Page 112 of Aryn

“A good different, I hope.”

“Eh,” he drawls, the corner of his mouth twitching. “We’ll see in the morning.”

I gasp and swat at his chest. “Cato!”

His laughter rumbles through him, warm and deep and unburdened, before he tips my face up to his. “It’s the best different,” he murmurs. “I could get used to being yours.”

“No regrets?”

“All or nothing,” he confirms softly, then draws me into another deep, claiming kiss.

We stay in the water until the night air grows too sharp against our skin. We climb out and dry ourselves, then redress, but when I try to lead us back toward the village, Cato pulls away. He walks over to the dirdira tree, grabs a small knife from his belt, and shoots me a mischievous grin as he begins carving into the trunk.

“Cato,” I start, half-laughing, but he just shrugs.

“What? No matter what happens, no matter where we end up, this stays here forever. You and me. Proof we were here.” He steps back to admire his work, running his thumb over the fresh marks. “A little piece of us that the worlds can’t take away.”

My chest tightens with a rush of affection so fierce it almost hurts. Does he not understand what it means to have him claim me so openly? So easily?

Something deep inside me settles and burns at the same time as I stare at the carving.

A + C.

“I adore you,” I whisper, fighting tears once more as he wraps his arm around me.

“Yeah, I’m pretty fond of you, too,” he murmurs with a kiss to my hair.

We walk back to the village beneath the three moons, and I send a silent prayer to the Fates. It’s no longer a desperate plea for the impossible. For the first time in as long as I can remember, it’s simple gratitude—for the gifts they’ve granted me, and for a future that no longer feels bleak.

Cato

I wake slowly, and for a second, everything feels right. I’m warm and loose, with Aryn’s scent in my nose and my body curled around his. Last night comes rushing back, bringing a whirlwind of thoughts with it.

Morning-afters are always filled with regret. These are the times I want to pull away and rebuild my walls, and put some space between our bodies to make sure there’s no question about where we stand. They’re when I sneak out of rooms and pray we don’t bump into each other later.

I wait for the usual urges to creep in, but instead of feeling like I’ve gotten what I came for, I only want more. My restless heart is settled, and that certainty is strange.

I don’t hate it.

Memories flicker through my mind—the way Aryn took control, and how easily I melted under him, whimpering and begging while my brain turned to static. After a lifetime of needing to be in charge, I’d expected to wake up feeling different.

Smaller, maybe. Ashamed, even.

But I don’t. If anything, I feel steadier for trusting him with that kind of power. Lighter, but not in a floating sort of way. This is more like a weight I didn’t even know I was carrying, and now it’s gone. The admission is scary, even just as a thought in my head, but it’s also… brave?

I cringe, but fight past the knee-jerk reaction to puff out my chest and argue with myself.

Is it brave to admit I wanted him to take care of me? It… feels like it is, even if it’s not the kind of bravery I’m used to. There’s no enemy to stare down, and no charge into the fight.

That’s always been my measure of courage, and the only one I knew how to gauge.

This is something different. Harder, in its own way. I’ve spent weeks fighting the pull toward him, and so much time pretending I wasn’t okay with him taking the lead. Admitting it—really admitting it—feels like its own kind of win.

Like I finally stopped running from the one thing that actually matters.

My front is pressed flush against his back, and what started as morning wood has quickly turned into something hungrier as I replay how he felt around me last night. He’s like a damn drug, and my body is already aching for another hit.

I rock forward slowly, groaning inwardly at the friction. Aryn is all lean muscle and hard lines, but like this—relaxed and soft with sleep—his ass is plump enough to nestle my cock between those perfect cheeks. I wrap one arm around him, then trace my hand down his front to palm him through his underwear. He’s half-hard already, thickening under my touch.