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My breath catches.

I should ask what that means.

I should ask about his magic. About why his eyes glow. About why touching him sometimes gives me the same strange awareness I feel around my Wolf.

I should ask a hundred questions.

Instead, I pull him down to me.

“Then stop waiting.”

His forehead touches mine. I feel him, hot and hard and heavy at my entrance, which is now positively soaked for him.

“Mine.”

The word is barely more than a whisper.

But I hear it.

Oh, Goddess, do I hear it.

Grimm's glowing eyes hold mine, and suddenly this doesn't feel like a man getting carried away in bed.

It feels like a declaration.

A promise.

Something ancient and possessive that should probably scare the hell out of me.

It doesn't.

That's the problem.

Instead, something inside me answers.

Not with words.

With magic.

It rises beneath my skin, reaching for him with an instinct I don't understand.

Grimm feels it. I know he does.

His breath catches, and for the first time tonight, I see something vulnerable break through all that impossible control.

Wonder.

Longing.

Almost disbelief.

Like he can't quite believe I'm here. That I'm choosing him.

My heart squeezes. I touch his face.

“Grimm.”

His eyes close for half a second, and he turns into my palm. Such a small thing. Such a devastating thing.