“Ichosehere,” I correct.“Just like you’re choosing now.”
Her eyes lift to mine, searching.“And if I choose wrong?”
“Then we deal with it,” I say.“Together.”
She laughs softly, but there’s no humor in it.“You make everything sound survivable.”
“It is,” I say.“With the right people.”
The bond pulses, heavy and reassuring, and I see the moment she gives in—not to me, but to the idea that she doesn’t have to hold herself apart tonight.
“Let’s go back to your cabin,” she says suddenly.
Yourcabin.Not mine.Not ours.I hope she will be able to call it home with me someday—sooner rather than later.
I nod.“Okay.”
Inside, the space feels smaller than it did this morning, intimate in a way that’s more emotional than physical.Trinity paces near the window, arms crossed, and eyes distant.
“You don’t have to say or do anything,” I remind her.“Not tonight.”
“I know.”She drags a hand through her hair.“I just ...need to feel normal.”
I step closer, slow and deliberate.“Tell me what that looks like.What do you need from me?”
She meets my gaze.“No questions.No expectations.Just ...us.”
I consider that for a moment, then nod.“I can do that.”
I reach for her, stopping an inch away.She closes the distance herself, pressing her forehead to my chest, breathing me in like she’s grounding herself.The bond softens, loosening the tight coil in my chest.I wrap my arms around her carefully, not trapping, just holding.She melts into me with a quiet sound that feels like trust given freely.
“This doesn’t mean you owe me anything,” I murmur into her hair.“Even with the bond, you still get to decide.”
“I know,” she whispers.“That’s why it helps.”
It only takes us moments to strip each other bare.It isn’t slow or sensual, but something filled with urgency, needing to feel our bond once more.I flip her so her chest is pressed to the bed and kick her legs apart.I stroke into her without preamble and tear a loud moan from her.She pushes her ass out with every stroke, pushing me to fuck her harder and I comply without hesitation.
The bond blooms as we come together, not sharp or overwhelming, but deep and steady.This isn’t about possession or release—it’s about reassurance, about reminding her body that safety can exist without a price.Both of us peak at the same time, the bond and the pleasure blending together and pushing us over the edge.
When it’s over, she curls into my side, breath slowing, tension easing from her limbs.I stroke her hair gently, feeling the bond settle into something richer, more layered.For a while, neither of us speaks.
Eventually, she murmurs, “I don’t deserve this.”
I tilt her chin up, meeting her gaze.“You don’t have to deserve care.”
Her eyes shine with unshed tears, but she doesn’t cry.“You’re going to hate me when you find out.”
“I won’t,” I say immediately.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
She studies my face, searching for doubt.Finding none, she exhales and tucks herself closer.
Outside, the night is too quiet.The pack sleeps, but my instincts are wide awake, pricked by the same unease that’s been coiling in Trinity all day.Whatever she’s holding back, it isn’t small.And it isn’t just about her.
I don’t push.Not tonight.But eventually I will have to.Tonight, I just hold her, letting the bond do what it does best, bridge the distance between fear and trust.
