His abdomen clenched under my fingers. I paused. Met his eyes.
“Still good?”
He nodded. Lifted his hips when I tugged the fabric down, helping me work the pants over his thighs, his calves. I dropped them beside the bed and straightened.
His stav was already hard.
Shorter than my other mates’, but thick—flushed with spiritforce, the shaft traced with the same emerald runes that decorated his skin. They glowed faintly, pulsing with his heartbeat, and the head was smooth, ridged with subtle textures I’d learn soon enough. Everything about him radiated heat.
He shifted. Self-conscious. He twitched toward covering himself, and I caught his hands before he could.
“Don’t.” I laced my fingers through his. Held his hands at his sides and looked at him—all of him—with the same unhurried attention he’d given me. “You’re beautiful.”
The word hit him like a blow. Something in his expression crumbled. Not pain—something deeper. Something that told me no one had ever said that to him before.
I released his hands and guided one to my breast.
His palm cupped me on instinct—warm, gentle, his fingers curling with exquisite care. A sound left my lips before I could stop it. Soft. Needy. His eyes snapped to my face, wide and searching, checking for discomfort.
“That’s good.” I covered his hand with mine, showed him the pressure I liked. Firmer. He brushed his thumb across my nipple, and I shivered. “Just like that.”
His other hand found its courage. Settled on my hip, pulled me a half-step closer. He traced his thumb in a circle over my nipple—tentative, testing—and when I sucked in a breath, his gaze darkened.
“You liked that.” Not a question. A discovery.
“I liked that very much.”
Something shifted behind his eyes. He did it again. Watched me react. Adjusted. Did it once more with a slight twist of his wrist that made my hips jerk forward.
“Stars—” I gripped his shoulder.
The corner of his mouth twitched. The barest ghost of a smirk.
Oh, he was going to betrouble.
I straddled him again—needing the closeness, needing his skin against mine. The contact was a lightning strike. His chest against my breasts, his hands gripping my waist, our mouths finding each other with a hunger that was building faster than either of us had expected.
I rocked against him. A slow, deliberate grind that pressed his stav between us, hot and hard against my slick heat. His hips bucked and a groan tore from his throat—guttural, startled, like the sensation had short-circuited something in his brain.
“Breath.” I kissed his jaw. His neck. The pulse point below his ear where his rune blazed brightest. “Just breathe.”
His hands shook against my back. He was trying so hard to be gentle, to be careful, to do thisright—and the effort was costing him everything.
I took his face in both hands. Made him look at me.
“Stop thinking.” I kissed the bridge of his nose. His forehead. The space between his brows where tension lived. “You don’t have to be perfect. Just be here. With me.”
He let out a breath that sounded like it had been trapped for centuries.
And then his hands stopped shaking.
They slid down my spine—sure now, steady, tracing the curve of my back with a touch that was no longer hesitant buthungry. His fingers spread across my lower back and pressed me closer, grinding me against his stav with a deliberate roll of his hips that made us both gasp.
Yes.That.More of that.
The emerald thread between us flared. Not a hum anymore—a pulse. Deep and resonant, like a second heartbeat taking root inside my chest. I could feel the edges of his emotions pressing against my shields: want, fear, wonder, need—all of it tangled together, all of it aimed at me.
I reached between us. Wrapped my fingers around his stav.
