I don’t know what to do with that.
Her fingers drift along my brow, tracing the ridges like they’re something sacred. No hesitation. No disgust. Just… curiosity. Admiration, even.
“You’re staring,” I murmur, voice rough and half-asleep.
Her lips brush my jaw. “You make it hard not to.”
I huff a quiet laugh. She makes me feel huge and careful at once. Like a blade she’s learned to trust.
I shift under her, just enough to see her face. Her eyes are soft, unreadable. The kind of look that undoes me. I’ve seen fear. Hunger. Desperation. But never this. Never tenderness aimed at me.
“What?” I ask, voice lower now.
She hesitates. Then: “I didn’t think I could want someone like this.” Her voice is thick, a little breathless. Honest.
“Someone like me?”
She meets my gaze head-on. “Someone real.”
I’m not sure what to say. No one’s ever called me that before—real. Dangerous, sure. Useful. A monster, more often than not. But real? That’s a new one.
A sound rumbles in my chest. Not quite a growl. Not quite a laugh. Something warm. Animal. Content.
She grins. “You make that noise a lot around me.”
“Means you’re doing something right.”
Her legs tighten around me, and I know we’re not done. Not even close.
I flip her gently, careful not to crush her. My hands bracket her head, elbows resting in the pillow, and she looks up at me like I’m the most fascinating thing she’s ever seen.
“Lead the way,” I whisper.
She does. And there we go again.
Her hands guide me with the ease of someone who’s learned every inch of me in a single night. And I let her. I let her take control. Let her show me how it can be. How it’s supposed to be.
Our mouths find each other again—slow, fast, then slow again. Like we’re syncing heartbeats. My breath hitches when she bites my bottom lip, gentle and bold. Her fingers dig into my shoulders, dragging me closer, deeper.
There’s no battle here. No conquest. Just rhythm. Just give and take. Just a sweet second time.
I bury my face in her neck, inhale the scent of citrus and skin and something only hers. Her laugh catches in her throat as I kiss the curve of her collarbone, then lower, tasting the curve of her ribs like a man desperate to memorize.
Her hips rise, and I meet her halfway.
We move together like we’ve done this before in another life—clashing and yielding, wild and reverent. I lose myself in the sounds she makes, the way her breath catches, the whisper of my name like it’s something sacred.
She pulls me down until we’re chest to chest, heart to heart.
And in this moment, there’s no armor. No mission. No past. No future.
Only us.
Her hand drifts down my chest, nails skimming over scarred skin, over ridged scales that most people flinch from. She doesn’t. She touches like she knows this is my softest place, and I can barely breathe when her fingers wrap around my cock.
She strokes me slowly, teasing, and I can’t stop the way my hips buck against her hand. My cock throbs in her grip—hot, slick, pulsing with the kind of need I’ve never let anyone see. She holds me like I’m more than a weapon. Like I’m worthy of care.
I can’t take it.
