Making eye contact, I huff out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, my pulse still hammering. “Hell no,” I say, easing closer again, closing what little space remains between us. “If anything, it’s the opposite of that.”
The tension snaps again, this time into something that feels very much like inevitability. Because now, there’s nothing left holding us back.
My gaze drops again, slower this time, taking him in properly.
He’s unmistakably male, but nothing about his cock follows human rules. There’s a weight to his dick, a presence even here—something built for claiming, for holding, for not letting go. And lower.
I pause, because there’s a thickening at the base that draws my attention immediately. Subtle when he’s still, but impossible to ignore once I notice it. It’s not just size—it’s structure. Purpose.
“Is that a knot?” I know it is even as I ask. I’m not much of a reader, but I’ve picked up a few shifter paperbacks over the years to put two and two together. But there’s nothing fictional about the size of his hard cock, nor the swollen flesh of his knot at the base.
Varek’s entire body goes rigid. “It forms during heat,” he says, voice low, controlled, but strained around the edges. “It is used to… secure the bond.”
Secure.
The word falls heavily—and then drops straight through me, hitting low and hard, making my cock pulse in response before I can even pretend otherwise.
My eyes flick back up to his, something harder settling into my expression. “Yeah,” I say, breath catching a little. “I figured it wasn’t just decorative.”
His gaze darkens—heat, tension, a deeper emotion that answers mine without hesitation. And instead of pulling back, I push him. He goes with it—not resisting or stopping me.
He lands back against the furs with a controlled exhale, and I follow, moving over him before I can second-guess it, settling across his hips like this is something I’ve done a hundred times instead of something that should feel terrifying.
It doesn’t. It feels right.
Varek’s hands come to my waist instantly, steadying and grounding me. His eyes search mine like he’s checking—always checking—that I mean it… that I want to be here, doing exactly this.
I do.
“Still good?” I ask, voice quieter now but steady.
“Yes,” he says, and there’s no hesitation in it. “You?”
“Yeah,” I breathe out. “Yeah, I’m?—”
I don’t finish the sentence because I am. Hell, I’m more than that.
I should ask questions. About how this works. About what to expect. About the very obvious differences between us that my brain is only just catching up with. Instead, I lean down and kiss him.
It’s not tentative. Not careful. It’s a collision.
Heat meeting heat, the bond flaring bright between us the second our mouths connect. His lips are warm, firmer than mine, and for a split second there’s a pause—like he’s giving me the space to pull back if I want to.
I don’t. I press in closer.
That’s all the permission he needs.
The restraint he’s been holding onto finally fractures—not gone or turned reckless, but loosened enough that it changes everything. His hand slides up my side, spanning my bare ribs carefully, pulling me just that fraction closer as his mouth moves against mine with a depth that steals my breath.
His tongue brushes mine, and yeah, that still feels different.
It’s longer, broader, and definitely warmer than anything I’m used to. The sensation’s still unfamiliar enough that it sends a jolt of awareness straight through me. It’s not awkward. Not wrong.
Just… more.
More pressure. More heat. Morehim.
I make a sound against his mouth before I can stop it. It’s low and rough and gets swallowed by the kiss.
