She tipped toward his kiss, his tenderness, and let him draw her where he willed with an eloquent and boneless lack of resistance. Moved only to straddle his hips, boots hanging off the edge of the bed, and pressed light kisses over his face, down his neck and the column of his throat. "Wolf, my wolf, I love that wild laugh of yours—" Saying happy nonsense, voice throaty, soft-voiced as secrets. She nipped here and there to remind him of his body, practically purring her pleasure.

Wound her arms greedily between his back and the bed, embracing him loosely, but no less feelingly. She nuzzled into him, careless of dried blood, nudged and moved and coaxed him further onto the bed while she peeled all the rest of his clothing off. She curled in with him until at last he slept, and then a little longer, touching the ends of his hair, breathing him in. She drew the covers up around him before she left.

And when he woke the next night, it wasn't alone— the varren having nosed the door open in the day to curl in between his feet at the foot of the bed— but Alyosha was gone, having slept as close in proximity to her children as she was allowed.