His hands found her waist, pulling her closer. “You are also exhausted. And frightened. And trying very hard not to show either.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“To me, yes.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Let me help. Let me give you something other than fear to feel.”
She should say no. They needed to conserve their energy for whatever came next. But his hands were warm through her thermal layers, and his body was solid against hers, and she was so tired of being strong.
“We should probably conserve our energy,” she heard herself say.
“Probably.”
“And we don’t know what condition this station’s supplies are in. The bunk might not even be?—”
“Jaz.”
She stopped talking.
“I do not need a bunk,” he said, his voice low and certain. “I do not need comfort or convenience. I only need you. And I need to feel you alive and warm in my arms. I need to know that after everything we have survived, we are still here. Still together. Still us.”
The words broke something open inside her.
She kissed him. Not the gentle, tentative kisses of their early explorations, but something deeper. Desperate. A claiming that went both ways.
He responded in kind.
They didn’t make it to the bunk.
The station’s floor was hard and cold, but she barely noticed. His wings spread beneath them like a living blanket, his scales smooth against her skin as she stripped away layers of thermal clothing with frantic hands. There was nothing gentle about this—it was survival sex, the kind of coupling that happened when two people had stared death in the face and found life instead.
“Mine,” he growled against her throat, and the word sent electricity sparking down her spine.
“Yours,” she agreed, arching into his touch. “Always.”
His body covered hers, pressing her down into the cushion of his wings. The first joining was almost too intense and she gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders, her legs wrapping around him to pull him deeper. He shuddered above her, his eyes blazing with something that went beyond desire.
They moved together in the dim light of the ranger station, two survivors finding solace in each other’s flesh. She lost track of time, lost track of everything except the sensation of being filled, being held, being wanted with an intensity that left no room for doubt.
When the first wave crested, it took her by surprise—a climax that rolled through her body like thunder, leaving her shaking and breathless. He followed moments later, his release marked by a roar that echoed through the station.
But he wasn’t done.
He rolled onto his back, pulling her with him and lifting her over him like she weighed nothing at all. His hands guided her hips, encouraging her to set her own pace, to take what she needed.
“Again,” he said. “Let me feel you again.”
She obliged, riding him with her eyes closed, her hands braced on his chest, every nerve ending alive with sensation. His claws traced careful patterns on her thighs, driving her excitement higher, while his tail wrapped around her ankle like an anchor.
“Look at me,” he commanded, and she opened her eyes.
His face was transformed by pleasure—fierce and vulnerable all at once, the harsh angles softened by wonder. This ancient being, this impossibility made flesh, was looking at her like she was the miracle.
“My mate,” he said, the words rough with emotion. “My heart. My home.”
The third climax built slowly, inexorably, fed by the intensity of his gaze and the rhythm of their joined bodies. When it broke, she cried out—a sound she barely recognized as her own—and felt his answering release pulse inside her.
They lay locked together in the aftermath, neither willing to break the connection. His wings wrapped around them both, forming a sanctuary against the cold and the fear and the uncertain future. His hand stroked lazy patterns on her back, tracing the line of her spine, learning the landscape of her body through touch.
“I love you,” she said quietly.
