“Exquisite,” he breathes. “Absolutely exquisite. The exact shade of green your eyes turn when you come. The way your voice breaks on the second syllable of my name. The precise rhythm of your pulse against my fingers.” He presses a kiss to my temple. “All catalogued.”
“Your turn.” My hands are already fumbling with his belt. “I want?—”
“Ash.” His voice cracks. “If you touch me right now, I won’t be able to—I’ve been waiting so long, and I’m barely?—”
“Good.” I free him from his pants, wrapping my hand around the hard length of him, and his whole body shudders. “Good.I don’t want your control. I wantyou.”
“You have me.” The confession tears out of him as I stroke. “You’ve had me since the archives. Since the argument. Since you looked at me like I was worth arguing with. You’ve had me and I can’t—Ican’t?—”
“Then take me.” I guide him to my entrance, both of us breathing hard. “Stop holding back andtake me.”
He enters me slowly, and we both groan.
I feel him everywhere. Not just where we’re joined but in my chest, my throat, behind my eyes where something dangerous is building. The bond at my wrist blazes gold, and I feel his magic tangling with mine, memory and thorns and something ancient recognizing something older.
“By the old gods.” His forehead drops to mine. “I can feel your heartbeat. I can feel—everything.”
“Move,” I demand. “Finnian,move.”
He does.
Long, slow strokes at first—because of course he’d be methodical even now, cataloguing which angle makes me gasp, which depth makes me moan. But his control is slipping. I can feel it in the way his hands grip my hips harder, the way his breath comes faster, the way his thrusts go from measured to desperate.
“More,” I pant against his ear. “Harder. I want to feel you tomorrow.”
Something snaps.
He lifts me like I weigh nothing, pressing my back against the cool rock of the grotto wall, and drives into me with a force that makes me see stars. The new angle hits spots I didn’t know I had, and I’m crying out with every thrust, nails raking down his back, legs wrapped around him like I’ll die if I let go.
“I’ve imagined this,” he gasps between thrusts. “Every variation. Every position. Every sound you’d make.” His pace turns punishing. “None of my projections were adequate.”
“Finnian—”
“I’m going to remember this forever.” His hand slides between us, finding my clit. “The exact temperature of your skin. The way you clench around me when I do—” he presses hard and I scream “—that.All of it. Catalogued. Permanent.Mine.”
The second orgasm builds faster than the first. His fingers work me in perfect rhythm with his thrusts, and I’m spiraling, I’m shattering, I’m?—
“Come for me again.” His voice breaks. “I need to feel it. I need?—”
We fall together.
His roar echoes through the grotto as he pulses inside me, and my own release tears through every nerve ending. The gold bond blazes so bright it lights up the water around us. Magic explodes outward—thorns and memory and light that makes the bioluminescent moss go supernova.
Beside the gold, the silver-blue thread pulses once. Distant. Aching.
And the orange, warm but far, with something underneath that feels like fear.
Both of them in the room with us, the way they always are.
I’m here and I’m not. I’ll carry that later.
Right now, I’mhere.
When awareness returns, we’re still tangled together, both breathing hard, aftershocks running through us like shared electricity.
“Hi,” I manage.
A startled sound escapes him. Not quite a laugh.
