"You." Simple word, but it hits me with force. "Not because magic compels it or circumstances force it. I want you because of who you are—scars and all."
The kiss happens without conscious decision. Her lips are soft beneath mine, warm and willing and absolutely present. When I deepen the kiss, she responds with equal hunger, her hands sliding from my face to tangle in my hair.
We break apart breathing hard, foreheads resting as we struggle for control.
"We should—" She starts to say something practical.
"We should do whatever we want." I silence her with another kiss, briefer but no less meaningful. "For the first time in either of our lives, we have actual freedom. No one hunting us, no curses driving us, no coven restricting you or chains binding me."
Wonder blooms in her expression. "Whatever we want."
"Whatever you want." I correct gently. "I won’t push for more than you’re ready to give."
She studies my face, reading the sincerity there. Then she takes my hand and leads me toward the largest bedroom—her parents’ room, where a proper bed waits with clean sheets and afternoon sunlight streaming through windows.
"I want this." She turns to face me at the threshold. "I want you. Not because we might die tomorrow or because magic compels it. I want to know what this feels like when it’s just us choosing each other."
"Are you certain? We have time now—there’s no rush."
"I’m certain." She reaches up to begin unlacing her shirt, fingers trembling slightly but steady in purpose. "I’ve spent my whole life being careful, following rules, waiting for permission. I don’t want to wait anymore."
I cover her hands with mine, stilling them. "Then let me."
She nods, dropping her hands to her sides as I take over unlacing her shirt. My fingers are clumsy with clothing—armor and battle gear haven’t prepared me for the delicate work of ties and laces. But I manage, revealing skin inch by inch while she watches my face with intensity.
When I slide the shirt from her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, she shivers despite the warmth.
"Beautiful." The word escapes before I can question its wisdom.
"Your turn." Her voice carries a slight tremor, but her hands are steady as she reaches for the hem of my shirt.
I help her pull it over my head, revealing the map of scars that cover my torso. For a moment, I wonder if the sight will repel her—physical evidence of what I am, what I’ve done.
But she traces the scars with gentle fingers, not flinching. "You’ve survived so much."
"We both have." I catch her hand, bringing it to my lips to kiss her scarred wrist.
What follows unfolds with deliberate slowness. I kiss down her throat, feeling her pulse flutter beneath my lips. When I reach her breast, I take my time—circling with my tongue, testing the weight in my palm, learning what makes her arch and gasp.
Her skin tastes of salt and something sweeter, uniquely her. The breast binding falls away, and I worship what’s revealed—soft flesh that fits perfectly in my hands, nipples that peak under my attention. When I draw one into my mouth, sucking gently, she makes a sound that goes straight to my groin.
"Krath—" My name breaks on a moan as I lavish attention on her other breast, teeth grazing sensitive flesh.
Her hands aren’t idle. She traces scars across my chest, follows the line of muscle down my abdomen. When her fingers find the silver hair that trails below my waistband, my breathing stutters. She hesitates only a moment before unlacing my trousers with trembling fingers.
The fabric slides down my hips, and her eyes widen at the sight of me—hard and heavy, proportioned to match my size. She reaches out, tentative, then wraps her hand around my length. The touch sears through me, makes my hips jerk involuntarily.
"Show me," she whispers. "Show me what you like."
I cover her hand with mine, guiding her grip, showing her the pressure and rhythm that makes pleasure coil tight in my spine. When she strokes me with growing confidence, her thumb swiping across the sensitive head, I have to catch her wrist.
"My turn." I repeat her words.
I strip away the rest of her clothing, revealing her fully. She’s beautiful—all soft curves and lean strength, the silver tracery on her wrist catching moonlight. I settle between her parted thighs,pressing kisses up the inside of one leg while she trembles beneath me.
When I reach her center, I pause to breathe in her scent—arousal and warmth and everything I’ve been craving. The first touch of my tongue makes her cry out, hips lifting off the bed. I hold her steady, exploring with deliberate thoroughness, learning what makes her gasp, what makes her hands fist in my hair.
She tastes divine. I lap at her, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention on the sensitive bundle of nerves that makes her thighs quake. When I slide one finger inside her, feeling how tight and wet she is, we both groan.
