The kiss began gently—tentative, as if we were still learning the shape of this. Then her fingers curled into my shirt, pulling me closer, and something shifted. The kiss deepened, steadier now, certain.
I lifted her easily, mindful of my strength. She wrapped her legs around my waist without hesitation, still trusting me completely.
That trust tightened something in my chest.
The walk to the sleeping quarters was short. Every step felt deliberate.
Lina
He set me down beside the bed with a care that still surprised me.
The biolights had dimmed to their evening glow, casting soft shadows across the room.
Rygnar’s hands moved to the fastenings of my shirt—then paused.
Waiting.
Always waiting.
I covered his hands with mine and nodded.
The fabric slipped away. Cool air brushed my skin, followed by the warmth of his palms as they traced my shoulders down my arms with quiet reverence.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, the roughness in his voice making it feel like something confessed, not said lightly.
“So are you,” I answered, reaching for the hem of his shirt.
He helped me remove it, and I took my time exploring what I’d only glimpsed before. The scales along his shoulders caught the light like polished stone, fading into skin marked with silvered scars.
I traced one with my fingertip.
He shivered.
“Does it hurt?” I asked.
“No.” His voice was softer now. “It feels… I did not know it could feel like this.”
Rygnar
She traced me the way I had once traced the mountain—searching, learning, finding meaning in what had been broken.
When her lips followed the path her fingers had mapped, I had to close my eyes against the intensity.
Mesaarkan warriors are trained to endure pain.
No one had taught me how to endure tenderness.
I guided her back to the bed, following her down until we were pressed together, skin against skin, breath shared in the narrow space between us.
“Tell me if I—”
“You’re not,” she said, drawing me closer. “You’re exactly right.”
The words settled deep.
I kissed her again, slower now, letting the moment unfold instead of chasing it. My hands moved over her—her waist, the curve of her hip, the places that made her breath catch.
She answered in kind, discovering me in return—finding where touch made me still, where it made something unfamiliar and unguarded surface.
