Page 137 of Maksym

My fangs pressed low in my gums. Not from hunger. From restraint.

“I gave oral sex,” she said, quieter now. “I hated every moment of it. Not because of the act, maybe. I don’t know. Because I didn’t want to do it. Because I didn’t love either of them. Because it felt like something expected, and I was young enough to think being a good girlfriend meant not making things awkward.”

Her breath trembled once. Only once.

“Then later, Lucian...” She stopped, and mercy kept her from naming all of it. “I thought desire was ruined. Or maybe that my body was ruined for wanting anything at all.”

“Grace,” I said.

She turned her head on the pillow and looked directly into my eyes. The courage of it stole whatever words I might have used.

“But now I find I want to do everything,” she said. “With you.”

The bond pulled taut between us. Not a chain.

A bridge under sudden weight.

“Because you care enough not to make me do anything,” she continued. “Because you keep waiting for me to decide what’s right for me. And that makes me want things I don’t know how to ask for.”

My hand curled once against the sheet. I wanted to touch her hair. Her face. Her throat. I wanted to cover her with myself until memory could not find her. I wanted too much.

So I listened.

“I want some of what I saw tonight,” she said. “Not necessarily the pain. I don’t know about that. Maybe not. Maybe never. But the letting go.” Her eyes searched mine as if my face were the only thing that mattered. “The part where he knew what to do. Where he guided her. Told her what to do. Held the boundaries so she could stop having to decide every single thing.”

Her voice lowered.

“I am so tired of deciding every single thing.”

That broke me more cleanly than any plea would have.

“I want to go slow,” she said. “But I want you to guide me. If I get unsure. If I don’t know what to ask for. I want that.”

“You may have it,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended.

“And I want to feed from you while we’re together.” Her gaze flicked to my throat, then back. “And I want you to feed from me. Is that allowed?”

Allowed.

As if desire required permission from anyone beyond the two of us.

I moved then.

Not quickly enough to startle her, but without the pretense that remaining on my side of the bed was still possible. I turned toward her and slid one arm beneath her shoulders, drawing her into me.

She came. No hesitation.

Her body fit against mine with a trust so new it still trembled. I cupped the back of her head and lowered my mouth to hers.

The kiss began carefully. It did not remain careful for long.

Grace opened beneath me with a sound that went straight into my blood. Her hands came up to my shoulders, then my neck, fingers digging in as if she had been waiting all evening to find out whether wanting could have weight. I kissed her deeper, tasting blood wine, warmth, the faint sweetness of her mouth, and something bright that belonged only to her.

The bond flared. Not snapped. It had already done that in an alley with death crouched beside her. This was different. It filled. Rich. Full. Terrifying in its generosity.

The room altered around us. Not in shape, but in meaning. The fire faded beneath the sudden rush of scent and memory that was not mine and yet entered me as if my soul had opened a door.

Mountain laurel in bloom. Honeysuckle thick in summer air. Rain-damp earth beneath bare feet. Cedar and pine rising dark around a narrow road. Cold water over stone, clear enough to numb the ankles of a laughing girl who had once believed the world, while difficult, was not yet monstrous.