “More than that. It’s not just love. It’sthelove. The one that rewrites everything. That eclipses every war, every pain. That ties two people together across lifetimes.”
She goes quiet.
And in that silence, I brace myself for laughter. For disbelief. For the slow retreat of someone who’s just realized the thing in her bed is more beast than man.
But when she speaks, it’s with a softness that makes my ribs ache.
“You believe that?” she asks.
“I never did,” I admit. “Until now.”
She looks at me a moment longer, then grins. “So you’re telling me I’m stuck with a grumpy, giant, battle-scarred warrior for all eternity?”
I grunt. “You make it sound like a punishment.”
She leans in, presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Not if the sex stays that good.”
I blink.
She laughs, the sound light and teasing—but there’s a depth behind her eyes that betrays the truth. She feels it too. She mightnot have the word for it, but her soul’s already halfway bound to mine. I see it in the way she looks at me when she thinks I’m not watching. In the way her fingers trace the old scar on my shoulder like it means something. In the way she chooses to stay.
Every time.
She curls back into me, hand resting just over my heart, and I realize I’ve stopped bracing for the blow.
For the first time in years… I believe I could be loved.
Not just needed. Not just tolerated.
Loved.
I turn onto my side, looming over her but keeping my weight to the elbow. Her eyes catch the firelight and hold it, like twin stars. She doesn’t look away.
“Tell me if you want to stop,” I say quietly.
She lifts a brow, teasing. “Why would I want to stop now?”
And then I’m gone.
I dip my head and press my mouth to the base of her throat. She arches slightly, lips parting with a soft gasp. My hands slide down her sides, slow, reverent. Mapping her. Memorizing her.
She’s still sore, I can tell. But she doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pull away. Her body welcomes me with a kind of trust I’ve never earned.
I slide down between her thighs and press my face against her, inhaling the heady, intoxicating scent of her desire. She makes a sound—needy, helpless—and her hands tangle in my hair again, tugging me closer.
I kiss her slowly. Thoroughly.
She tastes like lightning and rain and everything I never thought I deserved.
She writhes beneath me, soft cries spilling from her lips as I take my time. Worshiping her. Devouring her. Her pussy is soaked and hot and perfect, slick against my tongue as I exploreher with aching reverence. I drag the flat of my tongue over her clit and she chokes on a moan, hips lifting into my mouth.
“Oh fuck, Maug?—”
The way she says my name makes me growl into her.
It vibrates through her, and she gasps, trembling. Her legs lock around my shoulders as I lick her again, again, each stroke firmer, deeper. I slide one thick finger inside her, feeling her walls pulse around me, tight and welcoming. She’s smaller than me in every way, but her body opens for me like it’s meant to.
Her voice breaks, breathless and pleading.
