Elias hums in his sleep and grinds down again, more deliberately this time, and that’s it. The last fragile thread snaps.
I feel the shift in my body as clearly as an earthquake—inevitable, unstoppable—and I groan under my breath as my cock, which I’d carefully contained, slips free. There’s too much sensation. Too much contact. Too muchhim.
Before I can gather myself, Elias’s hand slides between us, all warmth, curious certainty. His fingers brush me, and hestills. The air changes.
“Boone?” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep, desire woven through every syllable.
My name on his lips is soft and wanting.
I open my eyes to Elias looking at me. His lashes are heavy, pupils blown wide in the dim early light. There’s no fear in his expression or surprise. Just dawning awareness and unmistakable desire.
“I—” I try, and fail, to speak. My voice comes out rough, torn from somewhere too deep. “Elias. I didn’t mean to?—”
A slow and intimate smile forms before he says, “I know. You’re shaking.”
I am. Want will do that to a Bigfoot who’s found himself completely undone by an adorable human who seems to have me under his spell.
He shifts, deliberate now, sliding up my body so we’re face-to-face—so close I can feel the heat of him, smell the sharp-sweet edge of his arousal, feel his pulse racing where his chest presses to mine.
“I want you,” he says simply. No hesitation. No embarrassment. “I’ve wanted you since I woke up and realized you were holding me like I belong there.”
I swallow hard. “You don’t understand,” I manage. “Like this—my size?—”
His hand tightens, grounding, anchoring. “I understand enough to know I’m not scared.”
Unfurling ferns.The restraint I’ve been clinging to frays, thread by thread.
He moves again, straddling me without ceremony, his weight settling into me in a way that makes my vision blur. He leans down and kisses me—hot, open, unrestrained—and any remaining thought of caution evaporates.
I groan into his mouth, helpless, overwhelmed by sensation and scent and therightnessof him there.
“Elias,” I warn weakly.
He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, breath coming fast. “Are you sure?”
The question lands like a gift.
Choice.
Consent.
Trust.
I’ve never been more certain of anything in my long, ridiculous life.
“Yes,” I say, voice breaking. “I am. I’ve never been more sure.”
Fierce, incandescent resolve in his expression. “Then don’t hold back,” he whispers.
I don’t.
Elias is on me—warm, solid, and very real—and my body responds with a force that’s almost frightening in its intensity. Every point of contact feels amplified, like my nerves have been stripped bare and rewired directly to want.
I’ve taken storms head-on without flinching. I’ve faced down hunters, fire, the long, slow grind of centuries. None of it compares to this.
Elias’s hands move with a confidence that steals my breath, not hurried, not hesitant as he seeks out my slick channel. While it’s not the first time he’s explored, this is different. Claiming. He learns me by touch the way he learns everything—curious, attentive, deeply present—and every place he presses inside me feels like a question my body answers without consulting my brain.
I rumble low in my chest, a sound I don’t bother trying to swallow. There’s no point. Elias seems to feel my slip of control, his movements slowing just enough to savor the effect he’s having on me.
