Page 109 of Thexan

I felt that fear in him.

I felt the choice beneath it.

And I let him feel mine.

When the kiss deepened, the bond responded with a warmth that moved through me slowly rather than striking all at once. This was not the urgency of survival or the ceremonial certainty of the night before. This was reassurance in the only form that felt strong enough to reach both of us, a recommitment made through breath and touch and the refusal to step away from what frightened us.

He drew back just enough to look at me.

“I will not leave you to protect you,” he said.

“Good.”

“I will remain and learn how to protect with you.”

“That’s better.”

His thumb moved along my cheek, and the careful tenderness of it nearly undid me.

“Brynn,” he said, my name in his voice carrying more feeling than any human poetry could have given me. “I require you close.”

I understood what he meant. Not for stability or survival.

For himself.

I took his hand and led him toward the back room, my anger finally giving way to something quieter, something that still trembled at the edges but no longer hurt in the same way.

“Then come close,” I said.

And he did.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Brynn

He lowered his head to mine, and our lips met in a kiss that was at once familiar and new. There was no hesitation as we relearned each other’s contours. But then something shifted, and the kiss deepened, earlier distance between us melting away in the desperate press of his mouth against mine.

His hands framed my face as if committing it to memory, his tongue—longer and more flexible than a human’s—tracing the seam of my lips before delving inside to explore my mouth. The sensation was intoxicating—unlike any human kiss, more intimate, more claiming.

I responded with equal passion, my fingers moving over the scaled ridges at his nape and along his scalp. He was here. He was mine. We were us.

He broke the kiss, resting his forehead against mine. “I would have missed this,” he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. “Missed you.”

“But you will remain, and so will I,” I whispered. “Reclaim what’s yours.”

A low rumble vibrated through his chest—a sound of pleasure, of possession. Then he was lifting me, his strength effortless as he carried me to the sleeping area, to the nest of bedcovers where we had shared so much intimacy.

He laid me down gently, his golden eyes never leaving mine as he began to undress me. His touch was reverent, almost worshipful, as if rediscovering a treasure he had feared lost. Each piece of clothing removed was accompanied by a kiss to newly exposed skin, his lips warm against my flesh.

When I was naked before him, I didn’t feel the slightest insecurity. I saw only the wonder in his expression, the way his pupils expanded, signaling his growing arousal.

“You are beautiful,” he murmured, his hands tracing the curves of my body with a surgeon’s precision and a lover’s tenderness.

I reached for him, eager to feel his alien form against mine. “And you,” I said, my fingers working at the fastenings of his clothing, “are magnificent.”

When he was finally naked, I took a moment to simply look at him. His body was a study in contrasts—broad and powerful, yet capable of such gentleness. The scales along his arms and torso shimmered in the fading sunlight. His cock extruded from its sheath, the mushroom-like head over the shaft with its nubs and ridges already glistening with anticipation.

He lowered himself over me, supporting his weight on his forearms as he positioned himself between my thighs. We came together eagerly, without restraint, the reconciliation physical as well as emotional.