Chapter 32 Tyr #2
I release her wrists. Strip off my own shirt. Let her look at me the way I’ve been looking at her—scars, muscle, the evidence of lifetimes of violence written in my flesh.
Her hands come up immediately, spreading across my torso. Tracing the old marks. Learning the geography of wounds.
“Some of these are old.”
“Most.” I cover her hands with mine, press them harder against my skin. “I don’t scar easily anymore. The oldest ones were earned before I learned to be faster than the things trying to kill me.”
“And the new ones?”
There aren’t many. The fight with the executioner left marks, but my body is already healing them. In a few weeks, they’ll fade to nothing.
“You were there for those.”
Her fingers trace a line across my ribs where a blow landed hard enough to crack bone. “Does it still hurt?”
“No.” I catch her hand, bring it to my mouth, press a kiss to her palm. “Nothing hurts when you’re touching me.”
More honest than I meant to be. More vulnerable. But the words are out, and I can’t take them back.
She doesn’t mock me for it. Doesn’t look uncomfortable. Her expression says she understands.
“Lie down.” I nod toward the bed.
She does. Spreads out on the mattress that was never meant for anyone but me, her dark hair fanning across the pillow. Waiting.
I’ve never seen anything I wanted more.
I lower myself over her slowly. Not rushing. Savoring. The firelight catches her skin, paints her in gold and shadow.
“You’re beautiful.” The words come out rougher than intended. “I don’t say that. Don’t have the language for it. But you are, and I need you to know.”
“Tyr—”
“Let me.” I press a kiss to her forehead. Her temple. The corner of her eye. “Let me show you.”
I work my way down her body with studied patience. Learning every reaction. Mapping every response. She gasps when I kiss the sensitive spot below her ear. Moans when I trace my tongue along her collarbone. Arches off the bed when I take her nipple in my mouth.
I file away each discovery. Build a map of her pleasure that I’ll spend decades expanding.
“Please—” Her hands grip my shoulders. “I need—”
“What you need.” I continue my slow exploration, kissing down her ribs. Her stomach. The jut of her hipbone. “And you’ll have it. When I’m ready.”
“Bastard.”
“Yes.” I settle between her thighs, hook her legs over my shoulders. “But I’m your bastard.”
I taste her the way I’ve wanted to since the first time I caught her scent—thoroughly, possessively, with the patience of someone who has all the time in the world. She tries to rush me, rocks her hips, threads her fingers through my hair and pulls.
I don’t let her set the pace. Keep my strokes slow. Deliberate. Building her up and easing back before she can crest.
“Tyr—” Her voice breaks. “I can’t—”
“You can.” I slide two fingers inside her, curl them forward. “You will.”
I work her with my mouth and my hand until she’s shaking, until she’s begging, until my name is the only word she can remember. Then, finally, I give her permission.
“Come for me.”
She shatters. Her body convulses, her inner walls clenching around my fingers, a broken cry tearing from her throat. I don’t stop—work her through it, drawing out the pleasure until she’s gasping and pushing at my shoulders.
“Too much—I can’t—”
I relent. Press one final kiss to her inner thigh. Crawl up her body until we’re face to face.
“That’s one.” I brush sweat-dampened hair from her forehead. “I plan on at least two more tonight.”
“Two—” She stares at me. “You’re insane.”
“No. I’m thorough.” I take her mouth in a kiss that lets her taste herself on my lips. “And we have time. All the time in the world.”
I strip off the rest of my clothes. Position myself at her entrance. Hold there, not pushing in, letting her feel what’s coming.
“Look at me.”
Her eyes meet mine. Bright with aftershocks, dark with renewed need.
“I will not let you go.”
The words land between us. Not romantic. Not a declaration of love—I don’t have those words in me. But a truth as immutable as gravity. As certain as my own heartbeat.
“I know.” Her hands cup my face. “That’s what I’m counting on.”
I slide into her slowly. Not the desperate thrust of before—a gradual claiming. Feeling every inch of her wrap around me. Watching her face as she takes me fully.
“Perfect.” I hold still inside her, savor the sensation. “You’re fucking perfect.”
I move with deliberate patience. Long, slow strokes that let us both feel everything. Her nails dig into my back. Her legs wrap around my waist. Her breath comes in broken gasps that match the rhythm I set.
“Faster—”
“No.” I maintain my pace. Relentless. “Not until I’m ready.”
She makes a frustrated sound that turns into a moan when I angle my hips differently. Hit the spot that makes her eyes roll back.
“There.” I do it again. And again. “That’s where you need it.”
I learn her from the inside. Discover the angle that makes her cry out, the pace that makes her tremble, the depth that makes her fall apart. Map her pleasure with my body the way I mapped it with my mouth.
“Tyr—” Her voice is wrecked. “Please—”
“Please, what?”
“Harder. I need—”
I give her what she asks for. Increase my pace, drive into her deeper, watch her come undone beneath me. She comes again—clenching around me, pulling me deeper, my name a prayer on her lips.
This time, I let myself follow. Bury my face in her throat and let go. Spill inside her with a groan that comes from somewhere primal. Somewhere I didn’t know existed before her.
We stay joined for a long moment. Both breathing hard. Both unwilling to separate.
“I meant it.” I lift my head to look at her. “What I said. I will not let you go.”
“I know what you meant.” Her hand traces the line of my jaw. “It’s enough, Tyr. It’s more than enough.”
I roll us so she’s draped across me, still connected, my arms wrapped around her. The fire crackles. The silence of this place settles over us like a blanket.
“Stay.” The word comes out raw. A demand wrapped in need.
“I already said I would.”
“Say it again.”
“I’m staying.” She presses a kiss to my collarbone. “Not because I have to. Not because there’s nowhere else to go. Because this—” Her hand presses flat against my heart. “This is what I choose. You are what I choose.”
The constant vigilance in my mind goes quiet. For the first time in ages, the endless calculation stops. She’s here. She’s not leaving.
I tighten my arms around her. Press my mouth to the top of her head.
This is what the running was toward. Not an ending.
A beginning.