There is none.
Instead, she inhales sharply and her fingers curl into the front of my threadbare shirt, holding me closer. Her gaze flickers down, then back up to my eyes, as if she is measuring the weight of this choice and finding that she does not regret it.
“You can stop me at any time,” I say quietly.
“I know,” she replies.
And she means it.
I lean forward, kissing her again, slower now. My hands glide upward, thumbs tracing the curve of her hips, feeling the tremor that runs through her. When I shift my weight, my tail slides along the stone floor behind me, instinctive and restless.
Her eyes widen slightly at the sensation.
It coils gently around her ankle.
Not tight. Not yet. Just there.
Her hand drops, brushing along the length of it. Testing. Exploring. She studies the way it moves—how it curls more fully now around her calf, a slow, possessive line of contact that never constricts. Just holds.
The last time I held her like this, I’d tied her to a tree. She’d accepted my affection, my want. And now, she accepts me again.
My tail tightens just slightly—not restraining, but anchoring her leg to me. She inhales sharply at the subtle pressure, and her hands slide down my arms, tracing muscle, lingering at my wrists.
“I missed you,” she whispers. “For weeks, I went back and forthbetween trying to forget you existed and missing your touch. Missing…this.”
My eyes burn and I marvel at the wonder it is to have a heart. The sweetness of the warmth is something I never got to experience with her.
Arlet pauses. Her fingers close around my wrists, guiding them upward. Above her head.
The movement is deliberate.
My pulse spikes.
“Do you trust me again?” I ask.
She gives a shaky little laugh. “I...I think so.”
I lean forward, bracing my hands against the wall behind her instead of touching her, giving her the space to feel the difference—to feel that this is her choice. My body cages her, but does not trap her.
Her breath grows heavier. Her chest rises and falls against mine.
“Vann,” she whispers. “I know you and right now you’re holding back.”
“I would rather break myself than frighten you.”
Her expression softens. Something inside her seems to settle.
Then she surprises me.
Her fingers trail down my arm, over my side, and lower—until they brush against the base of my tail. The reaction is immediate; it flexes, tightening instinctively around her thigh this time. My cock surges, straining against my pants.
She gasps at the shift in pressure.
“Too much?” I ask, ready to pull away.
“No.” Her voice is steadier now. “I want to feel it all.”
“I told you in your room that didn’t have to be the last time.” My hands finally move from the wall to her waist, thumbs stroking slow arcs across her skin, waiting for her to surrender even more.