Page 133 of Iron Beneath the Snow

“Eira.”

Her name carried warning.

Not command.

She heard the distinction.

The thread tightened between them, warm and insistent.

But it did not move her.

He stopped before the last distance disappeared.

Not withdrawing.

Waiting.

The choice was hers.

Eira held his gaze.

Then she moved.

She shifted against him, drawing him closer with her legs and with the hand still buried in his hair, closing the space he had left for her to refuse.

His breath left him slowly.

Something in his face changed.

Only then did he move again.

He adjusted her against the rock, shifting her clothing only as much as necessary, and entered her slowly enough that the first sharp pressure pulled a broken breath from her.

He stopped.

Her fingers tightened against his shoulder.

Not pushing him away.

Holding him.

She drew another breath and moved against him deliberately.

That was answer enough.

His forehead dropped briefly against hers.

Then the restraint that remained changed shape.

He moved with the same control that defined everything he did, but it no longer existed to keep distance between them. It held her steady, shaped the rhythm between them, turned each movement into something deliberate rather than hurried.

The thread responded with every shift, deepening sensation without directing it.

Her body answered him for reasons that belonged entirely to her.

She kissed him again.

Harder this time.