Chapter 82
LXXXII.
brYNN
The moment his mouth met hers, everything else fell away.
The fear. The exhaustion. The lingering terror of almost losing him.
All of it disappeared under the heat of his kiss.
He started gently, like she might shatter if he wasn't cautious enough.
She didn't want gentle. She wanted proof that they were both alive.
She deepened the kiss, parting her lips, tasting him—water and something darker, something uniquely him that made her head spin. Her hands tangled in his wet hair, pulling him closer, demanding more.
His control slipped.
She felt it in the way his hands tightened on her waist, fingers digging into her hips hard enough to leave marks she'd welcome. The way his mouth claimed hers, harder, hungrier, all that restraint burning away like paper.
The bond between them flared.
Heat and want flooded through the connection until she couldn't tell where her desire ended and his began. Every sensation doubled, amplified, feeding back through their link until she was drowning in it. Her need. His need. Theirs. One overwhelming force that made her dizzy.
She pressed against him, seeking more contact—skin to skin in the cooling water, nothing between them except want and desperation and relief so fierce it felt like pain.
His groan vibrated against her mouth. The sound went straight through her, made her body clench with need, made her ache for things they were both too weak for, but she wanted anyway.
Her hands moved down his chest. Hard muscle and smooth skin under her palms. Over the ridges of his stomach that flexed under her touch. Lower, following the line of dark hair that disappeared beneath the water.
He caught her wrists.
Broke the kiss.
Pulled back just enough that she could see his face. His pupils were dilated, eyes black with hunger that he was clearly fighting. His chest heaved, matching her own ragged breathing.
"Not tonight."
She blinked at him, dazed, her body still thrumming with unfulfilled want. "What?"
"Not tonight." His hold on her wrists was firm, grounding them both. His breathing still ragged, his whole body tense with the effort of pulling back.
"Why not?" The words came out sharper than she intended.
He didn't answer immediately. Just stared at her with want obvious in every line of his body, in the way his shadows writhed around them. But something else too. Something more vulnerable.
"Dante—"
"I just need—" He stopped. His jaw clenched. Started again. "Tonight I just need to hold you. That's all."
The rawness in his voice stopped her protests cold.
She looked at him. Really looked. The weariness carved into every line of his face. The way his hands trembled where they held her wrists. The shadows clinging to him weakly instead of with their usual strength. Two days of hell written in his eyes.
He wasn't saying no because he didn't want her. He was saying no because he needed something else more. Needed to hold her, feel her breathe, know she was alive without the complications of everything else.
She understood that. Had felt the same fatigue pulling at her, the way her body demanded rest even as it ached for him.
"Alright," she said softly.
His eyes widened slightly, like he'd expected a fight.
She cupped his face with one hand, feeling the scrape of stubble against her palm. "Today we rest."
The tension in his shoulders eased.
"Tomorrow—"
"Tomorrow," she interrupted, holding his gaze with promise, "you give me everything."
Heat flared in his eyes. Dark and wanting and full of promises that made her thighs clench.
He pulled her hands to his mouth. Kissed her knuckles one by one. Then her wrists, his lips lingering against her pulse point. The touch sent shivers through her even in the warm water.
More intimate than the kiss.
"Come on. Let's go to bed."
He stood, lifting her with him. Water cascaded off both of them, and she shivered as cool air hit her heated skin. He stepped out of the tub and reached for a thick towel, wrapping it around her with more care than necessary.
His hands lingered as he dried her. Starting with her arms, running the soft fabric over her shoulders, squeezing water from her hair. Every touch grounding.
She watched his face as he worked. The concentration. The tenderness. The Reaper who'd ruled for so long, treating her like something irreplaceable.
Then he grabbed another towel for himself, wrapping it low around his waist before sweeping her up into his arms.
She settled against his chest without protest. Her head found his shoulder naturally, like her body knew exactly where it belonged. His pulse beneath her cheek.
He carried her back to the bedroom. To the bed where he'd kept watch. The reminder sent a pang through her. Forty-eight hours of him sitting there, refusing to leave, slowly coming apart.
He set her down on the edge of the mattress. "Stay here. I'll get you something to wear."
Weariness was creeping back in now, making her thoughts slow and her limbs heavy. The adrenaline from the kiss was fading, leaving only tiredness behind.
He found one of his shirts, a silk that would be far too large on her, and brought it back.
By then, she'd already lain down, unable to fight gravity any longer, the towel discarded beside her. She was on her side, eyes half-closed, fighting to stay awake just a little longer.
"Arms up."
She lifted them with effort, muscles protesting. He slid the shirt over her head and helped her get her arms through the sleeves. The fabric pooled around her, drowning her in silk and his scent.
He pulled on sleep pants. Nothing else. The fabric hung low on his hips, showing every line of his torso.
When she looked up, he was watching her. Eyes dark. Jaw clenched. Fighting the same battle.
Her cheeks warmed.
Then he climbed into bed beside her, and she didn't hesitate.
She wrapped herself around him immediately. Her head on his chest, right over his heart. Her arm across his waist. Her leg hooking over his, tangling them together.
He went still for half a second, like her touch surprised him, like he hadn't expected her to cling. Then his arms came around her, pulling her closer. Holding her tight enough that she could barely breathe, but she didn't care.
"I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
His embrace tightened. "You almost did."
The words were quiet. Broken. Full of terror he'd been carrying alone.
"But I didn't." Her hand found his face, made him look down at her. "I came back. And I'm stronger now because of what you did."
He stared at her. Searching. His eyes were raw and exposed in a way she'd never seen before.
"I know," he said finally.
He pulled her closer again. One hand sliding up her back, the other cradling her head against his chest. Holding her like she was everything.
She settled against him, letting his steady rhythm calm her. Strong and sure beneath her ear.
His breathing changed almost immediately, slowed, deepened, evened out. The adrenaline that had been keeping him upright finally giving out now that she was safe in his arms. Now that he could finally stop fighting.
His hold loosened slightly, but he didn’t let go, even as sleep took him.
She stayed still, feeling his chest rise and fall. He'd barely slept for two days. Of course his body was demanding payment now.
She should close her own eyes.
But she couldn't stop looking at him. The way his face relaxed in sleep, the harsh lines softening.
The way his shadows finally went quiet, no longer writhing with anxiety.
The way he looked younger somehow, less like an ancient Death Lord and more like just a man. Exhausted and vulnerable and hers.
Mine, she thought, and felt the bond pulse in agreement. My Reaper. Mine.
Her own tiredness pulled at her, dragging her eyelids down.
Even as sleep took her, wrapped in his arms with his heart beating beneath her ear, one thought remained crystal clear:
Tomorrow. Tomorrow she'd show him exactly what she meant.
Tomorrow, there would be no stopping. No holding back.
Tomorrow she'd claim him as thoroughly as he'd claimed her.