Every rational instinct I possess tells me this is a mistake. That grief and exhaustion are poor foundations for anything, but I’m tired of pretending restraint is the same as strength.
I have strength. I’m simply done using it to hold myself still.
And so I close the gap between us.
‘Thorn …’
‘No promises,’ I whisper. ‘No conversations about the future. Just the here and now.’
Still, he waits, as though afraid I will change my mind, and so I reach for him, clutching the fabric at his chest and expelling my breath as if this touch is the first freedom I have ever felt.
His hands come up to frame my face – reverent, almost hesitant as he searches my expression one last time.
‘It’s not the wolves this time.’ A smile quirks his lips.
‘No,’ I agree. ‘It’s not.’
These bad choices are all ours. And I’m going to fucking own them.
‘Tell me to stop,’ he murmurs a hair’s breadth from my lips.
The taste of his breath in the air is almost too much to stand. ‘Don’t you fucking dare.’
The crash of his lips against mine steals the air from my lungs.
There is nothing gentle here, only desperation and urgency in their rawest form, and the need to wrap my arms around him and pull him closer nearly overwhelms me. He pulls at the fabric of my top and traces a line of kisses across my collarbone.
‘This won’t fix things,’ he warns between the gasps that cause me to tilt my head back to the sky.
‘I know,’ I reply. ‘But I’m tired. I’m so tired of fighting this.’
‘I surrendered long ago,’ he murmurs.
We’re far from the fire, trading warmth for privacy, but I would suffer the frozen lakes again rather than stop this.
Between the kisses, we pull one another out of our clothes, his thick fingers fumbling with my buttons as the garments fall to the ground in a makeshift bed.
There is no time to luxuriate in the brush of fingers against skin andscars as the cold brings its own fury – a desperation that matches the urgency burning inside us.
Without hesitation, I drop to the ground, pulling him down on top of me, but while his hand cradles the back of my neck, holding me close for kisses, mine reaches down to the fabric of his trousers. My palm lingers there on the surface for barely a moment before sliding inside. A new throbbing pulses in me at the touch of his cock, and I try to steady myself as I wrap my fingers around his girth. I barely even squeeze before his eyes roll backward.
‘Gods, Thorn,’ he gasps as his hips roll into the rhythm of my movement, his pace increasing, seemingly involuntarily. ‘Oh Gods help me.’ With each thrust, he slides his cock faster and faster in my hand while a crescendo of heat rises within me. How can we be so close to tipping over the edge when we have barely even placed a hand on one another? I don’t know, nor do I care. All that matters right now is this. Us. Our bodies. Our flesh. Our pleasure.
He shifts his hand downwards, sending a skittering of sparks along my spine, and my back arches upwards in response as I try to conceal my groan in a clenched fist. But there are no concealments between us in this moment, and Kyor makes no attempt to quiet my rising pleasure. Instead, he splays my shirt open, and before I can draw breath his mouth is hot on my breast.
Yet more moans rise shamelessly from my throat as I desperately work to free his length from his trousers. I need more now. I need it all.
As I fight my shallowing breaths for some semblance of control, he pulls my trousers and knickers down to my knees; just enough to give him access. The cold bites across my fevered skin, but within a heartbeat his hands are there, pouring heat into every part of me.
With his cock now free too, I return to it, wrapping my hands around its hardness. Soft as velvet, yet unyielding underneath. Just the touch is enough to cause wetness to swell inside me. A stifled gasp catches in Kyor’s throat, a quiet sound that sends a tremor through me – a tremor met by the thickness of his fingers as they push inside me.
‘Gods!’ The sound is a rasp as my body clenches, craving it all. Craving so much more.
His fingers work gently inside me, but I don’t want gentle. Not now.
‘Harder!’ I urge, and he obeys, pumping his fingers in and out of me with an urgency that makes me groan low in my throat. Fingers still thrusting rhythmically into me, his mouth returns to my jaw and my throat, his kisses no longer reverent but hungry, lingering and open-mouthed. I tilt my head back, breath stuttering as sensation blooms, my body responding without restraint.
Yet as I clench my eyes against the rising pleasure, he pulls his cock out of my grasp, removing his fingers from my hot wetness and lining his cock up with my entrance instead.
