My body waits for the delayed panic.For the sick twist in my stomach.For the instinct to claw, kick, flee.But nothing comes.No panic.No disgust.No need to escape.Only the ache between my thighs, the tenderness at my shoulder, and the deep, impossible thrum of the bond beneath my skin.
Knox’s mark pulses gently where his teeth claimed me.
Mine.
No.I frown into the pillow.Not mine.
His voice from last night answers in my head, rough and reverent.You are yours.
My throat tightens.
The bond hums again, and this time I understand its shape better.It doesn’t feel like a chain.It doesn’t pull me down or lock me in place.It feels like a door left open between us.A dark thread, warm with smoke and rain and beast, stretching from my chest to his, and I can feel him there.
Sleeping, but not deeply.Knox doesn’t seem like a man who ever fully sleeps.Even now, his body is loose around mine, but some part of him remains watchful.Guarding.
I should resent that.Maybe later.
Right now, I let myself enjoy it, just for one selfish breath.
His arm tightens slightly around my waist.Not enough to trap, just enough to ask without words.
I place my hand over his, and the bond flares.
Knox wakes instantly, and his entire body goes still.
“Briana?”My name is rough with sleep, and it does something terrible to my insides.
“Still here,” I whisper.
His breath leaves him slowly, warm against the back of my neck.“Are you okay?”
There it is.The question I will probably hear for the rest of my life, but from him, it doesn’t make me feel fragile.It makes me feel seen.
I take inventory because that’s what survivors do.Shoulder sore.Body tender.Heart too full and too raw.Throat bare.No collar.No hands where I don’t want them.
“I’m okay,” I say, then add, because we’re apparently doing honesty now, “I think.”
His arm loosens immediately.“Do you need space?”
I close my eyes.Of course, he is ready to pull away even though every inch of him feels like it’s fine to remain near me.
“No.”My fingers tighten around his hand.“Not yet.”
He goes quiet behind me.The bond gives me the edge of what he feels, not words, not thoughts, but sensation.Relief so strong it hurts.Want, banked low but burning.Devotion, dark and enormous.
And fear, not of me but for me, and of himself.
I turn carefully in his arms, and he lets me, lifting his arm so I don’t feel pinned.When I face him, the air shifts.His hair is loose from its tie, falling dark over his forehead.Stubble shadows his jaw, and there are scratches down one shoulder from my nails.
My cheeks heat, and his eyes darken, but he doesn’t smile.Knox’s hunger is never careless.It watches me from behind all that control, waiting for permission to breathe.
“You’re staring,” I say.
“Yes.”
“No shame?”
“Not about looking at my mate.”
