A breath escapes me, relief settling deep in my chest. His warmth seeps into me, chasing away the remnants of pain, ofexhaustion, of everything I don’t have the strength to face right now.
His lips linger just a second longer before he finally lowers our hands back to the bed.
“How are you feeling?” His voice is quiet, rough at the edges.
I let out a slow breath, my fingers still curled around his. “Better.”
Thane gives a small nod, his fingers still wrapped around mine. “That’s good.”
His voice is low, warm, edged with something softer than I’m used to. Then, he smiles—and gods, it does something to me.
Before I can even process it, he exhales, his grip on my hand loosening as he closes his eyes, completely at ease.
I should let him rest—Ishould be resting. But I’m not thinking about sleep anymore, because suddenly, all I can think about is him. The way his bare shoulders shift under the dim light, the way his breathing slows, deep and steady. The way his hair is slightly tousled. It’s like seeing a rare private side of him.
Need flares through me, low and unrelenting.
Gods. Not now.
Not when I’m still recovering, not when he’s finally letting himself relax, not when—I swallow hard, pressing my lips together. But I need this—I need him—not because I’m healed, but because I need to feel connected to him. To remind myself I’m still here. Still his.
The dull ache in my side flares as I push up, but I ignore it. I know I shouldn’t be moving like this. Shouldn’t be tempting fate. But suddenly, I don’t care.
I shift carefully, bracing myself with one hand against the mattress as I lean over him, careful not to put any weight on him.
He’s still lying there, bare-chested, his skin bathed in the faint, silvery light of early dawn. Outside, the world is just beginning to wake, the deep blue of night slowly fading into thefirst traces of sunrise. A soft, cool glow filters in through the window, casting gentle shadows across his face.
I hover there, breathing him in like oxygen I forgot I needed. Then, I lower myself closer.
My lips graze his collarbone, soft, lingering. Once. Then again. Lower this time. I kiss the spot just above his heart, feeling the slow, steady rhythm beneath my lips. Then lower, across his chest. Down the firm ridges of his stomach, heat sparking through me with every kiss.
He doesn’t move; doesn’t open his eyes. But I feel it—the shift in his breath. The way his muscles coil beneath my mouth, like he’s holding something back.
Then, a groan rumbles out of him—rough, guttural, unmistakable—as his hand seizes my wrist. His thumb presses at the frantic beat of my pulse, tracing once, hesitating . . . as if caught between pulling me back and pulling me closer.
“Amara,” he mutters, voice thick with sleep, strained with something else entirely.
I hum against his skin, kissing just below his navel. His stomach tenses again.
“You’re supposed to be healing,” he rasps, his grip tightening slightly on my wrist. “You need to rest.”
His tone is firm, commanding. But his body tells an entirely different story.
I don’t stop. I won’t. His words barely register, lost beneath the heat curling through me, the way his body responds despite his protests.
I kiss him again. Lower.
And lower still.
I want to feel him unravel. Just a little. Just enough to know I can.
My lips trace over the hard lines of his stomach, the ridges of muscle tensing beneath my touch.
He inhales sharply, his grip on my wrist tightening for a second before loosening, like he’s already losing this battle.
The soft golden light of the creeping sunrise spills streaks across his bare skin. I keep moving down his body. Until I reach the waistband. I pause, my breath warm against his skin.
Thane goes completely still.
