“Structurally, how confident are you?—”
He cut off my question by sliding one finger inside me alongside his cock, the dual sensation stealing whatever words I’d been about to say. The question died mid-sentence, replaced by a sharp inhale and the complete abandonment of concern about furniture integrity.
I forgot what I was asking and decided that was acceptable.
My mind tried to retreat into the familiar safety of documentation and analysis. I could feel my thoughts starting to catalogue sensations instead of experiencing them. Noting rather than feeling.
Feral stopped moving.
I looked up to find him watching me, waiting.
“I’m here,” I said before he could ask. Pre-emptive honesty seemed like the efficient approach.
“Are you?”
I took a breath, considering the question with the same care I’d give any complex problem. “I’m trying to be.”
His expression stayed patient, not pushing but not letting me off either. “What’s in the way?”
The pause stretched between us, filled with the sound of our breathing and the crackle of the fire. I could deflect. Make a joke. Redirect to something safer.
“I’m not used to being the thing someone is paying attention to,” I said instead.
He didn’t respond with words. He just looked at me. Really looked, taking his time, making it impossible to miss that me, here, and now was exactly where his attention wanted to be.
I found it infuriating. I also found it the most effective argument anyone had ever made to me.
“Alright,” I said.
“Alright?”
“I’m here. Actually here now.”
His lips curled up on one side. “You’re sure?”
I nodded. “I am.”
He kissed me thoroughly before resuming his rhythm. Slower than before, more deliberate, like he was proving a point about patience and attention and what it meant to be fully present with someone.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, changing the angle, taking him deeper. The adjustment made us both groan, the sound hoarse in the quiet room.
The bond hummed between us. It became localized, specific, concentrated at the point where our bodies joined. Like a circuit completing, energy flowing in a closed loop that grew stronger with each thrust.
The bed creaked, a long, muffled sound echoing in the room. We ignored it.
What we were doing defied documentation. It was too immediate, visceral, and impossibly real to file away as just another observation.
I’d been calling it the bond because that was its name, but I was starting to suspect that was an understatement.
The pressure built, layers of sensation stacking on top of each other until I couldn’t separate physical from emotional from something else entirely that might’ve been magic or might’ve been whatever happened when two people decided to stop pretending they were only strategically aligned.
Feral’s rhythm turned urgent, less controlled. His breathing came harsh against my neck. One hand gripped my hip hard enough to leave marks. The other stayed between us, his thumb stroking my clit.
I was close. So close the edges of my vision had started to blur.
“Look at me,” he said.
I opened my eyes and met his gaze.
