Laughter bubbles up from my chest. "Of course she was. Did she volunteer, or did you actually have to ask?"
"She took one look at the flowers I was carrying and practically snatched him from my arms." He pushes off from the doorframe, moving toward me with predatory grace. "Something about giving us 'proper time to reconnect.'"
"Reconnect." I shake my head, still grinning. "Is that what we're calling it?"
"Among other things."
The space between us evaporates as his hands find my waist, pulling me against the solid warmth of his chest. His mouth descends on mine with the kind of hunger that makes my knees forget their primary function. I melt into him, months of careful touches and whispered affections giving way to something rawer, more urgent.
His hands map territories they've explored before but never claimed with such confident possession. One traces the my spine while the other tangles in my hair, tilting my head to grant him better access to the sensitive spot just below my ear.
"The flowers," I manage between kisses, "are going to get trampled."
"Worth it." His voice rumbles against my throat as his fingers work at the laces of my work dress. "I'll pick more tomorrow."
My body responds with embarrassing enthusiasm, heat pooling low in my belly as his hands find bare skin. The months since Theron's birth have been careful, gentle—healing time wrapped in patience and understanding. But now his touchcarries different intent, and my body remembers what it means to be wanted rather than simply needed.
"Vargath." His name comes out breathier than intended as his fingers trace patterns that make coherent thought increasingly difficult.
"Tell me what you want." The words vibrate against my collarbone where his mouth has found new territory to explore.
"You."
The world tilts as Vargath scoops me up like I weigh nothing more than one of Theron’s swaddling blankets. My laughter bounces off the walls as he tosses me onto the bed, the scratch of wool blankets beneath me a sharp contrast to the molten heat in his gaze.
“Careful,” I tease, propping myself up on my elbows. “This might not withstand your enthusiasm.”
He answers by grabbing my ankle, calloused fingers branding my skin as he drags me to the edge. My squeal cuts off when his mouth finds the inside of my thigh, teeth grazing just enough to make my breath hitch. “Still talking,” he rumbles against my skin.
“You’ve always hated that.”
“Hate?” His tongue flicks higher, slow and deliberate. The bastardsmirksagainst me. “I consider it a challenge.”
Any retort evaporates as his mouth seals over me. My back arches off the bed, fingers twisting in the sheets as he coaxes sensation from every nerve I own. Six months of careful tenderness shatter under the skill of his tongue—this isn’t the tentative lover who’d treated me like cracked porcelain after Theron’s birth. This is the predator who once made me forget my own name against a tavern wall.
“Godsdamnyou?—”
He hums approval, the vibration ripping a moan from my throat. His hands slide under my hips, tilting me to his mercy.“Louder,” he growls against slick skin. “Let the whole settlement hear who you belong to.”
My hips jerk involuntarily. “Says the man on his knees.”
He lifts his head just enough for me to see the feral gleam in his eyes. “Careful, little bird. I’ll have you singing soon enough.”
The dress tears a little as he yanks it over my head, but neither of us care. His mouth finds my breast, sucking gently before scraping teeth over the peak. I hiss, nails digging into the muscle bracketing his spine. “Tease.”
He nips my collarbone, breath hot against my ear. “You think I’d rush this? After watching you walk around in that dress for weeks, smelling like honey andwanting?—”
I hook my leg around his hip, rolling us until I straddle him. The hard length of him strains against his trousers, and I rock once—just once—to watch his composure crack. “You talk too much.”
His hands flex on my waist, blunt nails leaving moon crescents in my skin. “And you,” he rasps, “are playing with fire.”
The laces of his trousers snap under my tug. He hisses as I free him, thick and heavy in my hand. “Fire’s useful,” I murmur, positioning myself above him. “For keeping warm. For forging.” I sink down slowly, watching his pupils swallow the amber of his eyes. “Forburning.”
His groan vibrates through both of us as I take him fully. For a heartbeat, we’re still—his forehead pressed to mine, breath mingling, the world narrowed to the pulse point where we’re joined. Then his hands tighten, and he thrusts upward hard enough to steal my breath.
“Vargath—!”
“Mine,” he snarls, lifting my hips only to drag me back onto him. The rhythm’s brutal, punishing, perfect. “Say it.”
