"Then don't think about them." Neal shifted closer. His other hand came up to cup my face, tilting it toward his. "Just for tonight. Think about yourself. About what you need."
I looked at him.
His face was inches from mine. His eyes were dark, the pupils blown wide. The bond between us hummed with everything he'd been denying — the want, the need, the desperate longing that matched my own.
"What if what I need is you?" I whispered.
Something broke in his expression.
"Lumi," he breathed.
"You've been avoiding me. Since the kiss. Since—"
"Because I can't control myself around you." The words came out rough. Torn from somewhere deep. "Every time I see you, I want to touch you. Hold you. Make sure you're okay, and then—" He stopped. Swallowed hard. "I'm supposed to be your doctor. I'm supposed to be professional. And every time you look at me, all I can think about is how you tasted."
Heat flooded through me.
"Then stop being professional," I said.
"Lumi—"
"I'm not your patient right now, Neal. I'm your mate." I reached up, tangled my fingers in his hair. "And I need you. Please."
He broke.
His mouth crashed into mine, and it was exactly like before — desperate, hungry, consuming. He kissed me like he'd been starving for it, his hands sliding into my hair, tilting my head back to deepen the contact.
I made a sound against his lips — need, relief,finally— and he swallowed it whole.
"You need to eat," he gasped between kisses. "Sleep. You need—"
"I need you." I pulled him closer, felt his weight settle over me. "Food can wait."
"Lumi—"
"Neal." I looked up at him, let him see everything I was feeling. The exhaustion, yes. But also the want. The desperate ache that had been building since that first kiss. "Please. Just tonight. Let me feel something other than tired."
His resistance crumbled.
He kissed me again — softer this time, but no less intense. His hands found the hem of my sweater, slid underneath to trace the skin of my stomach. I arched into his touch, gasping.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured against my throat. "If it's too much. If you need—"
"I needmore."
He didn’t hold back anymore. The professional, calculated Dr. Neal was gone, replaced by a man who had spent months starving himself of the one thing his soul recognized.
His hands were trembling as he pulled the sweater over my head, but once he felt my bare skin against his, the tremor turned into a possessive grip. He pushed me back into the pillows, his body a heavy, welcome heat between my thighs. He was still wearing his button-down, the fabric rough against my sensitized skin, and I reached for the collar, my fingers frantic.
"Slow," he rasped, though he was the one ripping the buttons open. "Lumi, if we start this, I need you so bad. The bond... it’s been clawing at me for weeks."
"Then let go," I whispered, pulling his shirt off his shoulders.
He groaned, a low, primal sound that vibrated through my entire chest. He stripped with a desperate efficiency, and when he came back to me, the sheer power of his frame made mybreath hitch. He was all lean muscle and clinical precision turned into raw, masculine need.
He didn't just kiss me; he mapped me. His mouth was everywhere—my jaw, the sensitive hollow of my throat, the curve of my breasts. He used his teeth, a sharp, stinging nip on my collarbone that made the bond flare white-hot, before his tongue soothed the ache.
"You’re so thin," he murmured, his hands sliding down to my hip bones, his thumbs tracing the prominence there with a mix of doctorly concern and lover’s worship. "I’m going to spend the rest of my life feeding you, Lumi. But right now..."
