Chapter 3: The Lodge's First Night
The silence after his words was absolute, broken only by the spit and crackle of the fire. His own heartbeat thundered in his ears. He’d said it. The blush felt like it was burning the tips of his ears.
Alyna’s eyebrows shot up. Then a slow, wicked grin spread across her face, transforming her features from beautiful to devastating. “Well,” she drawled, her voice a low purr. “Look who found his fangs.”
She didn’t move from the bed, just shifted, letting the furs fall lower on her hips. The invitation was blatant. The proof of her reaction was impossible to miss, rising thick and full against her stomach. The sight of it, knowing he’d put it there with just words, sent a jolt of pure, possessive heat straight through him.
He walked toward the bed, his damp skin cooling in the air. The nervousness was still there, a fluttering in his gut, but it was tangled up with a new, raw confidence. He’d crossed a line. There was no stumbling back now.
“Rabbits, though?” she mused, as he reached the edge of the bed. She reached out and hooked a finger in the towel still wrapped around his waist. “A bit cliché, hunter. We’re not small, furry creatures.” She gave a gentle tug. The towel loosened, fell open. “We are, however, about to be very busy.”
He let the towel drop. The air was cool on his skin, but her gaze was like a physical touch, warm and assessing. He knelt on the mattress, the old ropes creaking under his weight, and crawled over her. He braced his hands on either side of her head, caging her in. Her green eyes watched him, alert and amused, but he saw the quickening of her breath, the slight dilation of her pupils.
“So,” he said, his voice rough. “How do we start?”
“You’re in my spot,” she observed, not moving.
“Your spot?”
“On top. In control.” Her smile was all challenge. “That’s usually my territory.”
He held her gaze. “Not this time.”
A flicker of surprise. Then a spark of pure, undiluted interest. “Bold. Alright. Prove it.”
He didn’t kiss her. He lowered his head and took one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking hard. She gasped, her back arching off the furs. Her hands flew to his head, fingers tangling in his dark, damp hair. He lavished attention on her breasts, learning what made her curse in Thalassian, what made her hips roll in a silent plea. He worked his way down her stomach, tasting the salt of her skin, the lingering clean scent of his own soap from her shower.
When he neared the thatch of blonde hair, he felt her whole body tighten in anticipation. He remembered her vulnerability from before. This time, he didn’t pause for permission. He nuzzled her, then took her fully into his mouth with a determination that made his jaw protest immediately. He’d learned a little. He used his tongue, his lips, focusing on the silken skin of the head, swallowing her down as far as he could. Her choked cry was music.
Her control shattered faster this time. The hands in his hair became urgent, guiding the rhythm. “Yes, just… there. Fuck, Alex.” Her hips lifted, meeting his mouth with shallow thrusts. The taste of her, clean and musky and uniquely Alyna, was becoming familiar, intoxicating. He felt her swelling, the tension coiling in her thighs. He redoubled his efforts, hollowing his cheeks.
With a ragged shout, she came. He drank her down, the warm, bitter pulse on his tongue, staying with her until the last tremor subsided and her grip on his hair went slack, gentle. He looked up. She was panting, her eyes glazed, staring at the timbered ceiling. A sheen of sweat made her tan skin glow in the firelight.
He moved up her body, kissing her stomach, the curve of her breast, the hollow of her throat. When he reached her mouth, she kissed him back hungrily, tasting herself on his lips. “Your turn,” she whispered against his mouth, her voice wrecked.
She rolled them over with startling ease, reversing their positions. Now she was straddling him, a powerful silhouette against the fire. She was still hard, impressively so, a testament to her elven stamina. She gripped him, her touch firm and knowing, stroking him to full, aching hardness. The sight of her hand on him, the feel of it, was almost enough.
“Now,” she said, her eyes locked on his. “About those rabbits.” She positioned herself, the broad head of her cock pressing against him. “Remember to breathe.”
She sank down.
It was easier this time. The initial stretch was still intense, a burning fullness, but his body knew her now. It welcomed her. He groaned, his head pressing back into the furs. She took him slowly, completely, until she was seated fully, their bodies joined. She leaned forward, placing her hands on his chest for balance. “Okay?”
He could only nod, overwhelmed by the sensation of being so utterly filled, by the raw beauty of her above him.
She began to move. It was a different rhythm than before—deep, rolling grind of her hips that hit a spot inside him that made lights flash behind his eyelids. He clutched at her thighs, the muscles hard and moving under his palms. She set a relentless, driving pace, her breath coming in sharp pants. He watched her, mesmerized: the flex of her abdomen, the sway of her breasts, the fierce concentration on her face dissolving into pure, unthinking pleasure.
“Look at you,” she breathed, a wild smile on her lips. “Taking me so well.” She shifted the angle, and he cried out. “There it is.”
He was hurtling toward the edge, the coil in his gut winding impossibly tight. His sounds were embarrassing, broken, but he didn’t care. She owned him in this moment, and he was willingly, joyfully giving himself over.
“Come on, little hunter,” she urged, her pace becoming frantic, desperate. “Let go. I want to feel you.”
It was the permission he needed. His climax tore through him, a violent, mind-blanking wave that clenched around her, milking her deep inside him. He shuddered, his vision whiting out, his shouts muffled against her shoulder as she bent over him.
His climax triggered hers. She slammed down one last time, burying herself to the hilt, and came with a raw, guttural cry that was nothing like her usual melodic voice. It was animal, honest. She pulsed within him, her body trembling violently above his.
They collapsed together in a sweaty, spent heap, her weight a welcome anchor. He was floating, utterly wrecked, every nerve alight. She nuzzled into the crook of his neck, her breath hot and fast on his skin. Minutes passed, measured only by the slowing of their hearts.
Eventually, she pushed herself up on an elbow. She looked down at him, her expression soft, unguarded. She traced the line of his jaw with a fingertip. “Rabbits,” she said, her voice hoarse. “Have nothing on us.”
He laughed, a breathless, happy sound. “Told you.”
She rolled off him with a wince, but kept close, pulling a fur over them both. They lay on their sides, facing each other. The fire was dying down, painting the room in deep, dancing shadows. The storm outside had settled into a gentle, persistent sigh against the logs.
Her fingers laced with his on the pillow between them. “This is… new,” she said quietly.
“The lodge?”
“All of it. Waking up next to someone. Not having to be ready to run by dawn.” She looked at their joined hands. “Not having to hide.”
“You don’t have to hide here.”
She met his eyes. “Everyone hides something, Alex. Even here.” She sighed. “I’m not good at this. The domestic… quiet. I get restless. I see shadows where there aren’t any.”
“So we’ll be restless together. And I’ll help you watch for shadows.” He squeezed her hand. “We can figure out the quiet.”
A genuine smile, small and tired, touched her lips. “You’re dangerously optimistic.” She shifted closer, pressing her forehead against his. “Don’t stop.”
They drifted like that, in and out of a doze, as the fire reduced to embers. The cold began to seep back into the edges of the room. In sleep, her dominance faded. She curled into him, seeking his warmth, her face smooth and young. He held her, listening to the wind, feeling the unfamiliar, profound rightness of her weight against him.
Just as he was sinking deeper into sleep, her voice, thick and muffled against his chest, broke the silence.
“Alex?”
“Hmm?”
“If this is a trick… it’s the cruelest one I’ve ever faced.”
He opened his eyes, staring into the dark. He understood what she meant. The cruelty would be letting her believe this could last, only to have it ripped away. He tightened his arm around her.
“It’s not a trick,” he whispered into her hair.
She didn’t answer. But her breathing deepened, evening out into true sleep. He lay awake a while longer, watching the last embers glow. The maps and flags felt a thousand miles away, buried under the snow. Here, there was only the lodge, the storm, and the fierce, complicated woman in his arms. The territory was uncharted, and for the first time, the unknown didn’t feel like a threat. It felt like a beginning.