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"You love it."

And he did.

Gods, he did.

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It was tradition to leave the newly bonded couple alone for a week—time meant for learning each other's rhythms, discovering comfort in shared space, and slowly settling into the shape of us.

Their days were spent in the forest, wandering without aim but always together. Every night, they walked a little further, as if the wild itself was drawing them toward something. Some border of understanding neither of them had crossed yet.

That evening, the light was dusky gold, filtering through the tall pines like liquid fire. Seren leaned back against a moss-soft tree trunk, her chest rising and falling with quiet, steady breath. Hagan knelt in front of her, eyes thoughtful and warm, his hand curled lightly around the end of her braid.

"You trust me?" he asked softly.

Seren hesitated—then nodded.

He tugged her braid forward over her shoulder, fingers working carefully at the tie. Her hair tumbled loose, long and thick, slightly crinkled from the braid. He caught the weight of it in both hands and spread it gently across her chest like a curtain of shadow and light.

Then, slowly, reverently, he brushed his fingers up beneath the fall of hair to touch the edge of her bandeau.

"May I?" he whispered.

She gave the faintest nod, breath held.

He undid the knot at her back, and the cloth loosened, slipping down. Her breasts were full, tipped in soft brown. She shivered—not from cold, but the heat of his gaze. He held her hands to her sides when she went to cover herself.

"So beautiful." he mused, as if speaking to himself, "And all mine."

He let her hair spill across them again, concealing and revealing in turns, playing a slow game of peekaboo that made her laugh breathlessly—until he lowered his mouth and kissed the curve of one.

His tongue found the tip, gentle at first, then firmer, and her knees buckled slightly. She caught herself with a hand on his shoulder, the other gripping the bark behind her. Her breath hitched, and something deep and warm bloomed low in her belly.

But just when she thought she might dissolve under the feeling, he stopped. Pulled back. Wrapped her in his arms and held her tight, his bare chest pressed to hers.

She could feel him. Hard against her stomach.

She shifted, restless.

"Should I be ignoring that?" she asked, cheeks flushed.

He gave a low chuckle, lips against her hair. "Ignore him."

"He has a name?"

"Yeah." He nuzzled into her, smelling the faint wild jasmine on her skin. "And a mind of his own. I call him Big H."

She laughed, breathless and stunned by how close she felt to him—and how much she wanted more.

She leaned back slightly, searching his eyes. "Then why aren't we...?"

Her voice trailed off, uncertain.

He was quiet for a long moment. Then:

"I think about how I treated you," he said softly. "Back then. When I ignored how the tribe ignored you. Bullied you. You didn't deserve any of it. I could have stopped it. But I didn't. I am so ashamed."

He paused, as if gathering his thoughts.