The Night, Tonight

The Night, Tonight
Damien’s POV

She leaned into my chest like she was coming home after years away.

No words. No rush. Just the slow exhale of someone finally allowed to rest against something solid. Her damp hair pressed against my collarbone; I could smell the lavender from the soap she’d used, mixed with the faint trace of new leather still clinging to her fingertips from the day’s work. My arms came around her automatically—careful, not caging—and I rested my chin on the crown of her head.

For a long moment we simply stood there in the hallway, steam still curling from the open bathroom door, the house quiet except for the distant roll of waves and the soft tick of the ceiling fan in the living room.

I felt her heartbeat against my ribs. Fast, but not panicked. Excited, maybe. Curious. Alive.

I kissed the top of her head—barely a brush of lips—and murmured, “You smell like freedom.”

She gave a tiny, surprised huff of laughter. “I smell like shampoo and panic-stitching.”

“You smell like you,” I corrected, voice low. “Like someone who spent eight hours building something beautiful instead of surviving.”

Her fingers curled into the fabric of my shirt. “I didn’t even realize how much I needed that.”

“I know.”

I felt her swallow. Felt the slight tremor that ran through her—not fear, but the kind of nervous energy that comes right before you leap.

I pulled back just enough to look down at her face. Cheeks flushed from the hot water. Eyes bright, a little glassy. Lips parted like she wanted to say something but couldn’t decide which words to use first.

I brushed my thumb along her lower lip. “Tell me what you want tonight, Éloïse.”

Her breath hitched. “That’s not fair.”

“Why not?”

“Because you already know.”

I smiled—slow, patient, the smile I only ever give her. “Then say it anyway.”

She searched my face for several long seconds. The hallway light caught the gold flecks in her irises—the same gold that had blazed through her wolf’s eyes last night. Her tongue darted out, wetting her bottom lip.

“I want…” She swallowed. “I want you. All of you. Not careful. Not waiting. Just… us. Finally.”

My chest tightened so hard I almost couldn’t breathe.

I cupped her face with both hands. “You sure?”

She nodded—small, fierce. “I’ve been sure since the moment you carried me out of that house.”

I kissed her then—slow, deep, unhurried. The kind of kiss that says I’m not going anywhere. Her arms wound around my neck; she rose onto her toes, pressing closer, and I felt the towel loosen at her back.

I caught it before it fell. Smiled against her mouth.

“Bedroom,” I murmured. “Not the hallway.”

She laughed—soft, breathless. “Bossy.”

“Always.”

I scooped her up—towel and all—and carried her down the corridor. She buried her face in my neck, lips brushing the pulse point there, and I nearly stumbled. When we reached the bedroom I kicked the door shut behind us, crossed to the bed in three strides, and laid her down like she was made of glass and starlight.

She looked up at me—eyes wide, trusting, hungry.

I peeled the towel away slowly, reverently, letting it pool on the floor. Moonlight and lamplight fought over her skin; she glowed. Golden hair fanned across the white sheets. Mating mark shimmering silver-pink at the curve of her shoulder. Breasts rising with every quick breath. Thighs pressed together, a faint tremble running through them.

“Beautiful,” I breathed.

She reached for me. “Come here.”

I shed my clothes—shirt, sweatpants, everything—and crawled over her, bracing on forearms so I didn’t crush her. Our noses brushed.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” I said quietly.

She shook her head. “It won’t be.”

I kissed her again—deeper this time, hungrier—and she opened for me like she’d been waiting her whole life. Tongues slid, teeth grazed, hands roamed. I kissed down her throat, over the mark I’d given her, felt her arch when my mouth closed around one nipple. She moaned—soft, surprised, needy—fingers threading through my hair.

I moved lower—ribs, belly, hip bones—kissing every inch like I was memorizing a map. When I settled between her thighs she tensed for half a second, then relaxed when I simply kissed the inside of one leg, then the other.

“Dante—” she breathed.

I looked up. “Yes, love?”

She swallowed. “I want… everything. Don’t hold back.”

My control nearly snapped.

I licked her—slow, deliberate, once from entrance to clit—and she cried out, hips jerking. I did it again. And again. Until she was writhing, begging, soaked. When I slid two fingers inside her she clenched around them so hard I groaned against her.

“Damien—”

I curled my fingers, found that spot, rubbed.  
She shattered—back arching, voice breaking, name on her lips like a prayer.

I crawled back up her body, kissing every mark I’d left, until I was braced over her again.

She looked dazed, pupils blown, lips swollen.

“Still with me?” I asked, voice wrecked.

She nodded, reached between us, wrapped her fingers around me.  
 “Inside,” she whispered.  
 “Now.”

I groaned—low, helpless—and notched myself at her entrance.  
Slow.  
Careful.  
Deep.

When I bottomed out we both froze—foreheads pressed, breaths mingling, hearts slamming against each other.

“You okay?” I rasped.

She nodded, tears slipping down her temples.  
 “Full,” she whispered.  
 “Perfect.”

I moved—slow rolls, deep grinds, watching her face for every flicker of pleasure or pain.  
She matched me—hips rising, legs wrapping around my waist, nails digging into my back.  
Whispers, moans, gasps—my name, his name, please, yes, more.

When she started to tighten again I slid a hand between us—thumb on her clit, circling, pressing.  
She came—hard, shaking, clenching around me so tightly I saw stars.

I followed—growling her name, spilling deep, claiming in the oldest, most honest way.

We collapsed—sweaty, shaking, laughing through the aftershocks.

I rolled us so she was draped across my chest, ear over my heart.

She traced the LaCroix crest tattoo with one fingertip.

“Again?” she whispered.

I laughed—hoarse, delighted.  
 “Give me five minutes.”

She snuggled closer.  
 “Deal.”

Outside, the ocean sang.  
Inside, we did too.

Mon Éloïse would wait until morning.  
Tonight belonged to us.