He kissed her again. Let himself sink into the taste and feel of her without overthinking. Without analyzing every sensation for signs of losing control.
She responded with equal hunger, fingers sliding into his hair. The angle was awkward with her belly between them but he didn’t care. Having her in his arms again felt like breathing after drowning.
Hyde stirred but didn’t surge, didn’t demand control. Instead he seemed content to simply revel in their mate’s closeness.
Safe, Hyde purred.Ours. Keep.
For once, he agreed completely.
She shifted and winced. “The couch isn’t ideal for this.”
He pulled back immediately. “Am I hurting you?”
“No. Just…” She gestured at her belly. “Seven months pregnant makes certain positions challenging.”
Heat flooded his face. “I wasn’t trying to—we don’t have to?—”
“I want to.” Her directness would never stop surprising him. “If you do.”
Wantdidn’t begin to cover it. He burned with need—had been burning since the first time he’d seen her, suppressing it with brutal discipline.
But the thought of taking her here, in the middle of a blizzard with only firelight and no certainty of control…
“The floor,” she said. “In front of the fire. There’s more room and it’s warm.”
His mouth went dry. “Are you sure?”
“Victor.” She touched his face gently. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
He helped her stand, hyper-aware of her every movement. She was so pregnant. So vulnerable. So absolutely fearless.
She grabbed the blankets from the couch and spread them in front of the fireplace. The flames cast dancing shadows across her face as she turned to him.
“Well? Are you going to stand there all night or come here?”
He moved before he could overthink it. He helped her down onto the blankets with careful hands, then knelt beside her.
“Slow,” he said, half-plea, half-command—to himself as much as her. “I need to go slow.”
“We have all night.” Her fingers traced his jaw. “No rush.”
He kissed her again, losing himself in the slide of lips and tongue. His hands settled on her hips, thumbs stroking in slow circles. Her sweater was soft under his palms but he slid his hands beneath it, needing to touch her skin. She shivered at the touch and he froze.
“Cold?”
“No.” Her laugh was breathless. “Very much not cold.”
His control wavered, and Hyde pressed closer, wanting more, demanding more. But he could handle this. He could give them both what they needed without losing himself.
I hope.
He helped her out of her sweater with shaking hands. She wore a simple cotton camisole underneath, stretched tight over her belly and breasts.
Beautiful. She was so beautiful it hurt to look at her.
“Your turn,” she said, tugging at his borrowed flannel.
He stripped the shirt off and her breath caught. Her hands settled on his chest, exploring with a wonder that made him tremble.
