“I want you,” she whispered.
“Tonight. Before anything can take tomorrow from us.”
Chapter 63
The words hit him like foxfire.
Mingxi didn’t move at first—he couldn’t. Something deep in him froze, cracked, and then surged forward all at once. When he finally reached for her, it wasn’t careful or distant.
It was need. Controlled, reverent need.
His mouth found hers with a soft, desperate sound—like exhaling a truth he’d held too long. The kiss deepened fast, heat sparking between them, a low growl vibrating in his chest when she caught his collar and dragged him closer.
Foxfire shivered beneath his skin, gold and molten.
Her hands slid beneath the edges of his robes, fingertips gliding over the warm planes of his torso. He shuddered—actually shuddered—and broke the kiss with a ragged breath against her lips.
“Poppy…”
Her name was a plea. A warning. A surrender.
She cupped his jaw, thumb brushing his cheekbone, eyes steady on his.
“Don’t stop,” she whispered. “Please.”
His restraint snapped.
He kissed her again, slower this time but deeper—his tongue teasing along hers in a way that drew a soft, helpless sound from her. Her back arched, and she pressed her body to his. He slid his hands—steady even when everything else shook—down her sides, learning every curve to memorize her.
He lowered her gently to the blanket beneath the crooked pine, his body following, braced above hers, breath harsh, pupils blown wide.
“Tell me if you want to slow down,” he murmured, resting his forehead against hers, voice rough with restraint.
She shook her head, fingers fisted in the fabric of his robe. “I want you,” she repeated, voice unsteady but certain. “All of you.”
His breath left him in a soft, broken sound.
Moonlight banded their skin in silver. His hands moved with aching care—along her arms, over the graceful line of her waist, learning the shape of her like a prayer. Every place he touched made her breath catch. Every place her mouth found—his throat, his shoulder, the sharp line of his jaw—drew low, helpless sounds from him he hadn’t known he could make.
When their bodies finally joined—warm, breathless, perfectly aligned—she gasped his name like a vow, and he buried his face against her neck with a trembling exhale, holding her as though he could shield her from the very sky.
The rhythm they found was slow at first, reverent, full of wonder. Then warmer. Needier. Her nails grazed along his back; his hips stuttered, control fraying when she whispered for him not to hold back. He answered with deeper, surer movements, each one a promise, each one a choice.
Under the moonlight, under the ancient pine, under the knowledge that dawn might steal everything, they moved together like they had always belonged in the same breath.
When release came, it was quiet but shattering—her soft cry muffled against his shoulder, his low groan breathed into her throat. He held her through every trembling wave, staying with her, staying in her, until she finally softened against him, boneless and shaking.
Only then did he ease them onto their sides, pulling her into his chest, keeping her as close as humanly possible.
Her cheek rested over his heart, their legs tangled, their breaths still unsteady. After a long, fragile moment, her fingers drifted down, tracing the warm ridges of his abdomen. She paused and then traced again, slower this time, an incredulous little hum catching in her throat.
“See?” she murmured, breath tickling his skin. “I knew it. You do have absurdly perfect abs.”
He made a strangled sound. “Poppy.”
“I wanted to touch them the first time I saw you washing in the river,” she confessed, utterly serious. “I pretended I wasn’t staring. I lied very badly.”
Heat flared under his skin, aura flickering gold with embarrassment and something far more dangerous.
