When he finally lowers me, my legs wobble like jelly. He catches me, of course. Pulls me into his chest, lips brushing my temple.
“You okay?” he whispers.
“I think I saw heaven,” I mumble.
He laughs, the sound raw and proud. “Good. Because you’re mine. Always.”
We clean up slowly after that, the kind of slow that’s full of soft grins and lingering touches and one more kiss that turns into three. When we finally step out of the showers, towels around our waists and still catching our breath, I look at him and feel it all over again.
That I’m his.
That he’s mine.
And that nothing—not a sparring match, not jealousy, not a damn war—will ever come between that.
Cade huffs contentedly in his head.
“She smells like us again.”
Ailm hums, wicked and proud.
“Let anyone try to change that.
