The declaration does something to me. This woman who's been running for her life, who lost everything, who has every reason to keep distance—she's choosing this. Demanding I take what I want.
"No backing out then." I step closer. Crowd her space. "I'll want to keep you."
"Then keep me." Her hands tighten on my shoulders. Eyes locked on mine. "For now."
For now. Temporary. Until the storm clears and reality crashes back in. She's offering what I can accept—no promises, no expectations, just raw need while we're trapped here together.
The dark possessive part of me that's been growing since she hauled herself into my plane wants more than now. Wants permanently. Wants her in my bed and in my life and under my protection in ways that go beyond survival partnership.
I lift her into my arms. She makes a sound of surprise that becomes approval as I carry her toward the bedroom. Her arms loop around my neck. Face buried against my shoulder. Trusting me with her weight, her body, her vulnerability.
"For now." I push open the bedroom door with my shoulder. Carry her to the bed that still smells like her. "But know this—I don't share. While you're mine, you're mine. No half measures. No hesitation. You give me everything or we stop right now."
Her answer comes without pause. "Everything."
I lay her on the bed. Stand over her looking down at this woman who crashed into my life bleeding and terrified and is now looking up at me with hunger that matches my own. My shirt rides up her thighs, exposing skin. Her hair spreads across my pillow like she belongs there.
She sits up. Reaches for my belt buckle with steady hands. Works the leather. Pops the button on my jeans. Lowers the zipper with deliberate slowness while holding my gaze.
"Then stop talking." Her fingers hook in my waistband. Pull me closer. "And show me what mine means."
7
NEVE
He lays me on the bed with deliberate care that steals my breath. This isn't the frantic claiming against the wall. This is different. Slower. More dangerous in ways I can't quite name when he's looking at me like I'm both prey and prize.
His weight settles beside me. One hand props his head while the other traces my collarbone with enough pressure that I feel it in my core. The shirt I borrowed rides up my thighs and his gaze follows the movement like he's memorizing the terrain.
"Last time was survival." His voice is rough. Low. The kind of tone that makes my stomach clench. "This time I'm going to learn every sound you make. And you're going to let me."
It's not a question. I nod anyway. "Yes."
"Good." His fingers move to the top button of his shirt. The one I'm wearing. "Because I plan to take my time."
He works the first button free. Then the second. Slow and methodical like he's unwrapping something precious. My breath comes faster with each button that opens. By the time he reaches the last one, I'm trembling.
"Cold?" The question carries amusement.
"You know I'm not."
"Then what are you?" He spreads the shirt open, baring me completely to his view. His hand flattens on my stomach. Warm. Possessive. "Tell me."
"Nervous." The honesty slips out before I can stop it. "Against the wall was need. Desperation. This feels like you're trying to own me."
"I am." No hesitation. No apology. Just brutal honesty delivered while his hand slides up my ribs. Stops just below my breast. Thumb stroking the underside in a way that makes me arch.
I reach for him instead of protesting. Pull him down for a kiss that's all hunger and permission. He takes over immediately. Deepens it. Controls it. His tongue explores my mouth while his hand finally cups my breast. Thumb brushing over my nipple until I'm gasping into his mouth.
He strips the shirt away completely. Leaves me bare while he's still fully clothed. The imbalance heightens everything. His jeans rough against my bare thigh. His shirt under my palms when I grip his shoulders. The way he's studying me like I'm a puzzle he's solving piece by piece.
His mouth finds the hollow of my throat first. Lips and tongue and teeth working the sensitive skin until I'm gasping. He moves lower. Takes his time with my collarbone. The curve of my shoulder. The swell of my breast.
When his mouth closes over my nipple, I cry out. The sensation shoots straight between my legs. He works the peak with tongue and teeth until I'm writhing, then switches to the other breast and starts again.
"Magnus." His name comes out breathless. Pleading.
"I like hearing you say it." He releases my breast. "Say it again."
