I've never felt so seen, so known by anyone—it's terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
The combination of visual and physical sensation sends me tumbling over. I come apart with his name on my lips, the sound torn from somewhere deep inside me, legs shaking so badly I would have collapsed if not for his strong hands supporting me.
As the waves of pleasure gradually subside, a strange sense of peace washes over me. Not just physical release, but something so much more—as if some part of me that's been searching has finally found its anchor.
He presses soft kisses to my thighs, my stomach, working his way back up my body until he's standing again. I should feel vulnerable, exposed, but instead I feel powerful, claimed and claiming in equal measure. The evidence of his own desire is still very much present, pressed against my hip as he pulls me into his arms.
"You're incredible," he murmurs against my temple. “Your taste. Indescribably perfect.
I reach between us, but he catches my wrist gently. "Not tonight."
My body goes still, a flash of confusion—then hurt—crossing my face before I can mask it. Is he rejecting me? After everything he's said about me belonging with him? What isn't he telling me?
"I want to," I insist, looking up at him through the steam, unable to keep the suspicion from my voice.
He shakes his head, a smile playing at his lips. "Tonight was just for you, Astrid."
"That hardly seems fair," I protest, even as I'm touched by his selflessness. But the agent in me can't help wondering what's behind this restraint.
"Fair?" His laugh is low and warm. "I've been alive for centuries, Astrid. I've learned patience." His expression turns serious, tender. "And some things... some bonds... can't be rushed. There are things you need to know first."
The words carry weight beyond their surface meaning, hinting at something deeper. But the intensity in his golden eyes makes me believe him—this is more than just physical restraint. There's something almost reverent in how he's approaching this, approaching us.
He reaches around me to turn off the water, which has begun to cool. We step out together, and he wraps a towel around me before securing one around his own waist. His words echo in my mind. Things you need to know first. What things?
After the intimacy we just shared, the cryptic statement hovers between us like a shadow. A weakness? A curse? Some cosmic complication to whatever is happening between us?
With unexpected tenderness, he uses another smaller towel to gently dry my hair, his touch so careful it makes my heart ache. It's disorienting to feel so connected to someone I still barely know—someone who admits he's holding back crucial information. And yet, I can't bring myself to pull away.
"I never would have pegged you for the nurturing type," I say, trying to lighten the suddenly emotional atmosphere while buying myself time to process.
His smile is soft, genuine. "There's a lot you don't know about me yet."
"I'm beginning to see that," I reply, the double meaning heavy in my words. Whatever these things are that I need to know, they'll have to wait. Because right now, despite all my training to question, to doubt, to investigate, I'm choosing to trust the feeling between us over the facts I don't yet have.
I let him lead me out of the steamy bathroom and into my bedroom, aware that tomorrow might change everything.
He helps me into one of the oversized t-shirts I keep for sleeping, his fingers lingering on my skin with each touch. The care he takes with me, after everything—the argument, the pleasure, the revelations about Enclave—feels like its own kind of intimacy.
He came back. He’s being vulnerable.
When I slide into bed, exhaustion hits me like a dump truck. The emotional and physical toll of the night catches up all at once, making my limbs feel leaden. Fen hesitates by the edge of the bed, as if unsure of his welcome now.
"Stay," I say simply, lifting the covers in invitation.
Relief flashes across his face as he slides in beside me, still wearing the towel. His arm curls around me, drawing me against the solid warmth of his chest. The connection between us settles into a gentle hum, comforting rather than arousing now.
"This doesn't mean I forgive you for abandoning me," I murmur against his skin, though there's little heat behind the words now.
He laughs, the sound warm and rich. "I would expect nothing less. But I meant what I said. It won't happen again. From now on, we face things together."
I look up and study him in the dim light filtering through my bedroom curtains, his features softer but no less striking in repose. Against all logic, against all my GUIDE training, I believe him.
"Together," I agree, my eyes growing heavy. But how am I going to keep him safe from GUIDE?
His smile is slow and full of promise as he presses a kiss to my forehead. "Sleep," he says softly. "I'll be here when you wake."
And that promise, more than anything else, brings me peace as sleep claims me.
