Chapter 61 Morning Light
His lips moved slowly — almost cautiously — as though he was learning me by touch alone.
Each kiss was feather-light at first, grazing the side of my neck, then settling there… warm, gentle, intentional.
My breath caught.
Not from shock.
From the softness of it.
His hands didn’t rush; they simply held me, steady and secure, as if he was afraid I might slip away if he wasn’t careful. The world outside faded, and the only thing that felt real was the heat of his breath against my skin.
“Aiden…” I whispered, not sure if it was a warning or a plea.
He pulled back just enough to look at me. There was a question in his eyes — not hunger, not dominance, not the wildness of the wolf.
Just him.
Just Aiden.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his forehead brushing mine.
I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
So he leaned in again, slower this time, kissing the curve where my neck met my shoulder. The warmth of his lips eased something inside me, something tight and knotted that had been there since the eclipse, since the mark, since the bond first tugged us together.
My body moved without thinking, my hands sliding up to his shoulders, feeling the firm, steady strength beneath his shirt. I wasn’t afraid.
Not with him.
Not anymore.
He pressed one more kiss — low, soft, lingering — before his lips traveled down to the hollow of my throat. My breath came out shaky, and a small sound escaped me, embarrassingly quiet.
His fingers brushed my thigh lightly. Not possessive. Not demanding.
Just a careful, warm touch that sent a gentle shiver through me.
I let out a breath — a soft sigh of relief I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
Aiden froze.
His eyes lifted to mine again, and he looked… undone.
Not by lust.
By tenderness.
“You’re shaking,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek.
“I’m… overwhelmed,” I admitted. My voice was smaller than usual, softer. “But not in a bad way.”
His shoulders relaxed.
His thumb stroked my jaw, slow and reverent.
“I want every moment to be gentle for you,” he said quietly. “You deserve gentleness.”
Something inside my chest tightened at his words.
No one had ever spoken to me like that before.
He dipped his head, pressing one last kiss just below my ear.
A slow exhale left me as I leaned into him, my fingers curling lightly into his shirt.
We stayed like that — close, breathing each other in, hearts steadying — until the room felt warm again, until the world didn’t feel like something we had to fight.
Eventually, his forehead rested on my shoulder, and his arms wrapped around me fully.
No hunger.
No urgency.
Just closeness.
Just the sacred, fragile feeling of being held.
We drifted into sleep like that — tangled softly, wrapped in the quiet kind of intimacy that didn’t need anything more than warmth and trust.
MORNING
Light filtered through the thin curtains, brushing gold across the room. Birds chattered somewhere outside, soft and lazy. I blinked awake slowly, feeling a steady warmth behind me.
Aiden.
His arm was around my waist, loosely but securely, as if he’d fallen asleep mid-protective instinct. His face was pressed into my shoulder, breath warm on my skin.
My entire body went stiff with sudden embarrassment.
Oh Spirits.
We had fallen asleep like that.
Carefully, I shifted.
Aiden made a soft sound — somewhere between a sigh and a sleepy growl — and his arm tightened, pulling me even closer.
Heat rushed to my face.
“Aiden,” I whispered, nudging him.
He didn’t wake.
Instead he buried his face deeper against my shoulder, his golden hair brushing my cheek, his voice a rough mumble:
“Five more minutes… please.”
I froze.
He sounded shy.
Sleep-drunk and shy.
“Aiden,” I whispered again, and this time I turned slightly to face him.
His eyes fluttered open, soft and unfocused.
Then he realized how close we were.
His entire face went red.
He quickly sat up — too quickly — hitting his head lightly on the headboard.
“Ow— Spirits— I mean— morning— uh— good— good morning,” he blurted, covering his face with his hand in absolute panic.
I tried not to laugh.
I failed.
“You’re blushing,” I teased.
“I— I’m not,” he said, voice cracking like a teenager.
“You are.”
He groaned, dragging his hand down his face, ears burning.
“I didn’t mean to… hold you all night,” he mumbled. “I mean, I did, I wanted to, but I wasn’t trying to— I mean— Spirits, kill me now.”
He was actually adorable.
Completely undone.
Soft.
Flustered.
Nothing like the fierce Alpha Prince the world thought he was.
I touched his hand lightly.
He froze, staring at our fingers.
“I liked waking up like that,” I said quietly.
His head snapped toward me so fast I almost laughed again.
His blush deepened, blooming across his cheeks like sunrise.
“You did?” he whispered.
I nodded.
Slow.
Honest.
Something warm flickered in his eyes — a boyish, shy happiness he tried (and failed) to hide.
He reached up, brushing my cheek lightly with his knuckles.
“Then… can I hold you again tonight?” he asked softly.
Almost timidly.
My heart stuttered.
“Yes,” I whispered.
He smiled — a real, sweet, gentle smile that lit up his entire face.
And in that quiet morning light, with sunlight catching in his hair and shyness softening his features, I realized something:
He wasn’t just the wolf who had claimed my heart.
He was the boy who was learning how to love me tenderly.