Page 77 of Impawssible Magic

“He’s very strong. And very clumsy. It’s a dangerous combination.”

I lean up. Press my lips to the scar. Feel him shiver under my mouth.

“Leire—”

“I want to know all of them.” I kiss another scar. Another. “Every mark on your body. Every story you carry.”

“That could take a while.”

“Good thing we have time.”

We take our time.

I’ve had sex that was fast and urgent, bodies crashing in desperate release. This isn’t that. This is... learning. Discovering. Building a new language with every touch.

He kisses down my throat. My collarbone. The swell of my breasts. I arch into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair, and the sound that escapes me is embarrassingly needy. I don’t care. Not here. Not with him.

His hand slides between my thighs.

“Oh—” The word breaks apart as his fingers find exactly where I need them. He watches my face while he touches me, reads my reactions, adjusts his rhythm until I’m gasping, climbing, shattering.

“That’s it.” His voice is dark honey. “Let go.”

I come undone.

The orgasm crashes through me—unexpected in its intensity, drawing out longer than I thought possible. He works me through it, gentle now, letting me ride the aftershocks until I’m boneless and panting and staring at him with open wonder.

“How—”

“Tiger senses.” His smile is smug. Earned. “I can tell exactly what you like.”

“That’s cheating.”

“I prefer ‘tactical advantage.’”

“Of course, you do.” I pull him down to kiss me. Taste myself on his lips and find I don’t mind at all. “Your turn.”

I push him onto his back.

He goes willingly, watching me with eyes that glow in the dim light. I straddle his hips, feel the evidence of his want pressing against me, and take a moment to just... look.

This man. This intense, protective, infuriating man who showed up in my life like a storm and refused to leave. Who fought for me when I didn’t want protecting. Who saw through every defense I had and stayed anyway.

“What?” His voice is strained. Barely controlled.

“Appreciating the view.”

“Leire—”

“Patience.” I echo his earlier restraint back at him. “Some things are worth savoring. Also, I’m mentally cataloging your abs. Give me a minute.”

“You’re cataloging⁠—”

“Shh. Counting.”

His laugh is startled, genuine, slightly desperate. “You’re going to kill me.”

“Death by appreciation. What a way to go.”