Page 80 of Thexan

I rolled onto my back and lifted her, settling her astride my hips. She understood immediately, her eyes lighting with renewed desire despite the intensity of what had just passed.

“Again?” she asked, her voice teasing.

“Again,” I confirmed. “Properly. Without urgency. Simply because we choose to.”

She positioned herself above me, her hand guiding me back into her heat, and sank down with a moan that made me growl in response. She began to move, setting the pace this time, riding me with a confidence that took my breath away.

I watched her—my mate, my Brynn, her hair wild, her skin flushed, her body moving above mine with abandon. This was us, not the ritual. We were two people who had chosen each other, who had fought for each other, who would build a life together from this moment forward.

She came again with my name on her lips, and I followed her, emptying myself into her with a satisfaction that had nothing to do with biology and everything to do with my affection for her.

When she collapsed onto my chest, I wrapped my arms around her and held her close, knowing that whatever came next—we would face it together.

“Brynn,” I whispered into her hair.

“Thexan,” she whispered back in a tone that sounded like an endearment.

And in that small room, in that quiet moment, we were complete.

Chapter Nineteen

Thexan

The stillness that followed was not empty.

Brynn rested against me, her breathing gradually settling into a slower rhythm, her body relaxed in a way that no longer carried tension or restraint. The room itself held quiet differently than before, no longer defined by anticipation or decision, but by the absence of anything requiring immediate response.

I did not move at once.

Movement would have altered the state that had formed, and there was no advantage in doing so. My awareness remained fully active, tracking the environment beyond the walls, the distant motion of the settlement, the low patterns of sound that indicated continued activity without immediate threat.

But my attention remained centered on the woman beside me.

Not as a variable to be monitored.

As a constant.

Brynn shifted slightly against me, and I adjusted with her, keeping my arm around her with enough care that she could move if she chose and enough intention that she would know I wanted her to remain.

She opened her eyes and looked up at me.

“You’re still evaluating,” she said quietly.

“Yes.”

She let out a faint breath that might have been a laugh, though it carried very little sound. “Of course you are.”

“It is not assessment in the same form.”

That drew her attention more sharply. “What does that mean?”

I shifted enough to see her more directly without creating distance between us.

“It means the variables have changed,” I said. “The outcome has not.”

She worked through the statement in silence, translating it into terms that made sense to her.

“And the outcome is?”