Her lips parted against mine, and I took the invitation.Carefully. Completely. Like I was afraid I'd never get the chance again.
She tasted like fire and salt and the slightest hint of vulnerability—like she was letting me see a piece of her she didn't show anyone. Not with words. But with this.
With the way her fingers curled in my hair.
With the way her hips shifted closer, deliberately, until the blanket was an afterthought.
I slid my hand up her back, fingers tracing the curve of her spine through the thin fabric of her shirt. She shivered—just barely—but didn't stop me.
Didn't even slow down.
Gods, she was soft where I expected sharp. and sharp where I wanted soft.
And all of it? All of her? Addicting.
Nyssa made a low sound in her throat, frustrated or hungry or both, and pressed her forehead to mine for a second—catching her breath.
Her voice came ragged and quiet. "You talk too much."
"Then shut me up."
She did.
Her mouth found mine again, rougher this time. More urgent. Like we'd wasted enough time circling this tension and she was done pretending it didn't exist.
I let my hands wander. Her waist. Her ribs. Every inch she let me have, I traced like I was learning it by memory. Because maybe I was. Because maybe I wanted to.
She tugged at my shirt like it was an inconvenience, pulling it up until it bunched at my ribs.
"You sure?" I asked, voice low.
Her response was a growl. Or maybe a curse. Whatever it was, it ended with her yanking the shirt off and tossing it somewhere behind me.
She stared at my chest like she was sizing me up for a knife or a kiss. Maybe both. Her palm pressed to my skin, flat and warm, and gods—if she asked me to walk into fire, I think I would've.
Then she kissed me again—deep and slow, dragging me under until all I could feel was her. All I could hear was her breathing, tight and uneven in my ear. All I could smell was the faint soap she'd used hours ago, and the fire-warm linen of the cot.
"Nyssa," I whispered.
She looked at me. Open. Wanting. Dangerous.
"I know," she murmured. "Shut up."
This time I did.
I pulled her flush against me, and she melted into it, her legs tangling with mine, her breath hot against my collarbone. The rhythm between us was unhurried now, deliberate—like we had all night. Like she was taking her time to figure out where I ended and she began.
And I let her.
Because if this was the edge of something bigger, something riskier, I was already over it.
And I wasn't falling alone.
She kissed like she fought—focused, unyielding, and just a little reckless.
My back hit the mattress again, her weight straddling me, grounding me like gravity. Her fingers splayed over my chest, nails skimming skin in a way that sent a shock straight to my spine. Her hips rolled, just once, and I swore softly into her mouth.
Nyssa pulled back slightly, breathing hard, her eyes darker than I'd ever seen them. She scanned my face like she was looking for hesitation. Weakness. Regret.
She'd find none.
I reached up slowly, fingers brushing the side of her face, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You're sure?"
"I'm here, aren't I?" she said, low and dangerous.
Then she leaned in, and her mouth found my jaw, my throat, the hollow just below my collarbone. I bit down a groan, eyes fluttering shut as her lips dragged heat in every spot they touched.
"You drive me insane," she muttered against my skin.
"Right back at you."
My hands slid under her shirt, slow and reverent. Not rushing. Just... feeling. Mapping every inch of her with my palms like it mattered. Because it did. She was warm and strong and real—so real it hurt a little.
Her breath hitched when I reached the small of her back. Her shirt came up over her head a moment later, and gods help me, I almost forgot how to breathe.
She didn't hide. Didn't flinch. Just let me look.
And I did.
She was beautiful in ways that couldn't be summarized—toned muscle, faded scars, soft skin, all of it carried like armor. But now? Now she was handing me the key, just for tonight. No defenses. No blade between us.
I sat up slightly, one hand steadying at her hip, the other tracing the curve of her ribcage, dragging my mouth along her sternum. She shivered. Swore under her breath.
Her fingers found the back of my neck, anchoring me there, and the sounds she made—gods, those sounds—should've been illegal. Low, breathy, unguarded.
"You're not bad at this," she whispered.
"Careful," I murmured against her skin. "You'll bruise my ego."
She laughed—quiet, surprised. Then she kissed me again, deeper this time, tilting my head with both hands like she needed more of me. And I gave it. Everything she asked for, I gave.
She shifted again, her thighs tightening around my hips, her body pressed flush against mine. Heat pooled low in my stomach, and my pulse was racing, pounding in my ears like a war drum.
"Tell me to stop," she breathed.
I shook my head. "Don't even think about it."
And then there were no more words.
Just mouths and hands. Friction and breath. Heat rising between us like a fever, burning away hesitation. The mattress groaned beneath us. Somewhere, a breeze rattled the window. But all I knew was her—Nyssa—pressed against me like gravity itself had given up.
And gods, I wanted her closer.
We lost ourselves in it, until time blurred at the edges.
Until the space between our breaths disappeared completely.
Until there was only this.
Her. Me.
And nothing else.