Page 19

19

ROLFO

I move through the house like a shadow, quieter than most men my size have any right to be. It's a skill that's served me well in my work, but tonight it's about something simpler—checking on the smallest resident of my home.

The floorboards know me well enough not to creak as I approach the doorway to the nursery. The pale glow of the moonstone night lamp casts soft illumination across the handcrafted crib I'd spent weeks perfecting. I lean against the doorframe, just watching the gentle rise and fall of Sephy's tiny chest.

Even after weeks, it still strikes me as odd—this fierce protective instinct I have for a child who shares no blood with me. Her silver-blonde curls catch the light as she shifts slightly, one tiny fist raised above her head in peaceful surrender to sleep.

I check the wards I've placed around the room—invisible lines of protection that would alert me to any threat long before it reached her. They hum with quiet power, undisturbed.

"Sleep well, little one," I whisper, so softly it's barely a breath.

Something pulls me back to check once more, though nothing's changed in the minute since I last looked. Old habits from too many nights standing guard, perhaps. Or something deeper I'm not ready to name.

"She's still sleeping, I promise."

The voice behind me sends a jolt through my spine that I haven't felt since my early days on patrol. I turn to find Aurelie leaning against the doorframe, her hair loose around her shoulders, catching the faint light from the windows. She's wearing one of my old shirts that I'd given her—it hangs to her thighs, making her look even smaller than she is.

"Force of habit," I reply, my voice rougher than intended in the quiet of the night.

Aurelie's eyes, those hazel depths with flecks of gold that seem to catch even the faintest light, meet mine. There's something different in them tonight—a clarity, a decision made.

"She's been sleeping through the night now." A simple observation that feels charged with something unspoken. "Almost like she knows we need the rest."

I can't help my small smile. "Smart kid."

The silence between us stretches, not uncomfortable but expectant. Aurelie pushes away from the doorframe and crosses to me, her bare feet silent against the floor. I should step back, create distance, remember all the reasons this is complicated.

I don't move an inch.

"Rolfo." Just my name on her lips, but it carries the weight of weeks of tension, of things unsaid.

"You should get some sleep," I offer weakly, even as every instinct tells me to reach for her.

Her smile then—gods, that smile will be the death of me. Soft, sleepy, but with an edge of determination that I've come to recognize when she's made up her mind about something.

"I don't want to sleep." Her hand reaches up, fingertips grazing my jaw with a touch so light I might have imagined it if not for the trail of fire it leaves on my skin.

Then she's on her toes, and her mouth finds mine. This isn't the hesitant exploration of before. This is Aurelie claiming something she wants, her lips pressed against mine with purpose.

I freeze for just a heartbeat before my body remembers how to respond. Her hands are at my shirt, pulling at the fabric with surprising strength.

"Are you sure?" I manage to whisper against her mouth.

"I've spent years not being allowed to choose," she breathes back, her fingers splaying across my chest. "This is my choice, Rolfo. You are my choice."

Something primal and possessive roars to life inside me. In one fluid motion, I scoop her into my arms. She weighs almost nothing, this fierce survivor who's somehow found her way into my home, my life.

"My room," I growl, more statement than question.

She nods, arms wrapping around my neck, face pressed against my throat. "Your room."

I carry her down the hallway, hyperaware of every point where her body touches mine. The warmth of her pressed against my chest, the tickle of her breath against my neck, the lingering scent of meadowmint from her evening tea.

My bedroom door is partially open. I nudge it with my foot, carrying her across the threshold like something precious. The moonlight spills through the window, painting silver streaks across my simple bed.

When I set her down, her arms don't release my neck. Instead, she pulls me down with her, our bodies meeting on the bed that has felt too large, too empty for longer than I care to admit.

"I want this," she whispers, her eyes never leaving mine. "I want you."

There's no hesitation now, not as her eager fingers tug at my shirt. I help her, pulling it over my head in one fluid motion. Her hands are immediately on my chest, tracing the ridges of old scars with a tenderness that makes my breath catch.

"Your turn," I murmur against her lips, and she lifts her arms in silent permission.

I peel away the nightshirt that's been driving me mad for weeks, my knuckles grazing the soft skin of her sides. The moonlight bathes her in silver, highlighting every curve, every mark that tells the story of what she's survived.

Her body bears the evidence of Sephy's birth—stretch marks silvering her belly, her breasts fuller than they might have been before. To me, they're not imperfections but badges of her strength, her resilience.

"You're beautiful," I whisper, meaning every syllable.

A flush spreads across her chest, up her neck to her cheeks. "Even with all these marks?"

"Especially with them." I lower my head, pressing my lips to the raised line that curves across her hip. "Every one of these tells me you're a survivor." My mouth moves to another mark on her ribs. "That you're strong." I trail kisses up to the burn scar below her breast. "That you endured."

Her breath hitches. "Rolfo..."

I move lower, my hands gently spreading her thighs. The mark of ownership on her upper arm catches my eye, making something primal surge through me. I'll replace every memory of pain with pleasure. Every moment of fear with safety.

I kiss my way down her stomach, feeling her muscles tense beneath my lips. When I reach the apex of her thighs, I look up, meeting her wide-eyed gaze.

"Let me worship you," I growl, not truly a question but still waiting for her assent.

Her head falls back against the pillow, a breathless "Yes" escaping her lips.

I take my time, exploring her with my mouth, learning what makes her fingers tighten in my hair, what draws those soft, surprised moans from her throat. Her taste is intoxicating, her responses addictive. Each arch of her back, each shuddering breath is a victory.

"Please," she gasps, her hips rising to meet me. "I need you... all of you."

I rise above her, positioning myself between her thighs. "Look at me, Aurelie."

Her eyes find mine, hazy with desire but clear with certainty. I push forward slowly, watching her face as I enter her, gauging every flicker of expression.

"You feel..." Words fail me as her heat envelops me. It's so fucking perfect.

Her nails dig into my shoulders. "Don't stop," she breathes.

I establish a rhythm, slow and deliberate at first, learning the contours of her body from the inside. Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me deeper, demanding more. Who am I to deny her anything? She's been through so much, yet here she is, trusting me with her body, with her pleasure.

"Is this good?" I ask against her throat, increasing my pace. Her breath hitches, and I can feel her heart racing against my chest.

"Yes," she gasps, her hands mapping the muscles of my back, clinging to me like I'm her lifeline. "So good."

I shift my angle, searching for that spot that will make her see stars. When I find it, a sharp cry escapes her lips, and her nails dig deeper into my skin. Found it.

I target that spot with each thrust, watching in awe as pleasure transforms her face. Gone is the caution, the wariness that normally haunts her eyes. There is only Aurelie, uninhibited and radiant, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted. She's never been more beautiful than she is in this moment, trusting me, wanting me.

"Rolfo," she chants my name like it's sacred. "Rolfo, I'm close."

"Let go," I encourage, fighting my own building release. "I've got you."

Her body tenses beneath mine, back arching off the bed as she breaks apart. A soft, desperate cry escapes her lips, and her nails dig deeper into my skin, anchoring herself to me.

The sight of her—head thrown back, lips parted, trembling—pushes me over the edge. My hips stutter against hers, every muscle taut as I follow her into that blissful oblivion. Our bodies and breath united in that perfect moment, the world fades away until there's nothing left but us.

Afterward, I gather her against me, cradling her head on my chest. Her hair spills across my skin like liquid fire in the moonlight. My fingers trace lazy patterns on her shoulder as our breathing gradually slows.

"That was..." she trails off.

"Yeah," I agree, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Her hand rests over my heart, fingers spreading as if to measure its beat. I cover her hand with mine, marveling at how small it is compared to my own.

I watch her eyelids grow heavy, fighting sleep to stay in this moment. Her breathing eventually slows, her body going slack against mine. Only then do I allow myself to say what's been building inside me.

"I'm not letting anyone take you." My whisper fills the quiet room. It's not a threat. It's a promise carved into my soul, as binding as any oath I've ever sworn. "Not you. Not Sephy. Not ever."