When her mouth meets mine, the kiss is deep and claiming—crossing that final threshold from emotional vulnerability to physical connection. She tastes like honey and magic, sweet and wild and right. Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer as she opens for me.
I walk us backward toward the bed, my hands roaming her body—the curve of her waist, the arch of her spine, the softness of her hips. Every touch feels like discovery, like learning a language I was born to speak.
When the backs of her legs hit the mattress, I break the kiss long enough to ask, “Are you sure?”
Her emerald eyes are dark with desire. “I’ve never been surer of anything.”
“We never get a chance to just be us,” I say, my voice lower than intended as I guide her to sit on the edge of my bed. “Not without looking over our shoulders.”
“We have now. This room.” She reaches up, pulling me down to her level.
I move closer. “Can I touch you?” I ask, the words rough with need. “Really touch you.”
Her eyes darken further, a flush creeping across her luminescent skin. “Please,” she whispers, the single word carrying weight beyond its sound.
I trace my fingers along her jaw, feeling her pulse quicken beneath my touch. The rapid beat matches my own racing heart. Slowly, I reach for the first button of her blouse, giving her time to stop me. She doesn’t. Instead, she watches me with that fierce intensity that first drew me to her.
Each button reveals another inch of fair skin with that subtle luminescence unique to fae. I press my lips to the hollow of her throat as the fabric parts, breathing in her scent mixed with arousal, unmistakable and primal. Her breath catches, and I feel the vibration against my mouth.
“Beautiful,” I murmur against her collarbone, sliding the blouse from her shoulders. My lips follow the path of the fabric, trailing across the curve of her shoulder, down to where her skin meets the lace of her bra. Her skin is impossibly soft, almost too delicate for my scarred hands.
She shivers, her hands finding purchase in my hair. The way she breathes my name nearly undoes me.
I take my time, kissing each newly exposed inch of skin as I help her undress. The soft curve of her waist that flares into her hips. The delicate arch of her spine, where I can count each vertebra with my lips. The sensitive spot behind her knee that makes her gasp when my mouth finds it.
Reverence isn’t something that comes naturally to me. Protection, yes. Vigilance, always. But this slow worship of her body feels like discovering something sacred. I’m learning the map of someone who’s become part of my world.
When she’s bare before me, I guide her gently back onto the bed. Her hair spreads across my pillow, catching the blue-green ward light like captured sunshine. The contrast of her on my bed—all soft curves and fae grace against my utilitarian space—hits me hard. She’s too beautiful for this rough place, too perfect for someone like me.
“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” I tell her, voice raw with honesty. “And not just your body. Everything you are.”
Her eyes shine with emotion as she reaches for me, tugging at my shirt. “Then show me. Let me see you too.”
I strip quickly, suddenly self-conscious about the network of scars across my torso and arms. Battle marks, trainingaccidents, proof of a life spent fighting. But when I look down at her, there’s no hesitation in her gaze—only hunger as her eyes drop to my hard cock. It twitches under her stare. She licks her lips.
I settle between her thighs, drinking in her essence—both scent and sight. The warm honey of her arousal mingles with something sweeter, intoxicating my senses. My wolf surges forward, eager and possessive.
“Perfect,” I murmur against the inside of her thigh, my breath hot on her skin. The muscle quivers beneath my lips. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
She shivers, her emerald eyes holding mine as I lower my mouth to her center. The first stroke of my tongue pulls a gasp from her lips—fae words I don’t understand but recognize as pleasure. I take my time, learning her, memorizing what makes her breath catch and her thighs tremble against my shoulders.
“You taste like magic,” I tell her between slow, deliberate licks. “Like something I’ve been looking for without knowing it.”
She arches toward my mouth, her luminescent skin flushed with desire. I savor her reactions, drawing patterns with my tongue before focusing on the sensitive bundle of nerves that makes her fingers clench in my hair hard enough to sting.
“Callum, oh God, yes,” she whispers, her voice carrying that musical quality that emerges when emotion breaks through her composure.
I suck gently on her clit, watching her reaction carefully. Her back arches further, thighs tensing against my shoulders. The ward lights cast blue-green shadows across her skin, highlighting every tremor that runs through her body.
I slide one finger inside her, moving slowly, giving her time to adjust. Tight heat grips me immediately. “Is this okay?” I ask, needing to be sure I’m not hurting her.
“Yes,” she breathes, her eyes half-closed. “More.”
I curve my finger upward, searching for that spot I know will drive her wild, keeping my mouth working in rhythm. When I find it, her reaction is immediate—a sharp intake of breath, her entire body going taut like a bowstring.
“There,” she gasps, her accent slipping into something more ancient.
My wolf preens with satisfaction as I feel her begin to shatter, her inner walls pulsing around my finger. I don’t relent, maintaining the pressure as she cries out in her native tongue, the sound of fae language making the ward lights flicker in response.
