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Lily's eyes met mine in the dim light, and I saw my own desperate need reflected there. Tomorrow we would face whatever came. Tonight, we would write our own story in the language only lovers understand.

Without words, she took my hand and led me toward the small room we were sharing. The door closed behind us with the softest whisper, sealing us away from wars and worlds and everything that wasn't this moment, this woman, this love that had remade me entirely.

CHAPTER 48

AUGUST

Lily stood silhouetted against the window, moonlight painting silver streaks through her hair, and I felt my carefully constructed composure begin to crumble like ancient stone. She turned to face me, and the look in her eyes—pure, undisguised hunger—nearly brought me to my knees.

“August.” My name on her lips was both prayer and command.

I crossed the small space between us in two steps, my hands finding her face, thumbs tracing the delicate line of her cheekbones. “Are you certain? Tomorrow⁠—”

“Tomorrow doesn't exist,” she whispered, her hands fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer. “There is only this. Only now.”

The kiss was fire incarnate, but it was also desperation. Her mouth moved against mine with a boldness that tasted like fear and need tangled together. I could feel her trembling—not with desire alone, but with the weight of what we faced come morning.

“I'm afraid,” she whispered against my lips, the confession so quiet I almost missed it. “I'm terrified of losing you.”

Something in my chest cracked open. “Then let me worship you tonight,” I breathed, pressing my forehead to hers. “Let me memorize every inch of you. So that no matter what tomorrow brings, I'll carry this with me.”

Her breath hitched. “Yes. God, yes.”

My restraint, already hanging by the thinnest of threads, didn't snap this time—it simply dissolved. Not into wild abandon, but into something more deliberate. More precious.

I lifted her against me, marveling at how perfectly she fit in my arms as her legs wrapped around my waist. When I pressed her back against the wall beside the window, the soft gasp that escaped her lips sent heat coursing through my veins like molten fire, but I forced myself to go slowly. To savor.

“You are exquisite,” I breathed against her skin, trailing kisses down her throat. “So impossibly, devastatingly beautiful. And you're mine. For tonight, for tomorrow, for however long fate allows—you're mine.”

“Yours,” she agreed, her fingers tangling in my hair. “Always yours.”

I carried her to the narrow bed, laying her down with a reverence that felt like prayer. When I began to undress her, my hands were steady despite the emotion threatening to overwhelm me. Each piece of clothing removed was a revelation—skin I'd touched before but never taken the time to truly worship.

“I want to memorize you,” I murmured, pressing a kiss to her collarbone, then lower. “Every freckle. Every curve. Every place that makes you gasp.”

She reached for my shirt, but I caught her hands gently. “Let me,” I said. “Please. Let me do this.”

Understanding flickered in her eyes. She knew what I needed—to commit every moment to memory, to brand this night into my soul so deeply that nothing could erase it.

I shed my own clothes quickly, then returned my attention to her. The moonlight painted her bare skin like marble come to life, and I traced every curve with reverent touches, drinking in each soft gasp, each flutter of her pulse beneath my lips.

“So beautiful,” I whispered against her sternum, kissing my way down. “So perfect.”

When my mouth found the peak of her breast, she arched beneath me with such abandon that it took every ounce of control not to rush. I lavished attention on her—tongue circling, teeth grazing gently—until she was writhing beneath me, fingers tight in my hair.

“August, please⁠—”

“Not yet,” I murmured, kissing my way to her other breast. “Let me take my time with you. Let me make this last.”

I mapped the curves of her body with my hands and mouth—the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips, the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. I memorized the sounds she made, catalogued every place that made her breath catch or her body tremble.

When I finally settled between her thighs, when I pressed the first kiss to her center, she cried out softly. “August—oh God⁠—”

“I've got you,” I promised, and then I showed her exactly how much I worshipped her.

I took my time, learning her all over again with my tongue and lips. The way she tasted—salt and sweetness and something uniquely her. The way her thighs trembled against my shoulders. The breathy little sounds she made when I found the rhythm she liked best.

“Please,” she sobbed, hands fisting in my hair. “I need—I need you inside me. I need to feel you.”