The transformation that crosses his features steals what's left of my breath—hope and joy and desperate relief combining into an expression so beautiful it makes my heart stutter against my ribs. His hands come up to frame my face with gentleness that contradicts everything about his intimidating size, thumbs brushing across my cheeks with reverence that makes me feel cherished rather than claimed.
"Are you certain?" he asks, voice rough with emotion he's not bothering to hide anymore. "Because once we do this, once we make this choice?—"
"I'm certain," I interrupt, rising on my toes to bring our faces closer together. "I've never been more certain of anything in my life."
The kiss that follows starts gentle, almost hesitant, as if he's afraid I might change my mind or break beneath his touch. But the careful pressure of his lips against mine unleashes something desperate and hungry that's been building between us for weeks, and suddenly gentle isn't enough for either of us.
My hands fist in his cloak, pulling him closer as his arms wrap around me with strength that lifts me off my feet entirely. The kiss deepens, becomes something urgent and claiming that speaks to weeks of restraint finally cracking under pressure of honest emotion. His tongue slides against mine with heat that makes me gasp into his mouth, and the sound draws a low growl from his chest that vibrates through both of us.
When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, his eyes hold darkness that has nothing to do with the winter night around us. "We should go back," he says, but his hands haven't loosened their hold on me, and his voice lacks any real conviction.
"We should," I agree, then deliberately press closer until there's no space left between us. "But I don't want to. Not yet."
Something snaps in his expression, careful control giving way to want that mirrors the desperate need clawing at my insides. His mouth finds mine again, more demanding this time, hands sliding down to grip my waist with possessiveness that makes heat pool low in my belly.
"Saela," he groans against my lips, my name rough with desire that makes me bold in ways I've never been before. "If we don't stop?—"
"Then don't stop," I whisper, letting my hands slide beneath his cloak to find the warm skin beneath his shirt. "Please. I need—I need you."
The confession breaks what's left of his restraint. His mouth moves to my neck, finding sensitive spots that make me arch against him with desperate sounds I can't contain. His hands work at the fastenings of my cloak with efficiency that speaks to experience, but the reverence in his touch tells me this is different for him too.
When the heavy fabric falls away, winter air hits exposed skin for a moment before his body heat replaces it, his massive frame sheltering me from the cold as his mouth continues its exploration of my throat and collarbone. My own hands work frantically at his clothing, needing to feel skin against skin, needing the confirmation that this is real and happening and not another dream born of desperation.
"Here?" he asks against my ear, voice rough with barely leashed control. "Are you sure?"
Instead of answering with words, I guide him toward a cluster of evergreens whose thick branches create natural shelter from wind and prying eyes. The ground beneath them is carpeted with fallen needles that smell of forest and winter, and when he spreads his cloak across them, it creates a surface soft enough for what we both need.
He lays me down with gentleness that contrasts beautifully with the hunger in his eyes, settling beside me with careful attention to where his weight falls. His hands shake slightly as they map the exposed skin of my arms and shoulders, touch reverent despite the desire that makes his breathing harsh and uneven.
"You're beautiful," he murmurs, voice carrying wonder that makes tears threaten again. "So beautiful it hurts to look at you sometimes."
His confession makes something flutter in my chest, warmth that has nothing to do with physical desire and everything to do with the way he sees me—not as a burden or obligation, but as something precious enough to risk everything for. When I reach up to touch his face, he leans into the contact with an expression so tender it makes my heart ache with love I never thought I'd be brave enough to feel.
The kiss that follows starts soft but quickly builds into something desperate and consuming. His hands work at the remaining barriers between us while mine do the same, both of us moving with urgency that speaks to weeks of denial finally giving way to honest need.
When skin meets skin, the sensation steals my breath completely. He's warm and solid and real beneath my hands, all contained power and careful strength that makes me feel safe even as desire makes me bold in ways that would have terrified me weeks ago. His mouth finds mine again, kissing deep and claiming, while his hands explore newly exposed skin with reverence that makes me arch into his touch.
"Tell me what you need," he whispers against my lips, voice rough with restraint that's costing him considerable effort. "Tell me how to make this good for you."
The consideration in his words, the way he makes this about my pleasure rather than his own, undoes something vital inside my chest. "You," I breathe, hands sliding down his back to feel muscle and scars and proof of life lived fully. "Just you. All of you."
His response is a low growl that vibrates through both of us, mouth moving to my throat while his hands continue their careful exploration. Every touch feels deliberate, purposeful, designed to build heat that pools low in my belly and makes me move against him with increasing desperation.
When he finally settles between my thighs, the weight of him feels right in ways I can't articulate, solid presence that grounds me even as sensation threatens to overwhelm completely. He pauses, ice-blue eyes searching my face with careful attention that speaks to genuine concern for my comfort.
"Yes," I whisper, understanding the unspoken question. "Please, Kai. I need?—"
The rest dissolves into gasp as he joins with me slowly, carefully, giving me time to adjust to a sensation that's overwhelming and perfect and everything I didn't know I needed. His breathing is harsh against my ear, control evident in every deliberate movement as he lets me set the pace.
But careful quickly becomes insufficient for either of us, gentle giving way to something more urgent as I move beneath him with increasing demand. His mouth finds mine again, swallowing the sounds I can't contain as pleasure builds between us with intensity that threatens to unravel me completely.
"I love you," I gasp against his lips, the words torn from somewhere deep inside where fear used to live. "I love you, I love you?—"
His response is a wordless sound that might be prayer or curse, hands gripping me tighter as he moves with purpose that speaks to his own approaching edge. The rhythm between us builds, becomes something desperate and consuming that blocks out everything beyond this moment, this connection, this perfect collision of want and love and trust freely given.
When release finally claims me, it does so with intensity that whites out thought completely, pleasure so overwhelming it makes me arch against him with a cry I can't contain. He follows moments later, my name rough on his lips as he buries his face against my neck and surrenders to sensation that leaves us both shaking in its aftermath.
For long moments afterward, we lie tangled together beneath winter stars, breathing gradually slowing as reality reasserts itself around the edges. His arms remain wrapped around me with protective strength that makes me feel cherished rather than claimed, and when he speaks, his voice carries satisfaction and wonder in equal measure.
