He didn’t move yet. He only watched me and waited. The discipline showed in him. His shoulders shook with it. The bond beat through him like a second pulse, and I felt it answer in my own chest. Two animals trying to hold still.
I nodded and only then did he move.
He pushed into me slowly, filling me one careful inch at a time. The stretch pulled a sound out of me I hadn’t meant to make, and he stopped halfway, every muscle in him locked. Waiting. Letting me adjust around him.
His mouth touched my temple. “Catalina.”
“Yes.”
“You are mine.”
My breath went thin. “I understand,” I said.
His jaw tightened, and his breath came hot against my hair. “Say it.”
I met his eyes. “I’m here. With you.” Not what he wanted but what I could give.
For a second he went still. Then he exhaled, rough, a sound I felt inhis chest more than I heard. “That is enough, for now.”
He rocked the rest of the way into me, and the bond went white at the edges.
Then he moved. Slowly. Deeply.
Every thrust was calibrated to me, every drag of him out and press back in measured by the smallest changes in my breath, my hands, my face. He watched me, learning in real time, with every intention of becoming fluent.
The pace was deliberate. He filled me to the hilt, withdrew and waited patiently for my body to chase him, then pressed back in until the bond rang bright and sharp.
His weight stayed over me, braced on one arm. His other hand returned to my hip, holding me exactly where he wanted me.
The bond climbed with him, opening wider with every thrust until I stopped being able to separate what I felt from what he did. His pleasure came through the line hot and heavy, folding into mine until my body couldn’t tell where the pressure started.
His hand tightened at my hip and his mouth found my throat.
“Mine,” he said again, darker this time. Rougher. The word sounded dragged out of him.
The bond answered before I could.
Heat rolled up the inside of my thighs and gathered tight in my stomach. My hands slid over his back and held on. My nails caught skin. He felt it and moved harder, deeper, the rhythm shifting from careful to barely contained.
His forehead pressed to mine. His breath came rough at my mouth.
The headboard knocked once against the wall. He didn’t bother to quiet it.
His control was still there. I could feel it. He watched me. His hand stayed at my hip instead of my throat. He kept checking my face even as the dragon in him pushed closer to the surface.
But the careful part of him was fraying.
“Dominic,” I breathed.
His hips stilled.
I dragged my nails down his back. “Don’t stop.”
The sound that left him wasn’t quite human.
Then he moved again. Harder.
The bond surged wider, too much and too close, and then the urge hit me: sharp, immediate, older than thought.
