The lock lasts long enough that urgency becomes intimacy.
His fingers trace my ribs. Mine move over the scars on his shoulders. We are trapped together by a choice both of us made, and neither of us wants to rush the release.
Eventually the swelling begins to ease by degrees. The flare remains thick, but the hard seat inside me loosens.
“Not yet,” he says when I test it.
“I know.”
A few breaths later, he moves back half an inch.
The ring beneath the crown drags through me. The bond carries both sensations at once.
We stop again.
“Gods,” I whisper.
“Yes.”
He waits until the swell has eased enough to withdraw without hurting me. Then he pulls free slowly, the ridges and ring making every inch of separation another shared event.
The loss of fullness goes through the bond as sharply as the penetration did.
He gathers me against his chest.
For a long time, we do nothing.
The bite throbs. My body aches. His shoulder wound has reopened beneath the strain, and I can feel that too.
Neither of us is ready for another round.
That matters.
We drink. He cleans the blood from my neck and between my thighs. I wash his shoulder and the drying release from his stomach. We lie under the furs while the bond settles into something we can carry without drowning.
A knock sounds at the outer door. Ghenn does not enter.
Torgan keeps one arm around me. “Dead and wounded counted by company. Surgeons under guard. Separate hired men from Osk’s household. No reprisals. Secure the paymaster’s wagon and every ledger inside it.”
Ghenn answers through the wood. “Already moving.”
“Send the numbers when they change.”
Only after Ghenn’s steps retreat does Torgan close his eyes.
I sleep for a little while.
When I wake, the fire has burned lower.
Torgan is watching me.
His jaw remains quiet.
His cock is hard again against my thigh, but not with the desperate strain from before. His base is relaxed. His breathing is steady.
The bond carries his question before he asks it.
I touch his face.