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I shook my head as I closed the small gap between us.

“No,” I whispered, pulling his hand into mine and brushing his knuckles against my lips. “It doesn’t.”

In the next breath, Landers was pulling me into his chest, his arms wrapping frantically around my body, holding on as if I were the only thing keeping him from coming undone. The tension fled from his muscles as a sigh of relief escaped between his lips, brushing against the top of my head like a whisperedkiss. It was as if he had been holding his breath, waiting for me to say the words that would end us.

I didn’t want him to change; I didn’t need him to.

“I have to get going,” I said, pulling my head away from his chest and looking up at him. “I know you don’t like that I’m doing this, but . . . would you come?” I let out a soft sigh. “I don’t want to go without you.”

He pulled my chin up further, placing a soft kiss on my forehead, then my nose, then both my cheeks before his lips landed on mine. My hands slid up his chest, wrapping around his neck as I pulled him closer, kissing him with every ounce of love that flowed through me.

His tongue tangled in mine as his hands slid to the back of my legs and lifted me from the ground. He turned then, walking the short distance to the bed, and laid me down gently on my back as he pulled his lips away from mine.

“Wherever you go, Darkness, I will follow,” he whispered against my mouth, his breath fanning over my skin.

My lips crashed back onto his at the sound of his words, emotion blooming in my chest at the realization that he would not leave me. I didn’t have to be scared, not with him. I did not have to fear speaking my truth.

Every press of his lips, every sweep of his tongue against mine, spoke of the truths we had finally unearthed between us, of the fear we’d shed. I clung to him, my fingers tangling in the soft hair at his nape, pulling him impossibly closer, anchoring myself to him as the world outside ceased to exist. There was only this room, this bed.

There was only him.

He drew back just enough for our eyes to meet, the green depths of his turbulent but clear, reflecting the dawn’s light that now spilled into the room. There was no mask, no guardedness, only raw vulnerability mirroring my own, and a possessive heatthat stole the breath from my lungs. His gaze traveled down my body, a slow, reverent inventory that left a trail of fire in its wake.

His touch was featherlight, as if mapping territory he knew intimately but feared losing. His fingers caught the hem of my nightshirt and, slowly, he drew the fabric upward, his knuckles grazing my skin, sending shivers across its surface as warmth built inside me.

The cool morning air kissed my bare skin as the shirt pooled around my waist, leaving me exposed beneath his searing gaze. He didn’t look away, didn’t rush. He simply looked, his expression a mixture of awe and a hunger so profound it felt like a pulse across my flesh.

He lowered his head, his dark hair brushing against my stomach as his lips traced the line of my hip bone. A soft gasp escaped me, my fingers clenching in the sheets beneath me. His mouth moved lower, charting a path over my skin with kisses that promised pleasure. He reached the juncture of my thighs and paused there, letting his breath ghost across my center.

His tongue flicked out, tasting me before he settled between my legs and closed his mouth over me with a devotion that shattered the last remnants of my composure. It wasn’t a desperate claiming, but a slow, meticulous exploration—an intimate worship. He was memorizing the shape of me, the taste of me, his tongue stroking and swirling, his lips applying exquisite pressure.

Every nerve ending ignited, pleasure coiling low in my belly, tight and demanding. I cried out his name, my hands tangling fistfuls of the sheets as he devoured me. He murmured something against my skin, words lost to the roaring in my ears, but the intent was clear—I was his.

My hips arched instinctively off the bed, seeking more, chasing the feeling. His hands slid under them, pulling me closer. He explored every inch, every sensitive peak, drawing outthe pleasure until I was writhing beneath him and incoherent sounds spilled from my lips.

The tension built, fragile and unbearable, stretching taut within me. His name was a ragged prayer on my lips as the first tremors began, radiating outward, shaking my entire body. He didn’t stop, his tongue working relentlessly, pushing me higher, further into oblivion.

He varied the rhythm, teasing and retreating, driving me closer to release with agonizing precision. He knew exactly where to touch, how to move, coaxing sensations from me I hadn’t known existed. It was overwhelming, this intimacy, this complete surrender to his touch, to the love and desire pouring from him in waves. His tongue swirled around my clit, a final, perfect stroke that sent me splintering apart. Pleasure crashed through me, hot and blinding, stealing my breath, my thoughts, leaving only the shuddering echo of release as a moan tore from the depths of my lungs.

He didn’t stop, gentling his touch but continuing to let his tongue stroke over me, soothing the aftermath of the storm, tasting my release until my shudders finally subsided into soft tremors.

Slowly, he moved back up my body, his eyes dark and intense, pupils blown wide. He kissed my inner thigh, my hip, the trembling skin of my stomach before stepping away from the bed and shedding his own clothing.

His touch was back on me in an instant as he lowered himself over me, brushing the damp curls from my forehead, his thumb stroking my cheek. Before the last waves of my climax had fully receded, he positioned himself at my entrance, the blunt tip of him pressing against my still-throbbing flesh. He looked down at me, his expression raw and open.

“Look at me, Hyacinth,” he commanded in a gentle whisper.

My eyes fluttered open, meeting his gaze. The unguarded emotion there—love, possession, need—reflected everything churning inside me. He was everything I ever wanted.

The only thing I would ever need.

Something in me snapped at the look in his eyes and a sob caught in my throat. He wasn’t just my other half, he wasn’t just a part of my heart. Hewasmy heart. He was the urge to keep breathing when things felt unbearable. He was the warmth that flowed through my veins and the comfort I longed for every second away from him.

He was my entire heart, and he was myhome.

“You . . .” he murmured, his voice thick and heavy as his hand slid over the column of my neck, his fingers tracing the cut of my jaw. “You have changed me. Being loved by you,loving you, has made me a better man, and I never want to go back.”

Tears welled in my eyes, blurring the sharp lines of his face into something softer, ethereal.