His hand still rests over mine. Warm. Certain. Not pressing. Not demanding. Just there. I study our hands like they belong to someone else.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I admit quietly.
“Do what?” he asks.
“Stay,” I whisper.
The word is heavier than I expect. He doesn’t flinch.
“You don’t have to stay all at once,” he says. “You stay one choice at a time.”
One choice.
My heart is beating too fast. Too loud. I’m suddenly aware of everything — the firelight against his jaw outlining his tusks, the faint scent of smoke and desert and something that is just him. The way he’s close enough that I can see the fine ridges along his brow.
I’ve spent so long bracing against him. What happens if I stop?
My fingers slide out from under his hand.
He goes still instantly. I rise onto my knees. His gaze tracks the movement — alert, not predatory. Waiting. Waiting for me. That does something to me. Something dangerous and freeing all at once.
“You’re very sure,” I murmur.
“Yes.”
“That terrifies me.”
“I know.”
I reach for him before I can think myself out of it.
My hand slides up his chest. Over the solid heat of him. Over the steady rise and fall of his breath. He inhales sharply — just once — and that small loss of control fuels something reckless inside me.
“You keep choosing me,” I say, voice barely more than breath.
“Yes.”
“Even now?”
“Yes.”
I close the distance. Not rushed. Not desperate. Intentional.
My mouth finds his.
For half a heartbeat, he doesn’t move.
Then his hand comes up to cradle the side of my face — not gripping. Holding like I am something worth handling carefully. The kiss is not soft, not frantic.
It’s heat and restraint colliding.
His mouth is warm and firm, answering me without overtaking. He lets me lead. Let’s me decide the depth, the pressure, the angle. That respect sends a tremor through me stronger than anything forceful could.
I press closer. He makes a low sound in his throat — not dominance, not hunger.
My fingers tangle at the base of his neck. I kiss him harder this time, claiming instead of testing. His other arm slides around my waist and pulls me in — controlled strength, anchoring, not conquering.
My pulse pounds in my ears. He tastes like smoke and heat and something steady enough to lean into. I shift, breath catching when his thumb brushes just beneath my ear, sending a spark down my spine. The kiss deepens, still measured, still aware of the children sleeping only a room away.
