I cross the room, holding out the clothes. "These should work until?—"
She doesn't take them. Just keeps staring at me with those wide gray eyes, something unreadable flickering across her expression.
My magic surges again, crackling under my skin like lightning waiting to strike. The bond pulses in response, tight and insistent, and I can feel the pull of it dragging me toward her.
Before I can think better of it, I set the clothes aside and move closer, cupping her face the way I did in the forest. Her skin is still damp from the bath, warm under my palms.
"Are you okay?" The question comes out hoarse.
She doesn't answer right away. Just leans into my touch, eyes fluttering half-closed like she's savoring it.
And then, so quietly I almost miss it: "I want to know what it's like."
My brow furrows. "What what's like?"
"To feel safe." Her voice is barely a whisper now, fragile and raw. "To find pleasure from someone's hands instead of pain."
The words shatter something in my chest that I didn't know could break.
She's not just talking about sex. She's talking abouttouch. About being held without flinching. About hands on her skin that don't leave bruises. About intimacy that doesn't come with fear and violence and humiliation.
About everything that bastard denied her.
My thumbs brush over her cheekbones, careful and reverent. "Senna..."
"I know what I'm asking." She opens her eyes fully now, meeting my gaze with a steadiness that belies the tremor in her voice. "I know this is fast and reckless and probably insane. But I've spent years being careful. Being good. Doing what I was told and hoping it would keep me safe. And all it got me was more pain."
Her hands come up to rest on my chest, fingers curling into the fabric of my tunic. The touch sends heat racing through me, my magic responding with an intensity that makes my wings twitch.
"You make me feel safe," she continues, voice gaining strength. "When you look at me, I don't see ownership or control. I see... I don't know what I see. But it's different.You'redifferent."
"I am." The words come out rough, edged with the possessiveness I'm trying so hard to keep leashed. "Because I'm not going to hurt you. Ever. And I'm sure as hell not going to let anyone else hurt you either."
"I believe you." Her gaze doesn't waver. "So show me. Please. Show me what it's supposed to feel like."
Every rational thought I have is screaming at me to slow down. To give her time. To not take advantage of her vulnerability and fear and desperation.
But the bond is singing in my chest, fierce and demanding, and her hands are on me and her eyes are begging and I?—
I'm only a man. A man who's been going slowly insane for two weeks, haunted by the memory of one perfect night. A man who just found the other half of his soul and discovered she's been living in hell.
A man who would burn the whole godsdamn world down to keep her safe.
My control snaps.
I kiss her.
She gasps against my mouth, hands fisting tighter in my tunic, and then she's kissing me back with a desperation that matches my own. Her lips part under mine, tongue sliding against mine, and the taste of her—gods, thetasteof her—makes my head spin.
I walk her backward until her spine hits the wall, caging her in with my body but keeping my weight off her. Giving her room to breathe, to move, to tell me to stop if she wants.
She doesn't stop. Just arches into me, making these small needy sounds that drive me absolutely wild.
My hands slide from her face to her shoulders, fingers tracing the damp skin there. She shivers under my touch—not from cold, I don't think, but from sensation. From being touched with care instead of cruelty.
"Tell me if you want me to stop," I murmur against her lips, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. "At any point. For any reason. Say the word and I stop. Understood?"
She nods, breathless. "I understand."
