"Probably?" I arched an eyebrow, fighting the tears that wanted to fall, my fingers curling into the front of his flannel shirt. "Only probably?"
His lips twitched, the corner of his mouth lifting, one that crinkled the skin at the corners of his eyes and softened the hard line of his jaw. "Definitely. I'll definitely love you after I die. I'll haunt you and everything."
"That's more like it." I rose onto my toes and pressed my lips to his, soft and sweet, tasting the faint ghost of whiskey on his mouth. "I love you too. Even when you snore."
"I don't snore." His brow furrowed, genuine confusion crossing his features, and I bit back a laugh at how offended he looked—this massive Alpha who'd faced down combat zones, personally wounded by the suggestion he made noise in his sleep.
"You absolutely snore. Remy recorded it once. I have evidence." I poked his chest for emphasis, feeling the solid muscle beneath his flannel.
His jaw dropped, outrage flickering across his face before he caught me by the waist and hauled me against him, lifting me clean off my feet. "Take it back."
"Never." I was laughing now, the nervousness from before dissolving like sugar in water, my hands braced on his broad shoulders for balance. "The evidence is?—"
He kissed me. Not soft this time. His mouth covered mine with purpose, tongue sweeping past my lips before I could finish the sentence, swallowing my laugh and replacing it with a sound I didn't recognize as my own. He kissed like he did everything else: thorough, unhurried, completely devoted to the task at hand. One hand spread wide across my lower back, the other cradling the back of my skull, tilting my head to deepen the angle. I could feel the heat of him through our clothes, the hard length of him already pressing against my hip.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard, his forehead resting against mine.
"I want to do this right," Harper said, his voice rough, his pupils blown wide enough to swallow the pale gray of his irises. "Not rushed. Not desperate. I want to remember every second of this."
"Show me," I whispered, tracing my thumb along the stubble on his jaw, feeling the rasp against my skin. "Show me where you want to bond."
He took my hand and led me through the distillery, past the copper stills and the fermenting tanks, to a door I'd never been through before. Behind it was a small room—private, intimate, lit by candles he must have placed earlier. A thick blanket had been spread on the floor, surrounded by pillows, with a bottle of his best whiskey and two glasses waiting nearby.
"Harper..." My throat tightened at the care he'd taken. The thoughtfulness. He'd created a nest for us, here in his space, in the place that meant the most to him. I pressed my hand to my chest, feeling my heart thud against my palm.
"I wanted it to be special," he said, almost shy, this massive Alpha who could break a man in half ducking his head like a boy offering flowers. His hand came up to rub the back of his neck, a nervous gesture I'd rarely seen from him, the muscles in his forearm flexing with the movement. "Wanted it to be ours."
I crossed to the whiskey first, picking up the bottle. His best reserve—the one he only brought out for people who mattered. I poured two fingers into each glass and held one out to him.
"To forever," I said, lifting mine. Something softened in his face—relief, maybe, that I wasn't rushing past this part, that I understood the ritual of it. He took the glass, his thick fingers brushing mine, and clinked it gently against my own.
"To forever," he echoed, and we both drank. The whiskey was warm and smooth, oak and honey sliding down my throat. He watched me over the rim of his glass, his eyes tracking the movement of my throat as I swallowed, the way my tongue darted out to catch a drop from my lower lip, and the hunger that darkened his expression made my pulse jump.
I set down my glass, took his from his hand, set that down too. Then I grabbed the collar of his flannel shirt with both fists and pulled him down to me. He caught me easily, lifting me against him like I weighed nothing, his hands spreading wide across my back. I wrapped my legs around his waist, locking my ankles behind him, and he carried me to the blanket, lowering us both down without breaking the kiss. The candlelight flickered across his face as he settled over me, his weight braced on his forearms, his body caging mine.
"Tell me what you want," he said against my lips, his voice low and rough, vibrating through my chest where we pressedtogether. His thumb traced along my jaw, tilting my face up. "Tonight is about you. Tell me how to make this perfect."
"I want to see you." My fingers found the buttons of his shirt, working them free one by one, each one revealing another inch of skin. "All of you."
He sat back on his heels and let my hands push the flannel from his shoulders, revealing the broad expanse of his chest. Dark hair scattered across his chest, trailing down the ridged muscles of his stomach to disappear beneath his waistband. Scars marked his skin—old ones, faded to silver, remnants of his time in the Marines. I traced each one with my fingertips, mapping the history written on his body.
"This one?" I asked, pressing my lips to a jagged line along his ribs. The scar tissue was smoother than the rest of his skin, raised slightly, warm under my mouth. I let my tongue trace the edge and felt his stomach muscles jump hard beneath my palm.
"Shrapnel," he managed, his voice gone thick, his hand coming up to cradle the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair. "Afghanistan. Doesn't hurt anymore."
I kissed the next scar—a round, puckered mark on his left shoulder, the skin pulled tight and shiny around the edges. "This?" I pressed the word into his skin, feeling his pulse quicken beneath my lips.
His breath hitched as my tongue traced the ridged border, tasting clean sweat and warm skin. His fingers flexed against my scalp, tightening, loosening, like he couldn't decide whether to pull me closer or hold himself still. "Got lucky."
"I'd say I got lucky." I looked up at him through my lashes, my chin resting against his sternum. His pupils had blown wide, swallowing the pale irises until only a thin ring of silver remained, and a flush was creeping up his neck toward his jaw. "All these scars, and you're still here. Still mine."
"Always yours." The words came out rough, and his grip on me tightened. His chest was rising and falling faster now, each breath expanding against my palms. "Artemis—" His voice broke on my name as he swallowed hard.
"Shh." I pressed another kiss to his chest, right over his heart, feeling it slam against my lips like it was trying to reach me. Then another, lower, following the trail of dark hair that narrowed down his stomach. "Let me." The words vibrated against his skin, and I felt the muscles beneath my mouth twitch and tighten in response.
He let me.
I kissed across his chest, finding his nipple with my tongue and circling it until he groaned—a deep, startled sound, like he hadn't expected it to feel that good. His hips jerked involuntarily, and I scraped my teeth across the sensitive flesh just to feel him shudder, his hands fisting in the blanket beneath us, the fabric bunching between white-knuckled fingers.
