My breath comes out in labored pants as I surge into her with such a force that her entire body jolts with every thrust. She’s clinging to my shoulders, holding me as tight as she’s able as I fill her again and again and again. I’m so close—so fucking close—I need her to come. Need to feel her quiver and shake around my cock knowing I did that, I made her fall apart.

I can feel it—how close she is—in the way her body tenses beneath me, in the way her fingers grip my skin, even from the quiet gasps that stream continuously from her mouth.

“Want to feel you come, omega. Come for me. Come.”

She does, after seconds, minutes, hours—I can’t be sure. Time is irrelevant when she’s beneath me. It’s beautiful when she falls apart, her back arching to bring her closer and her eyes shut tight as she trembles around me. It’s enough to push me over the edge, and I’m far less quiet when I thrust into her that final time.

There’s a distant roaring, and I vaguely recognize that it’s me making the sound. I pull her so close I wonder if I might crush her—I want to imprint her shape into my skin so a piece of her is always with me. A thought that, were I more coherent, might worry me.

When my knot begins to swell, it’s almost a holy experience. I have nothing to compare it to, this completeness I feel as I’m rooted deep inside her—but I know without a doubt there’s nothing on earth that can compare to it. Every shift of her body pulls another gush from me, and I almost wish I could see the way I fill her up, the way I flood her insides to blend with her slickness.

I don’t know exactly how long we’ll be like this—locked together with no hope of escape—but I don’t mind. I would stay like this forever if given the choice. I roll to my side, tucking her into my chest as she nestles closer. She fits so perfectly there, nuzzled against me.

“You should sleep,” I tell her after a while. “You’ll need your rest.”

“Don’t wanna,” she mumbles.

I grin. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

She looks at me, eyes wide and shining and so fucking sweet. “Promise?”

I tilt my head, pressing my lips to hers and letting them linger for several moments. When I pull away, a part of me worries that I’m helpless to stop the growing feelings I have for her, that she’s taking everything I have left. Not that it matters, I think, since at this point…I seem to be giving it freely.

That same fear grips me—the one that comes from the uncertainty of what comes after this, of the idea of losing her after having just had her—and I hold her a little tighter to me, I pull her a little closer.

“I’m not going anywhere, Tess. I’m here. I promise.”

And as she snuggles against me, content and sated and warm, I can only hope there’s a chance that she might not go anywhere either, whatever that looks like. That even if her job takes her away from here…she might want something more.

That she might want it as much as I’m beginning to.

I can tell my heat is waning on the second day. My head feels clearer, my need less demanding. I can’t say why that disappoints me. The reality is I am a mess of sweat and slick and God knows what else, and I should be grateful for the reprieve, I really should. So why aren’t I?

I snuggle into Hunter just a little closer as he sleeps, peering up at his relaxed expression as I revel in the warmth of his arm draped across my hip. It’s been an intense forty-eight hours; I can honestly say that nothing about this experience has been something I would ever have expected—but as overwhelming as it’s been, I’ve actually really…liked it. I’ve never felt as protected or as cared for as I have during this heat, and I know it’s entirely because of Hunter.

It still makes me shiver when I remember some of the things he said to me, things like how he owned me, how I belonged to him. Rationally, I know it was nothing more than his instincts and a whole lot of hormones that most likely made him say those things, but I can’t pretend I didn’t like hearing it. What’s more, I loved hearing it. And maybe that’s just instincts and hormones too, but I still feel it.

I’ve spent most of my adult life making sure that everyone around me was always taken care of—it’s just in my nature. So being like this, having someone take care of me for a change, is…nice, to say the least. It’s something I’m afraid to let myself get used to, because who knows how long I’ll have it?

I close my eyes as I nuzzle into his throat, inhaling his calming scent and letting it wash over me, soothing my anxieties about what he might or might not have meant to say in the heat of the moment. For a little while longer, at least, I can simply enjoy the way he feels against me. He stirs when I press my hand to his chest, running my fingers through the dark hair there.

“What time is it?” he asks groggily.

I tilt my head back to meet his sleepy gaze. “Almost lunchtime,” I tell him. “I checked my phone when I woke up.”

“Have you heard from your brothers?”

He winces when he says it, and I know he’s thinking about the moment when this little bubble of ours has to burst. When we’re forced to return to the real world. Is he also agonizing over what that might mean for us?

“They texted me last night to say they’re okay,” I tell him. “They’ve got power where they are—they’re staying in a hotel right now—and they said as soon as the roads are deemed clear enough to travel, they’re going to head back this way.” I run my fingers through his chest hair again, enjoying the soft sound of contentment it draws out of him. “Probably tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” he echoes, sounding not so thrilled. “Right.”

I kiss the corner of his mouth, grinning against his scruff. “Plenty of time for you to take care of me again.”

“Oh yeah?” He chuckles softly, turning his head so he can breathe in deep from my hair. “Your scent is waning,” he tells me, sounding displeased. “Your heat might break before the day is out.”

Disappointment floods me, and I know it’s only because I’m not sure what comes after this. I want to ask him, to talk to him about what all this might mean, but I can’t bring myself to. I’m too worried about what he would say, worried that it wouldn’t be what I want to hear.

“I still need you,” I tell him quietly, not feeling that demanding urge to have him but wanting him all the same.

He makes a low sound deep in his chest as he pulls me tighter against him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And as he rolls me onto my back, covering me with his larger-than-life body, I can’t help but hope he means that.

After more than three days without power, the afternoon brings more small projects and more makeshift sponge baths that have me starting to really miss the shower upstairs. I mean, yes, having Hunter’s help has been a major point in the whole roughing-it scene, but still. A girl needs hot running water.

Not that he seems to mind in the slightest.

I’ve been lounging at the dining room table while he rehangs the curtains we took outside to beat the dust out of an hour ago, admittedly enjoying the way he tends to roll up his sleeves when he works regardless of the temperature. (I think that could be its own genre of porn, just saying.) My body is still sore and drained from everything we’ve done, and Hunter insisted on letting me rest for a while, as much as I protested.

“So Nate will be here tomorrow,” I point out, making conversation. “Are you nervous?”

“Well, the future of the lodge is sort of hinging on this one guy and him not finding the place ‘dingy’ when he first sees it”—he looks back at me over his shoulder, but there’s a teasing smile at his mouth—“so why would I be nervous?”