I pulled back only to press desperate kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, the silver scar my claws had left. Each touch was wordless apology and promise combined. “I’m sorry” breathed against her temple. “Never again” whispered into her hair. “Forgive me” begged against the mark I’d torn away.
“I can’t...” she started, but I caught her words with another kiss.
“Don’t forgive me,” I said against her lips. “Not yet. Maybe not ever. But let me try to earn it. Let me show you who I could have been from the start.”
Her hands mapped my face like she was relearning its contours, fingers tracing the new lines guilt had carved. When her thumb brushed away tears I hadn’t realized were falling, somethingbroke open in my chest. Not healing, not yet, but the possibility of it.
We moved together toward the bed, drawn by mutual need that transcended physical desire. This wasn’t about claiming or passion that had started everything. This was about two broken people trying to find wholeness in each other’s arms.
I laid her back with reverence that bordered on worship, taking time our first joining hadn’t allowed. I started with her blouse, unbuttoning it slowly, reverently, pressing a kiss to each new inch of skin revealed. Her bra followed, and I paused to cup the weight of her breasts, swollen with pregnancy, the nipples darker, more sensitive. My thumbs brushed over them gently, eliciting a gasp that made my cock throb. I kissed each peak before moving lower, murmuring worship into her skin.
Her pants came next, eased down her legs with patient care. My mouth followed the trail, teeth grazing her hips, tongue teasing the soft underside of her belly. When I peeled away her panties, I took my time breathing in her scent, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh, then to her slick folds. Every inch of her was sacred, changed by the life she carried, and I treated her as such.
“Beautiful,” I murmured against her collarbone. “So fucking beautiful.”
I silenced her protests with actions rather than words, showing through careful touch how magnificent she looked carrying our child. My mouth followed the path of my hands, pressing kisses to places that made her gasp and arch. I nuzzled her belly, pressing soft kisses to the visible proof of what we’d created in our brief, explosive joining.
“Mine,” I whispered against her skin, but the word held none of the possessive violence of that terrible night. This was acknowledgment, gratitude, wonder that she still allowed me to touch her after everything.
Her hands tangled in my hair, not directing but anchoring, holding on as I worshipped every inch I’d nearly lost through stupidity and pride. When she pulled me up for another kiss, I tasted forgiveness she wasn’t ready to voice, hope neither of us quite trusted.
I aligned myself with careful reverence, nudging her knees apart as I slowly sank into her. Her warmth wrapped around me with aching familiarity, and I kept my eyes on her face, watching as tension melted into pleasure, the shadows of our past chased away by something far more intimate. She gasped softly, then lifted her hips to meet mine, her legs wrapping around me in silent invitation. We moved together in a rhythm of rediscovery, each thrust a wordless promise, each shared breath a vow not yet spoken.
“I missed this,” she admitted in a broken whisper. “God help me, I missed you.”
“I know, baby. I know.” I pressed my forehead to hers, sharing breath and space and the connection we’d both been denying. “I dreamed of you every night. Woke up reaching for you every morning.”
As we moved, I lowered my mouth to her breast again, sucking gently at her nipple as I thrust inside her, deeper this time. Her breath hitched at the dual sensation, a whimper of pleasure and pain tumbling free. I eased her into the mattress, circling her nipple with my tongue as her walls fluttered around me.
The pace built slowly, inevitably, carrying us toward a peak that meant more than physical release. This was a reclaiming of sorts, not possession but mutual choice to bridge the gap I’d torn between us. When she cried out my name, I caught it with my lips, swallowing the sound like communion.
Then it happened, my knot began to swell.
Her eyes went wide. Mine did too.
We hadn’t talked about this, not since she’d said she wasn’t ready. But her body, her bond, had already decided. Her omega accepted me, accepted the finality of the bond, even if her words hadn’t.
“Rhea,” I groaned, bracing myself as the thickening base locked us together. She cried out in pain, her fingers clawing at my shoulders. I moved immediately, adjusting, sliding a hand up to cup her breast, gently tugging and rolling her nipple until the pain ebbed, replaced by trembling whimpers of pleasure.
“I’m here, baby. I’ve got you. Let me make it better. You feel so good around me. So fucking perfect. You’re doing so good. So brave.”
Her body shuddered around me, clenching tight as I coaxed her higher with slow, deliberate rolls of my hips. I slipped a hand between us, finding her swollen clit and rubbing soft circles, drawing out another gasp. My lips found her nipple again, sucking gently, then with more intensity as I felt her legs tighten around me.
“Come for me, baby,” I murmured against her skin. “Come around my knot. Let me feel you lose yourself. You’re so fucking beautiful like this. So perfect.”
She buried her face in my neck, holding on like the world was falling away, her moans breaking into ragged cries as her body climbed that final edge. I pressed my thumb harder, licked her nipple again, and whispered, “Let go, Rhea. Give it to me. I’ve got you.”
Her whole body clenched as she shattered around me, locked and trembling, her arms clinging to me like lifelines.
“You’re mine, Rhea. Always. No matter what happens. I’ll protect you, protect them. You’re everything to me.”
I stayed still, letting her body adjust to the knot, stroking her side while she panted against my chest. The pain had ebbed now, her fingers loosening from their grip in my hair. That’s when she grabbed my hand with sudden urgency, pressing it to her belly where movement rippled beneath her skin. The fluttering I’d felt before was stronger now, more insistent. And doubled.
“There’s something you need to know.” Her voice carried an edge of nervousness that cut through the afterglow.
“What is it? Are you okay? Is the pup okay? Did I—did I hurt you?”
The knot was still hard, still pulsing, locking us together with no choice but to stay joined. The sensation wasn’t just overwhelming, it was painful, and not just for me. I could feel the tightness of her body straining to accommodate the swollen base, and guilt stabbed through me with each beat of my pulse.
