“Lie back,” she said.
His eyebrows rose. But he went, settling against the pillows, watching her with dark, trusting eyes. Marina straddled him, and the shift in power sent a thrill through them both.
“I want to see you,” she said, settling her weight over him, feeling him hard against her. “I want to set the pace. I want…”
“Anything.” His hands rested on her thighs, not gripping. Offering. “Whatever you want.”
“I choose you,” Marina said, looking down at him. “Not because I’m trapped. Not because magic says I should. Because you terrorized a health inspector for me. Because you can’t unhook a bra but you can renegotiate a flour contract in your sleep. Because you’re learning to ask before you act. Because I love you.”
He had to swallow before he could speak. “I choose you too. I had a whole speech.” He huffed something that might have been a laugh. “I wrote it down. It was three pages. None of it works now.”
“Then don’t.”
“You stayed,” he managed. “I’m picking that one. You stayed. I choose you, Marina.”
She reached between them, took him in her hand (he sucked in a breath, his hips lifting involuntarily) and sank down slowly. Watched his face the entire time: his eyes going unfocused, his lips parting, his fingers pressing into her thighs hard enough to leave marks neither of them would regret. His pleasure bled into hers through the open bond until the boundary betweenthem thinned to nothing. When she’d taken all of him, they both exhaled like they’d been holding their breath for weeks.
“Okay?” she asked.
“Perfect.” His hands tightened on her hips. “God, Marina…”
She rolled her hips, slow, deliberate, and they both gasped. Nothing desperate. Nothing rushed. Just presence. Just choosing each other with every movement.
She set the rhythm, bracing her hands on his chest, his scales warm and humming beneath her palms. The bond sang wide open between them, not a wall of sensation crashing over her, but something she moved through willingly, like wading into warm water.
“You’re so…” His voice broke. “I can feel how much you…”
“Good.” She leaned down, kissed him. “Feel all of it. I’m not hiding anything.”
He didn’t close his eyes. Neither did she. They watched each other as Marina rode him, slow and deep. His hands explored her: her waist, her breasts, the curve of her spine.
“More,” she breathed, shifting her angle, and his hips rose to meet hers. The new depth made them both moan. His thumb found her clit, circling in time with her rhythm, and she felt his focus narrow to that single point of contact, his total attention on her pleasure.
Marina’s pace quickened. Her thighs burned. His hands steadied her hips, matching her rhythm from below, and the shared sensation spiraled tighter, hers feeding his, his amplifying hers, a current running between them with nowhere to go but up.
“Together,” she gasped. “Alessandro…”
“I’m here. I’m right here.”
She came first—hard, sudden, her whole body seizing around him. He made a wrecked sound and followed, hips jerking up into hers, his hands gripping hard enough to bruise. The bondcaught the aftershocks and threw them back and forth until she couldn’t tell whose trembling was whose.
The bond went quiet. Not empty—just still, the way a room goes still after good music ends.
When the world slowly returned, they were both shaking. Marina folded forward against his chest, and his arms came up around her.
“Hi,” she said, a bit dazed.
“Hi yourself.”
“That was…”
“Different.”
“Better.” She pressed a kiss over his heart. “That felt like choosing each other. Just… us.”
“Every moment,” he agreed.
They lay tangled together, neither wanting to move. Outside, the full moon hung low over the ocean. Inside, his heartbeat was slowing under her ear.
