Giving In To The Bond
Aurora's pov
I lay staring at the ceiling long after I closed the door behind me.
I tried to sleep but I couldn't.
My heart wouldn’t slow, and my lips, my lips still tingled like the kiss hadn’t actually ended, just paused.
I pressed my trembling fingers to my mouth. It felt unreal.
Roman had kissed me and I had kissed him back.
I replayed it again, as though afraid the memory might fade or shift, the shadows on the path, the cool night air, the warmth of his hands cupping my face. The way he’d looked at me like I mattered, like I couldn’t stop myself.
My breath caught softly.
No one had ever looked at me like that before no one in my village.
I turned onto my side, burying my flushed face in the pillow.
I had kissed the Lycan King. The Beast, the monster, my entire village feared.
But I wasn’t scared not even a little and that part shocked me the most.
I should’ve been terrified.
He was powerful, fearsome, dangerous and I had seen flashes of that darkness in him already.
But when he touched me, I didn’t feel danger.
I felt… held, wanted and safe.
Maybe too safe.
Safe enough that my body reacted before my mind could catch up.
My fingers curled against the sheets as I remembered the way he’d breathed my name against my lips, his voice low and rough, his control slipping just enough for me to feel the truth underneath.
He’d wanted to keep going.
I knew it from the way he touched and looked at me.
And I had wanted that too.
Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I sat up abruptly, heart pounding.
“What is happening to me?” I whispered into the dim room. "I've never felt this way before."
But when he pulled away and whispered “That shouldn't have happened.” the tender ache in my chest had been so fierce it almost hurt.
I hugged my knees to my chest, resting my cheek against them. Outside, the palace was quiet. No sounds of Lycans wandering around
And the guards were patrolling in silence.
It made it too easy to remember his hands.
His cologne.
His breath mingling with mine.
I dragged the blanket over me and lay back down, staring at the window as moonlight crept across the floor.
Sleep didn’t come not for a long time.
When it finally did, I drifted off still touching my lips, the taste of him lingering like a secret I wasn’t ready to let go.
And somewhere deep inside, the bond purred, warm, content, dangerously close to something like love.
“Did you sleep well?” I asked braking the silence.
Roman’s fork paused midair.
A fraction too long.
“Fine,” he said, almost clipped. Then softer, “You?”
“Barely,” I admitted before thinking, then flushed. “I mean, I was thinking about—”
I stopped myself.
His jaw tightened.
He knew exactly what I had been thinking about. My cheeks warmed at the thought.
He cleared his throat suddenly, pushing back slightly from the table. “Aurora, I— I think we should give each other some space today.”
My heart stuttered.
"Oh,” I said, trying not to sound as disappointed as I felt. “I… understand.”
The night before had felt like things were slowly changing between us, we were getting closer and now he was pulling away?
I lowered my gaze to my hands, curling my fingers in my lap. I didn’t want to be clingy. Didn’t want to pressure him. But the bond ached literally ached like a bruise deep in my chest.
Roman stood abruptly, chair scraping slightly against the floor. “I have duties this morning,” he said. “I’ll be—around.”
“Right,” I nodded, forcing a smile. “Of course. You’re the King.”
His eyes flicked to me instantly, something sharp and unhappy flashing across them.
“That’s not why,” he said, voice low.
I opened my mouth to ask then why were you avoiding me? but he was already turning away.
For a moment I watched his broad shoulders retreat toward the door strong, confident, so sure of himself normally.
Halfway there, he stopped and went
Completely still.
Roman stood with his back to me, hands curled into fists at his sides. I saw him take a deep breath. Then another. Pack members were passing the doorway slowed, sensing the tension.
My pulse picked up.
“Roman?” I called softly.
He didn’t turn.
But I felt the bond react, flare, pulse with something raw and conflicted.
When he finally faced me, the mask was gone. His eyes were dark, hungry and tortured
“I’m trying,” he said quietly. “For your sake. Because if I get too close to you today, Aurora…” He exhaled shakily. “I’m not sure I’ll have the strength to stop myself again.”
My breath caught.
Heat crawled up my neck.
I stood without meaning to, my chair silent on the marble floor.
“Roman,” I whispered. “You don’t have to protect me from you.”
He shook his head once, sharply. “I do. You deserve control. Choice. Time.”
I took one step forward.
He took two steps back.
My chest tightened painfully at the distance he kept placing between us, even as his eyes betrayed him tracing my lips, my throat, my hands, like he was memorizing every inch.
He was losing the battle he’d set up for himself.
My voice softened. “Then why does it hurt when you walk away?”
His expression twisted.
He didn’t answer.
He couldn’t.
Instead, he looked at me like he was drowning, jaw clenched, breathing uneven. The room felt too small, too warm.
And then he broke.
In two strides he crossed the distance, stopping inches from me. His hand hovered near my cheek shaking, every muscle in his body straining to keep from touching me.
My breath trembled.
He didn’t touch me.
He didn’t kiss me.
But his voice was a low, tortured growl when he spoke:
“I can’t stay away from you.”
My heart soared and stung at the same time.
“And I can’t promise I’ll keep pretending I can.”
For a moment, neither of us breathed.
“Roman…” I whispered, not sure what I was asking for. Not sure I needed to know.
His jaw flexed. His eyes searched mine with a kind of desperation I'd never seen in him like he was a man standing on the very edge of a cliff.
Slowly, painfully, his restraint cracked.
His fingers brushed my cheek.
Just a feather-light touch.
I gasped softly, knees weakening, because the moment his skin touched mine the bond surged warm, fierce, curling around my heart like a spark catching flame.
Roman sucked in a sharp breath, as if the sensation hit him just as hard.
“Gods help me,” he murmured, thumb tracing along my cheekbone with aching tenderness. “I can’t keep pretending I don’t want this.”
His touch was gentle. Too gentle.
Like I was something fragile like I might bruise if he breathed wrong.
I leaned into his hand anyway, heart pounding. “You’re not hurting me.”
His eyes softened, darkened, conflict and desire tangling beneath the surface.
“I’m trying to be careful,” he said softly.
“I know,” I whispered.
He lifted his other hand, brushing a loose strand of my hair behind my ear. The back of his fingers skated along my jaw, sending shivers down my spine. Every point of contact lit up with warmth. With belonging.
The hunger in him was obvious.
The control it took to keep that hunger gentle was even more obvious.
When his thumb brushed the corner of my lips, I inhaled sharply.
Roman stilled.
Every muscle in his body went rigid.
"Aurora," he whispered, voice low, almost pained. “If you look at me like that if you keep letting me touch you I won’t be able to stop.”
My heart fluttered violently.
I didn’t look away and I didn't want him to stop.
“Then don’t stop.”
His breath left him in a broken exhale.
He cupped my face fully now, hands warm and large and steady, his thumbs stroking my cheeks with a reverence that made my chest ache. He lowered his forehead to mine, eyes falling shut, trying to breathe through the storm inside him.
His voice was barely a whisper against my lips. “Tell me if I’m too much.”
“You’re not,” I breathed. “Roman, you’re not.”
He let out a shuddering breath, like those words undid something inside him. His hands slid down to cradle my jaw, and he tilted my face up, brushing the softest kiss against my forehead.
Then my temple.
Then the corner of my mouth.
Each touch slow, controlled, reverent.
As if he was memorizing me.
As if he was afraid I'd disappear if he blinked.
My breath trembled. “Roman…”
He finally—finally—pressed his lips to mine.
Not like the night before.
Not hungry.
Not rushed.
This kiss was tender. Careful. A confession wrapped in softness. His mouth moved against mine with heartbreaking restraint, like he was terrified of overwhelming me.
His hands slid to my waist, holding me gently, thumbs stroking slow circles into my hips. I felt the tremble in his grip. Felt how close he was to losing control. Felt how desperately he was fighting it.
When he pulled back slightly, our foreheads rested together, breaths mingling.
“I shouldn’t want you this much,” he whispered, voice shaking. “But I do. Gods, Aurora—I do.”
I touched his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath my palm.
“I want you too,” I whispered.
His eyes snapped open dark, heated, vulnerable.
“Aurora…” he breathed, voice rough with emotion. “You’ll be the death of my control.”
And then, unable to resist even a second longer, he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me gently, carefully, against him, burying his face in my neck as though that was the only place he could breathe.