Page 17

My control fails.

Her arms tighten around me, her nails scratching lines down my back. The markings burn with a blinding gold light. Claire screams my name against my throat, and the sound destroys the last of my coherence.

I thrust one last time, deep and hard, as a violent wave of orgasm crashes through both of us. The bond flares with an explosive force, a psychic white-out that merges our sensations into one singular, agonizingly perfect peak. I feel her clench around me in rhythmic spasms, and I follow her, my own release hitting with a force that leaves me breathless and shaking.

When the intensity finally breaks, Claire clings to me as if I am the only thing keeping her anchored to the earth. I hold her through the aftershocks, the bond flooding with a lingering, warm glow.

Eventually, her grip loosens. We lie there in the quiet, our skin slick with sweat, our breathing slowly syncing. The bond doesn't close; it remains a clear, steady hum of contentment and exhaustion.

Claire shifts carefully and looks at me, a tired, satisfied smirk on her lips.

"You felt that too."

"Yes."

"Good."

I should tell her how irrational this is. We are trapped in a collapsing city, surrounded by enemies and unstable architecture. But instead, I brush a damp strand of hair from her face.

"Your knee?"

"Sore. Not worse." She gives me a tired glare. "Stop using an ancient biological connection as a diagnostic tool."

"It is efficient."

"You're impossible."

We rest for a long time, the heat between us refusing to settle. Claire's hand remains on my chest, her fingers idly tracing the fading gold of the markings. Every touch sends a small, humming echo through the bond.

Eventually, she lifts herself up, her eyes darkening again.

"Again?" I ask.

Her eyebrow lifts. "You're asking?"

"I am learning."

"Slowly."

The second time is different. The rush of the first time is replaced by a deliberate, agonizingly slow exploration. We know the positions now; we know exactly where to place the jackets and how to brace her leg. We know that the bond becomes an electrical current when her palm rests over my heart.

I take my time with her, kissing every inch of her skin, tasting the salt and the heat. I use my tongue and my fingers to bring her to the brink of another climax before I slide back inside her.

This time, there is no rush. I watch her eyes—the way they glaze over with pleasure, the way she looks at me as if I am the only thing in existence. That is what nearly undoes me. Not her body, but the absolute certainty in her gaze.

I spent nineteen years believing the world was a series of failures to be managed. Claire looks at me as if there is something more.

As we move together, the bond doesn't just echo—it sings. Every slide, every gasp, every press of skin is magnified. I feel her pleasure building, a slow-burn tension that tightens in her chest and coils in her belly. I drive into her, slow and deep, watching the way her expression fractures.

When she peaks the second time, it is quieter but deeper, a long, shuddering release that leaves her sobbing my name into my shoulder. I follow her shortly after, the release feeling less like a crash and more like a homecoming.

Afterward, Claire settles against me, utterly spent. Her hair is spread across my chest, her injured knee carefully braced across my leg. Her hand remains over the markings, anchoring us.

"Okay," she murmurs, her voice heavy with sleep.

"Okay?"

Her eyes close, a small, triumphant smile on her lips.