His mouth crashes into mine, hard and unrestrained, the kiss rough with all the tension he’s been swallowing since he woke to an empty bed. His hand slides from my waist to the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair, holding me there like he’s afraid I might evaporate.
I kiss him back just as fiercely, opening for him, biting lightly at his lower lip, pulling a low sound from his chest that feels like victory.
He presses me back against the door, body close, solid, overwhelming, all heat and breath and barely controlled possession.
“Don’t ever do that again,” he murmurs against my mouth. “Don’t leave without telling me.”
“I didn’t leave you,” I whisper, dragging my mouth along his jaw, to the place beneath his ear that makes his breath hitch. “I chose you.”
That’s when I take control.
I pull back just enough to look at him – really look – eyes dark, pulse racing, restraint hanging by a thread.
“Bed,” I say. “Now.”
His eyes flicker.
Not an order. An invitation. Maybe a challenge.
He doesn’t hesitate. His grip tightens as he turns us, guiding us backward, not letting go for a second like he’s learned something important about distance and fear and the cost of waking up alone.
And this time, it’s my choice – to pull him down with me, to let the jealousy burn itself out in heat and touch and the undeniable certainty that I’m still here, still choosing, still his.
The bed catches the backs of my knees and I use the momentum to turn, pushing him down instead of letting myself fall.
Nightshade’s breath punches out of him as he lands, surprise flashing across his face for half a heartbeat before it turns into something darker. I don’t give him time to recover.
I climb onto him, straddling his hips, palms braced on his chest, feeling his heart hammering under my hands. The position puts me above him, in control, lets me look down at him while his gaze tracks me with naked hunger.
This is mine.
I lean down and kiss him again, slower this time, deliberate, drawing it out until I feel him tense beneath me. My hips rock once, just enough to make the point, to feel the effect it has on him. His breath breaks. His body answers immediately, hard and undeniable beneath me, jealousy burning down into heat I can touch, use, control.
“Careful,” he warns, voice rough, barely holding together. “You’re pushing.”
His hands grip my thighs, fingers digging into my bare skin where my shirt has ridden up, like restraint is already costing him something. The thin stretch of material separating us feels like nothing at all. His gaze never leaves mine, but his fingers trace the edge of the shirt, brushing against my skin like he’s memorising the shape of me. I can feel the callouses on his hands, rough against smooth, a reminder of the world outside this room, the battles we’ve fought and the ones still to come.
“That’s the idea,” I murmur, kissing along his jaw, his throat, feeling the way his body responds to every inch of contact. I takemy time, staying just out of reach, using distance like a weapon and teasing him. “You don’t get to decide everything.”
His jaw clenches. “Neither do you.”
I smile at that – sharp, satisfied – and sit up again, hands sliding over his inked shoulders, his colourful chest, revelling in the tension coiled beneath my touch. I can feel him fighting it now, the instinct to flip us, to reclaim control, to stop letting me dictate the pace.
I want to see how long he lasts.
Not long, it turns out.
The moment my hands slide higher, the moment I lean forward again, pressing close enough that he can feel my weight and my intent and the choice I’m making, something in him snaps.
He moves fast.
One second I’m above him, balanced and in control – the next I’m on my back, the mattress dipping under his weight as he cages me there, forearms braced on either side of my head, body pressed close and unyielding.
His eyes are wild now. Dark. Possessive. All restraint stripped away.
He tears my shirt off and throws it across the room, drinking me in as a man that’s been starved. His gaze drops to my lips, my neck, my chest, tracing a path of heat as it moves. His breath, ragged and warm, ghosts against my skin, sending a shiver through me, a thrill of anticipation and desire spiralling within. He leans down, his mouth finding my collarbone, tracing a line of fire along my skin with teeth that are punishing and reverent.
I gasp, my back arching slightly, my body pressing against his. His touch is electric, igniting every nerve ending, every inch of my skin crying out for more. His heartbeat, steady and strong against my chest, is a rhythm that grounds me even as my world spins. His mouth moves lower, his lips wrapping around thepeak of my breast, a surge of pleasure coursing through my veins like wildfire. My hands find his hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands, holding him close as his tongue flicks and teases.
