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I lift and come down again harder. His fingers bite into my hips before he catches himself and loosens them. I keep moving, slow at first, until the stretch turns into heat and the ache in my thighs starts to matter less than the drag of him inside me.

When I want more pressure, I catch both his wrists and drag his hands higher on my hips. "Now."

His grip closes hard enough to give me something to work against. I use it to lift and come down faster. The bed shifts under us, his breathing breaks apart, and every downward push drives him deeper without him taking the pace from me.

The checkpoint flashes back when I come down harder: metal rail, the guard's arm twisted under my hands, Arlo's anger hitting the bond. My rhythm stutters once. Arlo's fingers stay warm against my hips. I move again.

One thumb presses too hard against the bruise at my side. Pain snaps through the bond. I catch his wrist. "Not there."

His hand moves before I finish saying it. "Got it." He shifts higher, and the next time I roll my hips there is only the pressure I wanted.

I lean over him and kiss him without stopping. The new angle takes some of the work out of my thighs and lets him sink deeper every time I push down. Arlo groans against my mouth, and his hips lift by instinct.

I catch his jaw and hold his gaze. "Wait."

He stops. I keep my hand there until his hips go still, then sit back and spread my knees wider. "Now. Match me."

Arlo waits until I start the next downward motion, then meets me with one controlled thrust. A rough sound tears out of me. He does it again only when I move first, each push answering mine without taking over. I keep the pace and let him meet me until my thighs burn and the pressure low in my body winds tight enough to make breathing difficult.

Arlo's knot starts to swell while he is still inside me. I feel the thicker drag immediately, the base catching more every time I come down. His hands loosen at my hips and his thrusts stop.

"Orion."

"Don't pull out." I grind down against the swelling base. The pressure stretches me wider and makes me suck in a breath, but I stay over him and do it again. "I want it."

Arlo's eyes lock on mine. "Then take it."

I lift enough to make room and lower myself slowly over the swelling knot. The stretch is heavier now, enough that I have to stop halfway down. Arlo lies still beneath me while I breathe through it. I take another inch, then another, until the last of the resistance gives and the knot slips fully inside.

A cry breaks out of me. Pressure spreads deep enough that my whole body trembles over him, and I fold forward until my forehead rests against his shoulder. "Stay. Just stay."

His arms close around me, one firm across my back and the other settling at my waist. The worst of the stretch eases by degrees while I breathe against his neck. When I can move one hand without shaking, I slide it down his arm and find the wrist I gripped too hard earlier. The skin is red but unbroken. I rub my thumb over the mark, remembering him saying my name and my hand opening.

Arlo presses his mouth against my temple. He does not say anything about the wrist. His hand stays between my shoulder blades while the other rests loose at my waist.

The checkpoint comes back once more: metal rail, the guard's arm under my hands, Arlo telling me to come back. I open my eyes. Arlo is beneath me, one hand warm against my back, exactly where I left him.

By the time the knot begins to soften, sweat has dried cold along my spine and my thighs ache when I try to lift. Arlo waits until I shift before helping, one hand braced at my hip as I ease off him. I lie beside him instead of moving away, close enough that his shoulder stays warm against mine.

We stay there until my breathing stops sounding like I ran all the way home. Then Arlo gets up, finds my shirt under the edge of the bed, and throws it at my face. "Kitchen. I bought steak before you tried to murder a guard."

I pull the shirt over my head. "I didn't try to murder him."

Arlo looks at me while he puts his trousers back on. "Great defense. Save it for Graves."

Chapter Eighteen

Arlo

My coffee has been cold for twenty minutes, and Orion has rearranged the same four books three times. He’s on the floor beside the den in human form, stacking a navigation manual over a poetry collection, changing his mind, then putting it back underneath. He hasn’t looked at me once since I picked up the mug.

“We need to talk about yesterday.” The navigation manual stops under Orion’s hand. “Graves is going to ask about the checkpoint, and I need to understand what happened before you hit that guard.” He gives me the same low grunt he gave me last night when I tried to bring it up. “I’m not asking for a report. I need enough to know whether the same thing can happen again.”

Orion looks up slowly. “You want me to explain myself. That’s what they called it too. Questions first, notes afterward, and every answer became another way to hurt me.” His hand stays on the navigation manual, fingers spread across the cover as if he’s holding it in place.

The accusation lands because part of what I want is information I can use when Graves comes. “I’m not the facility.” I hear how fast the answer leaves me and know immediately that I’ve made it worse.

Orion’s expression hardens further. His fingers press into the cover of the navigation manual before he lets go of it. “Then stop asking me like I owe you something because you have the bond now.”