This is different.
What I want is simple.
Everything.
We returnto the shelter as the diffuse light shifts toward a deeper gray that might be evening. I build up the fire while she strips off her travel-worn outer layers. The domesticity of it strikes me—her moving through my space like she belongs here, me tending the fire like this is routine.
It could be routine. That’s what I’m offering. A lifetime of this, if she wants it.
“You’re staring again.”
“Yes.”
She glances over her shoulder. Amusement flickers in her expression. “That’s becoming a habit.”
“I’ve watched you since the day we met.” I straighten from the fireplace, turn to face her fully. “I’ve memorized how you move, how you breathe, how your expression shifts when you’re thinking. Watching you is what I do. It’s what I’ll keep doing for as long as you let me.”
She goes still. Not uncomfortable—processing. Learning a new piece of me.
“Most people would find that unsettling.”
“Most people haven’t been through what we’ve been through.” I cross to her. Stop within arm’s reach, near enough that the warmth rolling off my skin reaches hers. “You’re not most people.”
“No.” Her chin lifts. “I’m not.”
I don’t kiss her immediately. Don’t rush. Instead, I reach up and pull the tie from her hair, letting the dark strands fall loose around her shoulders. Run my fingers through it, working out the tangles from days of travel.
Her eyes flutter half-closed. She tips her head back into my hands.
“Tyr…”
“I’m going to take my time with you tonight.” I keep my voice low. Controlled. “No desperation. No urgency. I want to learn every inch of you. Want to know you so thoroughly that I could map your body with my eyes closed.”
Her breath catches. “We’ve already?—”
“We’ve fucked.” I wrap her hair around my fist, use it to tilt her head back farther, expose the line of her throat. “We’ve mated. We’ve been through fire and blood. But I haven’t had the chance to learn you the way I want to. The way I’m going to.”
I lower my mouth to her pulse point. Feel it jump against my lips.
“I want to know what makes you gasp.” A kiss to her collarbone. “What makes you moan.” Another to the hollow of her throat. “What makes you fall apart so completely that you forget your own name.”
“That’s ambitious.”
“I have centuries to practice.” I pull back enough to meet her eyes. “Unless you have objections.”
Her pupils have blown wide. Her breathing has quickened. Her body leans toward mine automatically, seeking contact.
“Do I look like I’m objecting?”
“No.” I pull her shirt over her head in one smooth motion. “You look like you’re waiting to see what I’ll do next.”
I take my time removing her clothes. Not tearing them off in desperate haste the way I have before—undressing her slowly, piece by piece. Every inch of skin revealed gets attention. My mouth. My hands. My undivided focus.
She tries to reach for me, tries to return the attention. I catch her wrists, hold them at her sides.
“Not yet.”
“That’s not?—”
