Her laugh was bright and sudden, cutting through the jungle’s reverent hush. “That’s not a tradition.”
“Then perhaps,” I murmured, lowering my head until my breath mingled with hers, “we should create one of our own.”
The vines curled overhead, creating a canopy of privacy around us as the jungle itself seemed to hold its breath in anticipation. Forty-seven minutes. Not nearly enough time for all I wanted to show her, to tell her, to be with her.
But it was a start.
I kissed her.Not like before, not with the hunger that had driven me for days, but with something else—something older. Deeper. My mouth met hers with reverence, a promise sealed inevery breath. Her hands curled in the straps of my tactical harness, pulling me closer, grounding me.
“I thought I’d lost you,” I whispered into her hair. “You were never meant to fight that battle.”
“I wasn’t alone,” she said simply. “The jungle was with me. You were with me.”
I scooped her up into my arms, ignoring the soft laugh she gave in protest, and carried her back toward the moss perch the vines had softened for us once before. They stirred now, gentle and welcome, parting leaves and weaving shade overhead like a canopy of green silk.
“I need to feel you,” I said hoarsely. “Not just in my dreams.”
She pressed her forehead to mine, her eyes shining. “Then take your time. We’ve earned it.”
And I did.
I laid her down with infinite care, as if she were made of the most delicate crystal. The moss beneath us was warm and yielding, cradling her body in emerald softness. Around us, the jungle dimmed its glow, providing a cocoon of privacy while maintaining just enough bioluminescent light to illuminate the curves of her face, the shine in her eyes.
“Let me see you,” I murmured, my fingers finding the fastenings of her makeshift garments. “All of you.”
She nodded, lifting slightly to help me. I peeled away each layer slowly, savoring the gradual revelation of her skin—golden in the jungle’s soft light, marked here and there with faint scratches and bruises from our recent battle. Each mark made my chest tighten with a mixture of pride and protectiveness. She had fought alongside me. Had risked herself for this world, for me.
When she lay bare before me, I simply looked. Drank in the sight of her. The soft curves that contrasted so beautifully with my own harder planes. The delicate architecture of hercollarbones. The gentle rise and fall of her breasts with each breath. The constellation of subtle marks that made her uniquely Miri.
“Your turn,” she whispered, reaching for the clasps of my tactical gear.
I allowed her to undress me, her nimble fingers making quick work of the unfamiliar fastenings. Each piece she removed felt like shedding more than just clothing—it was armor, duty, the weight of my mission falling away until I was just Lor. Not a Legion Reaper. Not a sentinel of GL-7. Just a male with his mate.
When we were both bare, skin to skin in the warm jungle air, I lowered myself beside her, propped on one elbow to gaze down at her face.
“In our unity dreams,” I said softly, “I felt you. But this—” I traced a claw delicately down the center of her body, from throat to navel, watching goosebumps rise in its wake. “This is different. More real. More...”
“Complete,” she finished for me, reaching up to cup my face.
I turned to press a kiss into her palm. “Yes.”
Then I began to worship her body in earnest. I kissed my way down her throat, lingering at the pulse point where her heartbeat fluttered beneath my lips. I tasted the hollow of her collarbone, the slope of her shoulder, the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder—where my mark would go, someday, if she chose it.
Her sighs filled the canopy like birdsong. Her fingers clutched at my shoulders, her body wrapping around mine with fierce, perfect trust. And when she looked into my eyes and whispered my name like it meant everything, I knew it did.
We didn’t speak after that. We didn’t need to.
I continued my exploration of her body, mapping her with lips and tongue and careful claws. I learned that a gentle bite at the underside of her breast made her arch and gasp. That theinside of her wrist was exquisitely sensitive to the rough texture of my tongue. That when I dipped my head between her thighs, her taste was even more intoxicating than in our shared dreams.
She writhed beneath me as I lapped at her core, her fingers tangling in my mane, her thighs trembling on either side of my head. I savored her like the rarest delicacy, my tongue tracing intricate patterns against her sensitive flesh until she came apart with a cry that echoed through the jungle canopy.
Before she could recover, I moved up her body, positioning myself between her thighs. The head of my cock brushed against her entrance, already slick and ready for me.
“Look at me,” I commanded softly, needing to see her eyes as we joined.
She did, those dark human eyes locking with mine, pupils blown wide with desire. I pushed forward slowly, watching her face for any sign of discomfort as I filled her. But there was only pleasure—her lips parting on a soft moan, her back arching to take me deeper.
“Lor,” she breathed, the single syllable laden with meaning.
