Chapter Forty-Two
Some vows determine roads to roam
And keep two hearts from finding home
Seren grips the bedpost, her fingers tightening around the carved wood, her body sinking into the blankets as the truth settles deep in her bones.
She loves him.
Not in the soft, tender way she once thought love was meant to be, but in the kind that roots itself deep and refuses to loosen, no matter how carefully she tries to pry it free.
And she cannot have him.
The two truths sit side by side inside her, equally real, equally immovable.
So she does the only thing she can:
She chooses this moment anyway.
The room is dim, lit only by a low-burning lantern that casts gold against stone. Shadows move with the flicker, shifting across his body, across hers—like the world itself is holding its breath.
Seren’s hands grip tighter around the bedpost, breath unsteady—not from fear, but from the weight of her own decision settling into her body.
No one brought her here. No one chose this for her. Every step, every touch, every breath between them—hers. And finally, that truth doesn’t terrify her. It steadies her. Grounds her. Anchors her in a way that is wholly, undeniably her own.
The air feels warmer here. Thicker. Like every inhale draws him deeper into her lungs. Teddy looks at her like a man waking slowly from a very long winter.
Seren watches Teddy for a moment. Really watches him as he steps out of his pants, and presents himself bare before her.
The man she loves.
The man she will not have.
There was a time she would have fought that truth. Twisted herself around it, tried to reshape it into something kinder, easier to hold. But she is not that girl anymore.
Now, she lets it exist exactly as it is.
And she takes what she wants from him anyway.
Moisture beads at the tip of his cock.
Elyssara told her about this. Tried to prepare her for this. And her belly flutters, anyway.
She watches the man she loves. The breadth of him, the imposing figure he cuts. Every hard line. Every honed muscle. The dark blond hair he keeps short and efficient. The stubble that darkens the sharp cut of his jaw.
All of it: beautiful. Not perfect in the way stories describe men—better. More real. Solid. Scarred in places no one ever has the privilege of seeing. Except her.
He kneels before her on the bed, positioning himself between her thighs. He leans forward, his corded forearms bracketing each side of her face.
“Are you ready?” he asks, voice all gravel.
Her pulse stutters, not with doubt, but anticipation sharp enough to almost feel like fear.
Seren smirks. “Will it feel like that?” she asks, referring to whatever happened between her thighs before.
Teddy huffs a laugh, a smirk lifting his mouth. “I won’t stop until it does,” he promises, and she knows he means it. He always means it. Teddy and his godsdamned word.
He’s hard for her already, thick and flushed with need.
“Look what you do to me, Seren,” he says, and he removes one hand from beside her head, gripping himself, sliding his hand up and down his shaft.
Heat pools low in her belly at the sight.
Gods.
Her cheeks blush red—she can feel it.
But she told herself before she came here that she would not hide. Would not fear her own incompetencies.
“Would that feel good if I did it?” Seren asks, her voice sounding bolder than she feels.
Teddy’s mask cracks. His eyebrows lift of their own accord.
He laughs softly. “Seren, you could touch me anywhere and it would bring me pleasure.”
She pauses for a moment. Then she decides. “Will you let me try?”
He stills. “This is about your pleasure, Seren. Not mine.”
“I want to, Teddy. I want to act as much as I want to receive,” she counters. “Let me.”
Slowly, his hand stops. He lets go.
His eyes settle on her, burnished bronze and entirely too deep. An abyss she could get lost in, but never will.
Her hand grips his cock.
She fumbles, unsure of what to do, but he never corrects. Never says anything. Just gives her time to find her rhythm.
The heat of him startles her—alive, responsive, undeniably real beneath her palm. She pumps him, watching him intently.
A low, rugged grunt echoes through the room. His hips jerk.
She stops instantly. “Did I hurt you?” she rushes out.
He chuckles again. “The opposite,” he explains. “The most beautiful woman in the Known Realms is naked before me with her hand around my cock, Seren. Hard not to react.”
Oh. That’s what that was.
She smiles, heat flaring in her cheeks again.
Her hand resumes, sliding along him from base to tip.
She decides to adopt his approach of experimentation—she changes her pace, tightens her grip just slightly.
“Fucking Stars, Seren,” he grits out.
He pushes back, kneeling before her like a god on display.
The lanternlight catches along the planes of his body, turning muscle and movement into something almost mythic.
Her mouth goes dry at the sight of him before her. Kneeling, honed into a weapon, fingers entwined behind his head, and hers to command.
His hips buck again.
And a primal, feral, debased hunger takes form in her, because all she wants is for him to do that to her.
“Will you be with me now, Teddy? Show me what we could be,” she whispers in a breathy pant.
A wide, unrestrained smile breaks free on his face. “I thought you’d never ask,” he exhales. And she wonders suddenly how many years it’s been since anyone saw him smile like that.
He grips her hips, spreading her legs wide, and pulling her high so her pussy lines up with his cock.
He glides his hand down the length of her leg, and hooks it over his shoulder like a man who knows exactly what he’s doing.
Surprise blooms in Seren’s chest, but so far, Teddy has read her body like poetry. She trusts him.
His mouth drags along her leg, pressing hungry kisses into her bare flesh. Then his gaze turns to hers. “Ready?” he checks.
She nods decisively.
He holds her hip firmly with one hand, and grips his cock in the other. He presses it to her entrance, and pins her in place with his stare. Teddy does not look away as he guides himself into her.
The world narrows to that point of contact—heat, breath, the slow inevitability of what she has chosen.
The stretch of him borders on pain, and she sucks in a sharp breath.
“Slow your breath,” he encourages, moving slowly, reverently, pressing another worshipful kiss to her leg.
She draws in a long inhale, and lets it out in equal measure. She allows herself to let go, to loosen her muscles, to soften into trusting him.
His cock slides deep, filling her completely. The stretch is overwhelming for a heartbeat—then something inside her shifts, opens, accepts.
“Fuck,” she breathes, the words slipping past her lips.
He watches her, noticing everything.
As he always does.
“Touch yourself,” he instructs. “Touch your clit with your fingers until you find a rhythm you like. It’ll help you relax around me.”
Seren follows his instruction, resting into his guidance.
Her fingers make contact with her clit, and she mirrors the movements he made with his tongue. Steady, rhythmic friction.
A breath slips from her lips, long and slow and surrendering. And his cock slides in.
“That’s my girl,” he groans. “You feel so good wrapped around me, Seren.”
Gods, she melts under his praise.
Her thighs widen, desperate for every inch of him to fill her. Her fingers work her clit, and her hips begin to rock, pulling him deeper.
He smiles at that.
“That’s it. It’s just instinct,” he says, and he moves his hips gently.
Seren sucks in a sharp breath at the sensation. “You moved,” she observes.
He huffs a laugh. “Would you like me to keep moving?” he asks.
“Gods yes,” she answers instantly.
And he does.
His hips grind in slow, gentle thrusts. Her hips rock in time with his. A dance. Bodies moving in mirrored rhythms. Instinct and intuition.
“And now, can I touch your clit?”
She nods, words too far away.
His thumb finds the apex of her thighs, taking over in the same rhythm she’d settled into, and somehow, it feels even better.
Gods.
Pleasure blooms in her core. It spreads like heat under her skin, like something long dormant waking all at once. It ripples through her body like ecstasy at every nerve ending.
His hands, his cock, the way he lets her have this experience for herself—serving her every whim and need. All of it sets her on fire.
“If you want…” he grits out between thrusts, “you can touch your breasts. Your nipples. Experiment with yourself. Find your pleasure,” he encourages, guiding her deeper into her own bliss.
This is exactly who he is: a man dedicated to everyone else before himself. A man devoted to his word. Gods, Seren loves that about him. But the irony of it doesn’t go unnoticed: it’s the only thing that will keep them apart.
The thought dissolves into nothing, swallowed by the rapture of his touch.
His hips rock, responding to her body, finding the perfect rhythm that drags pretty moans from her lips. She nods, breath rushing out in gasps.
Her hands find her breasts. Awkwardly, she touches herself the same way he showed her how to—massaging, rolling her nipples between her fingers.
“Fuck,” Teddy growls. “The sight of you spread before me like this is what I’ll see in my last moments, Seren.”
His words are a benediction. A poem to the parts of her that still feel unlovable.
Her toes curl at the way he worships. Her eyes roll back at the way he sees her so completely.
Her moans drop an octave at the way he reads her every move like a note in a symphony.
And despite herself—despite knowing how this ends between them—she says the words that are both her rise and her ruin.
“I love you,” she breathes. The words slip out before she can stop them—but she doesn’t try to take them back.
Teddy drives his cock home, his thumb still working her clit.
“No matter what,” he grits out with conviction.
Her eyes flutter open, finding his. “No matter where,” she echoes.
Her fingers press into her breasts, pleasure climbing to a peak she can’t see.
“In every life after this one.” His voice is a pained promise.