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“We don’t know what’s waiting for us there. We don’t know what our future is going to look like. But tonight…” I draw in a shaky breath. “I want it to be about us. No fear. No restraint. I don’t want you sleeping on the floor anymore. I want to take the next step. I want to strengthen our bond.”

He leans down and presses his mouth to mine. A kiss that’s soft and steady, connecting our souls to each other. When he speaks again, his words are laced with warmth, curling around my heart like a promise.

“Whatever you want, my beautiful mate,” he whispers. “I only live to make you happy.”

He’s so close I can feel the heat rolling off him, see the blue in his eyes flicker like flame. We’re in my room and he’s been watching me for a few minutes now. He’s waiting for me to make the last move. To set the pace.

He wants me. I know he does. He’s made that clear with every touch, every gentle word, every moment he waited for me to come around. Even now — even with the hunger pouring from him in waves, thick and feral and a little bit terrifying — he’s still holding back. Following my lead.

I reach for his shirt and tug him closer. His lips part in a question, breath fanning across my cheek.

“Are you sure?” he whispers, voice hoarse.

“Yes,” I say, honest to the bone. Because I am. There’s not one doubt left in my mind about him. There’s just fear for our future. But I know I want him — I am completely sure about that.

His arms wrap around me, lifting me until my feet dangle. I gasp, clutching at his shoulders. He carries me to the bed and sets me down like I’m made of spun sugar, then sinks to his knees in front of me. Massive, beautiful. And mine.

He waits, palms splayed on the edge of the mattress, watching me carefully.

I reach for him, thread my fingers into his hair, pull him up until his mouth is pressed to mine. He kisses me like he’s been waiting for this his entire life. It’s a little desperate, a little wild, and when his tongue sweeps over my lower lip, I can’t stop a moan leaving me.

He growls, deep in his chest. It vibrates through me, making my toes curl.

He presses me back into the sheets and the world narrows to the two of us. To the heat of his body and the feel of his hands. He explores every inch — my throat, my shoulders, the curve of my waist — slow at first, then faster, greedy. I arch beneath him. I want more. All of him.

His hand slides up my thigh, pauses at the edge of my shorts.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasps, “and I will. I swear it, Kass.”

“Don’t you dare,” I whisper, sending a glare his way.

He grins, fangs peeking. “As you wish, my Luna.”

He peels the shorts away, and then his mouth is on my stomach, my hips, the softest places that have never known a touch like this.

I’m shaking. I want to hide, to pull away, but every time I try, he chases me, nuzzles, soothes.

He doesn’t rush. Not even when my nails dig into his scalp.

Not even when my breath comes in high, broken gasps.

He takes his time.

When he finally moves above me, when his body covers mine and I feel the size of him, I panic a little. I freeze. The old fear returns, all the warnings I ever heard about pain and blood and how it’s supposed to feel like dying before it feels like flying.

He senses it instantly. His hands cradle my face, his eyes searching mine. I force myself to meet his gaze. I don’t want to run. I don’t want to ruin this.

He cups the back of my neck and kisses me, softer than before.

“I’ll go slow,” he promises.

He does. He’s so careful it almost breaks me. He moves with infinite patience, coaxing my body to open for him, letting me adjust to every new inch, every stretch, every burning, impossible moment. He whispers to me the whole time — words I don’t understand, words that sound beautiful.

When it hurts, I squeeze his forearm and he stills. He holds me, his lips pressed to my temple, waiting for me. When the pain finally ebbs into something sharper, hungrier, I roll my hips into his and he groans. A sound so wrecked and hungry that it snaps the last of my fear into dust.

He fills me completely, body and soul, and I feel the bond flare to life — stitching us closer together.

I want to say something but the only thing that comes out is a whimper.

He moves inside me, slow at first, then faster.

Until I’m shattering around him, every part of me burning and alive.

He follows the moment I cry his name in pure, pleasurable agony, his whole body trembling as he pours himself into me.

Afterward, he doesn’t let go. Not even when I roll onto my back and pull him with me. Not even when my legs start to cramp and I have to kick at his shins to make him shift. He just laughs and buries his face in my neck, inhaling deep.

“Neris says you smell like fire,” I murmur, running my fingers through his hair.

He lifts his head, eyes bright and wild.

“You are my fire,” he says, and there’s so much love in his gaze that for once, I have no snarky comeback.

This might be the first time he managed to shut me up.