When we finally broke apart, both breathing harder, he pressed his forehead to mine. “We’ll figure this out,” he promised. “The public thing. I can’t promise I won’t be cautious, but I don’t want to hide either. Not from the people who matter.”
It wasn’t a complete victory, but it was a start. “Does this mean you’ll come to Sunday dinner at my parents’ next month?”
He stiffened slightly, then deliberately relaxed. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is,” I assured him. “They’ll love you.”
“You sound very confident about that.”
“I am,” I said, although in truth, I was slightly less certain than I pretended to be. My parents were good people, open-minded in theory, but they’d never been tested like this before. Still, they loved me, and I had to believe that would be enough.
“One step at a time,” Rion said, as if reading my thoughts. “We don’t have to solve everything tonight.”
He was right, of course. We had time. And for now, being here with him, secure in our feelings for each other, was enough.
“The documentary?” I suggested, nodding towards the paused TV.
“Actually,” he said, his eyes darkening as he looked down at me, “I had something else in mind.”
“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow, pretending innocence even as my pulse quickened. “What did you have in mind?”
He answered by scooping me into his arms, holding me securely against his chest as he carried me towards the bedroom. I laughed, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing kisses to the warm skin where fur gave way to the smoothness of his jaw.
“I’ll take that as a no on the documentary,” I murmured against his ear.
“I’ve discovered a more engaging activity,” he rumbled, the vibrations traveling directly to my core.
He set me down gently at the foot of his massive bed, the moonlight streaming through the wall of windows illuminating the room. His eyes never left mine as he reached for the hem of my shirt, lifting it over my head with a slow deliberation that made me shiver with anticipation.
“You know,” I said as he unfastened my bra, “for someone so worried about public appearances, you’re surprisingly confident in private.”
His hands stilled at my waist. “Is that surprising?”
“A little,” I admitted. “You’re so… careful. So restrained. Then we get here, and…” I gestured vaguely between us.
A slow smile spread across his face. “Clara, I’ve spent fifteen years learning to hold back. To measure every movement, to constantly monitor my strength. In private…” He trailed off, leaning down to press a kiss to my collarbone. “I don’t have to hold back. I can be myself. And right now, myself wants to show you exactly how much I love you.”
The last words were whispered against my skin, sending another wave of heat through me. He stripped off his clothes, then satdown on the end of the bed, pulling me closer so he could close his mouth around an already stiff peak. I tangled my fingers into the fur of his scalp, arching against him as my body responded to the stimulation.
When he switched to the other side, I took the opportunity to run my hands over the impressive breadth of his shoulders, down the defined muscles of his back. He was so solid, so real under my touch—a living contradiction of power and gentleness that never failed to amaze me.
“Bed,” I managed to gasp when he began kissing a path down my stomach. “Please.”
He obliged, pulling me onto the mattress and positioning himself over me without breaking contact. The room was dark except for the moonlight, which cast him in silver and shadow, highlighting the magnificent curve of his horns and the powerful lines of his body.
“I love watching you,” he murmured, one large hand tracing the curve of my hip. “The way your face changes when I touch you. The sounds you make.”
I blushed, which was ridiculous given our current level of intimacy, but his open appreciation still made me feel exposed in the most wonderful way.
“Only fair,” I replied, reaching up to trace the base of one of his horns. “I love watching you too. The way you let go when you’re with me.”
His breath hitched as my fingers found that sensitive spot at the base of his horn. He leaned into my touch like a cat seeking scratches, a low rumble building in his chest.
“You destroy me, Clara,” he said, the admission raw and vulnerable. “All those years of control, and you… you just walk in and…”
I guided him down for a kiss, silencing him with lips and tongue. Words were nice—wonderful, even—but right now, I needed to show him how I felt, to communicate without the limitations of language.
He settled between my legs, the heat of him pressing against me, intoxicating. I arched against him, wordlessly asking for more, and he answered with a slow, deliberate thrust that sent pleasure spiraling through me.
