His breath catches. Not sharp—just still. A held note.
“No dramatic speeches?” he asks, voice teasing but quiet.
“Not unless you’re fishing for one.”
He shakes his head. “Plainspoken works.”
I shift closer, pressing my forehead to his. “Then here it is: I’m in. Fully. Forever. Not because of the bond. Not because of fate. Because I choose you.”
His arms tighten around me, slow and steady, as though he needs time to believe the words are real. “You know I’m not easy,” he murmurs.
“You’re not hard, either. Not when it counts.”
Tur snorts. “Kimberly?—”
“I mean emotionally,” I say, biting my lip to suppress the grin already forming.
“Mmhmm. Liar.”
I kiss him before he can argue more. His mouth is warm and familiar, a question I’ve answered a thousand times and still want to answer again. There’s no rush. No hunger that aches or claws. Just the soft, deliberate slide of lips and tongue, the way his hand cups the back of my neck like I might vanish if he lets go.
I shift to straddle him, the sheet falling away completely now. His hands settle on my hips, reverent and steady, fingers brushing the curve of my ass as though rediscovering it. He looksup at me like I’m something holy, something feral, something his.
“I love watching you decide things,” he says, voice low.
“Is that what this is?” I ask, rolling my hips once—slow and purposeful.
His breath hitches. “Feels like a declaration.”
“Good.”
I reach between us and guide him inside, inch by inch, sighing at the stretch, the fullness, the perfect fit that makes my spine shiver. He doesn’t thrust up or pull me down. He lets me set the pace, the rhythm, the depth.
It’s not desperate. It’s not rushed.
It’s right.
He whispers my name like a prayer, like a promise, like he can feel me wrapped around every inch of him and still wants more. I lean down, kiss the corner of his mouth, then the scar on his cheek, then the spot just below his ear that always makes him sigh.
“I want you loud this time,” I murmur.
“You want a lot of things,” he replies, voice strained.
“Yes,” I breathe. “And you’ll give them to me.”
His hands tighten, grounding me as I ride him slow and deep, chasing a rhythm that speaks without words. Each movement drags sparks through my core, heat pooling low and bright. He meets me halfway, hips rising just enough to deepen the thrust, to remind me how thoroughly I belong to this moment.
To him.
“Say it again,” he growls.
“I choose you.”
His eyes burn. “Then don’t stop.”
We don’t. We move together like a tide, like gravity, like something ancient and inevitable. The bond between us hums steady—no spikes, no searing flames. Just warmth. Just safety.Just love, spoken with every breath and touch and trembling sigh.
When I come, it’s not fireworks. It’s sunrise. It’s breath catching in my throat and tears pricking my eyes and his name slipping from my lips like worship.
