“Still certain?”
Veya drew him closer by the back of his neck.
“Yes.”
He entered her carefully despite the urgency clawing through him. Her body tightened around him, and Dax held still until her eyes opened and found his.
“Tell me.”
“Move.”
He obeyed.
The pace built between them through the sound of the fire and Veya’s increasingly fractured breaths. Dax kept one hand intertwined with hers against the mattress, not restraining her but giving her something to hold when sensation overwhelmed thought.
Veya wrapped one leg around his hip and demanded more.
Dax gave it to her.
Nothing about the encounter was gentle in the sentimental sense. Their desire had arrived too quickly and under circumstances too brutal for that. It was fierce, imperfect, and almost desperate, but every movement remained chosen.
Veya met each thrust rather than merely receiving it. She pulled him back whenever he attempted to slow and told him what she wanted without embarrassment.
When her release broke through her again, Dax followed with her name against her throat, his fangs held safely behind his lips.
He did not bite.
He did not mark.
He gave the tether no place inside what belonged to them.
Afterward, Dax remained above her for several breaths before shifting his weight away. Veya caught his wrist before he could retreat completely.
“Stay.”
The word was quiet but unmistakable.
Dax settled beside her and drew the blanket over them only after she moved willingly into his arms.
Her breathing slowed in uneven waves while the fire diminished in the hearth. The heat beneath her skin had not vanished entirely, and Dax refused to pretend their intimacy had cured anything.
What had happened between them was not medicine.
It was choice.
For tonight, that was enough.
Chapter 32
The fire had burned down to low coals by the time Dax trusted himself to move.
Veya remained tucked against his side with one cheek resting upon his chest. Her dark hair spread across his skin and the pillow, while one hand held loosely to the fabric at his waist as though she had forgotten she was still touching him.
The room carried the evidence of what they had done in the sheets, upon his skin, and in the raw marks her nails had left across his back.
Dax stared at the ceiling.
He had crossed the room intending to protect Veya from another decision made while her body was compromised. Instead, she had looked directly at him, answered every question, and chosen him with a certainty that had destroyed his final excuse for distance.
