Page 65 of HaL

While the suit detaches from my legs, I stand there looking at him. He is beautiful, in an almost old-world Viking way, if you can overlook all the fur. Pulling the hood off, I finger-comb my hair, then slowly start wiggling out of the rest. HaL’s eyes get big, but they never leave me as his voice comes out rough.

“You were naked this entire time?”

“Yup, nothing between me and the super suit or it would mess up my superpowers.”

He moves so close that I can still feel the cold coming off his skin. I step closer.

“Are you going to kiss me, or are we just going to stand here the rest of the evening?”

“Dawn, if I touch you right now, I will not be able to stop.”

“Who is asking you to? I am tired of waiting for the right time because there is no such thing. I want you, and I want to be with you.”

“I do not know what the mate bond will do, if anything, with us being different species.”

“Honestly, HaL, I don’t give a shit one way or another. All I need to know is, do you love me?”

“Love is a metaphor. Something your kind speaks of easily. Some use it with genuine meaning while others use it carelessly, with nothing behind the words. What I feel for you is more than words. It is something that resides deep in here.”

He presses a hand to his chest, his expression tightening as though the admission physically hurts.

“The thought of never holding you again, never hearing your odd words, never smelling the scent that is currently driving me wild…” His voice drops. “It is not something I ever want to experience. Still, when I hold you in my arms, there are moments when I still cannot believe you are real.”

“Oh, sweet-thing, I am real.”

I reach up, tracing my fingers along the strong line of his jaw. The faint rasp of his fur brushes my fingertips, while his skin remains cool beneath my touch.

“Come be real with me,” I whisper. “Make me yours, HaL.”

His larger hand closes around mine on his chest before he lifts it to his lips, pressing a kiss into my palm, then my wrist, lingering over the sensitive skin of my inner forearm where my pulse races beneath his mouth. With every kiss, he draws me closer, until he bends slightly, scooping me into his arms. Instinctively, I wrap my legs around his waist.

His lips find mine.

At first, the kiss is soft. Careful. Almost reverent.

Then his arms tighten, pulling me flush against the hard length of his body, and the kiss deepens. His mouth is warm against mine, such a startling contrast to the coolness of the rest of him. Yet somehow, he feels familiar.

Like home.

Our first kiss had been rushed—a collision of emotion, fear, and desperate need that I truly didn’t get the chance to savor.

This time is different. This time, I feel every second.

His hand slides into my hair, his fingers curling around it just firmly enough to tilt my head the way he wants. If my senses were overloaded before, now they are completely overwhelmed.

I can feel his hunger.

The years of restraint.

The longing he has kept buried beneath all that control.

It pours into the kiss through every movement of his mouth, every tightening of his arms, every low vibration rumbling deep within his chest. And I meet him with every bit of fire in me.

I am not fragile.

I don’t need him to treat me like I might break. I crave his strength, the way he holds me, the way he wants me, and the way he makes me feel completely claimed without ever making me feel small.

I want him—all of him.