Page 189 of Wolf Dad Energy

We fall onto the bed together, skin to skin at last, and the contact electrifies me. She is soft where I am hard, yielding where I am rigid, and we fit together like puzzle pieces we carved ourselves to match. I roll her beneath me, settling between her thighs, and she opens for me eagerly, her legs wrapping around my waist.

"Look at me," she breathes. "Don't close your eyes. I want to see you."

I brace myself above her, one hand tangled in her hair, the other tracing the curve of her hip, her thigh, lifting her knee to open her further. She's wet already, I can feel it against my shaft where I'm pressed against her, and the knowledge that she wants this—that she wants me, chooses me, in this quiet house on this ordinary night—makes my throat tight.

"I love you," I say. It bears repeating. It bears infinite repetition. "I love you, Carys."

"I love you too." She reaches between us, guides me to her entrance, and her touch is firm, certain. "Now show me."

I enter her slowly, watching her face for every reaction. Her lips part, her eyes flutter but don't close—she keeps her promise, keeps watching—and I sink into her inch by inch until I'm fully sheathed, until I can feel her heartbeat around me, until there's no space between us at all.

We stay like that for a moment, breathing together, joined.

"Move," she whispers, and I do.

I set a rhythm that matches the distant music, slow and deep, rolling my hips against hers. Every thrust draws a soft sound from her throat, and I catalog them like precious things—the catch when I angle just right, the gasp when I withdraw almost completely before filling her again, the moan when she wraps her legs higher and pulls me deeper.

"Rhett." My name on her lips is a prayer, a claim. "There. Right there."

I adjust, bracing my weight on one arm so I can touch her with the other, my thumb finding the center of her pleasure where we're joined, slick and swollen. She cries out, burying her face in my neck, and I feel the bite of her teeth, the dig of her nails, the way she rises to meet every thrust.

The bed creaks beneath us, a steady rhythm that speaks of permanence, of a life being lived. Outside, the festival winds down, the music fading, the world going quiet. Inside, we build our own heat, our own noise, our own sacred space.

She tightens around me, her body going rigid, and I know she's close. I slow my strokes, drawing out the pleasure, wanting to feel her come apart, wanting to watch it.

"Let go," I murmur against her ear. "I've got you. I'm not going anywhere."

She shatters, crying out my name, her back arching off the bed, her internal muscles clamping down on me in rhythmic waves that threaten to undo my control. I ride through it, keep moving, keep filling her, and when she finally goes limp beneath me, trembling and gasping, I allow myself to chase my own release.

The pace quickens, becomes less measured, more primal. She urges me on with her heels dug into my back, her hands gripping my shoulders, her voice whispering yes and please and don't stop. I bury my face in the curve of her neck, inhaling the scent of her—sweat and lavender and something metallic that will always remind me of battle, of survival—and I let go.

The orgasm crashes through me like a storm breaking, endless and overwhelming. I spill inside her with a groan that sounds like her name, my hips jerking involuntarily as wave after wave of pleasure radiates from my core. She holds me through it, her arms and legs wrapped around me, anchoring me to earth.

After, we lie tangled together, still connected, her head on my chest, my hand tracing lazy patterns on her back. Our breathing slows in tandem. The house is silent now, the festival over, the town asleep.

"We should do that again," she says, voice muffled against my skin. "Tomorrow. And the day after. And⁠—"

"Every day," I finish. "For as long as you want."

She lifts her head, chin digging into my sternum, and smiles. It's not the sharp-edged smile she wears for the world, or the careful one she uses when she's uncertain. It's open, vulnerable, mine.

"That's a long time," she says.

"I know." I tuck her hair behind her ear, let my hand linger on her cheek. "I'm counting on it."

She settles back against me, her fingers drawing idle circles on my stomach.

"Do you think we'll be good at this? The normal life thing?"

I think about the pumpkin I mangled earlier, the way Sayer had looked at it with delight anyway. I think about the way Carys had covered him with a blanket, the way she had looked at me in the hallway, the way she feels in my arms right now.

"We'll be terrible at some of it," I admit. "But we'll learn."

"Together."

She falls asleep first, her body going heavy and warm against my side. I stay awake a little longer, watching the shadows shift on the ceiling, listening to the two people I love most in the world breathing in this house that has become a home.