Page 67 of Bound to the Dorm Elf
The first contact is deliberate, slow — like I’m testing the edges of this new territory. But she meets me without hesitation, her hands sliding up my arms, fingers curling into the fabric of my coat. The taste of her is warm despite the cold — something sharp at the edges, like she’s still carrying the heat from everything we’ve just faced.
The kiss deepens, no longer a question but a claim. I angle her closer, one hand at the small of her back, the other at the nape of her neck, feeling the thrum of her pulse under my thumb. She doesn’t just yield — she presses back, her own rhythm matching mine until I can’t tell which of us started it.
The cold air bites at the parts of me not pressed against her, but I barely register it. The world beyond this moment — the lake, the looming threat of my father, the inevitability of another fight — it all narrows to the feel of her mouth under mine, the small sound she makes when I pull her closer still.
When I finally pull back, it’s not because I want to. It’s because I have to. Her breathing is quick, uneven, and I know mine isn’t any calmer.
She looks at me like she’s trying to memorize something. “Still think I don’t understand?”
I give a short, low laugh, the kind that doesn’t quite hide the truth. “No. You understand too much.”
I don’t let go of her as we start back toward campus. Not because I think she needs me to steady her, but because some stubborn, unspoken part of me isn’t ready to let the connection break.
The walk back to her dorm feels like it stretches longer than the distance should allow. Maybe because I’m not moving fast — I’m matching her pace, each step measured, deliberate. I’mnot used to that. My life has been nothing but momentum, a constant push forward, hunting or being hunted.
But tonight, I let the stillness settle.
The campus is quiet, blanketed in the kind of cold that makes every sound sharper. Our footsteps crunch on the thin frost dusting the path. Somewhere in the trees, ice cracks and shifts, a muted groan under the winter weight.
When we reach her building, she unlocks the door without looking at me, but I see her fingers hesitate on the handle before she pushes it open. I follow her inside, into the warmth, into that small pocket of the world where the rest can’t reach us.
The door shuts, and for a moment we just stand there. No urgency this time. No shadows of danger breathing down our necks.
She turns first, leaning against the door like she’s grounding herself. Her eyes find mine, and there’s none of the usual guarded humor there — just something steady.
I cross the space between us in slow, unhurried steps. My hand rises, brushing the edge of her hair back from her face. The strands are still cool from the walk, but her skin is warm beneath.
“You’re not shaking anymore,” I murmur.
Her lips curve, just slightly. “You kept me warm.”
The words shouldn’t land like a claim, but they do. I let my thumb drift along her cheekbone, the gesture unhurried, almost ceremonial. “I will,” I say, and it’s not just about the cold.
She studies me like she’s looking for the catch, the part where I twist the meaning into something else. But there isn’t one. Not tonight.
When I kiss her this time, it’s different. No clash of teeth, no battle for ground. Just the slow, deliberate press of my mouth to hers, deepening with each breath. Her hands come to rest on mychest, not gripping, just… holding. Like she knows I’m not going anywhere.
I guide us away from the door, my hands at her waist, until her back meets the wall. Not to trap her — to anchor us both. Every shift of her lips against mine feels like a promise being made in silence.
Her breathing is steady now, syncing with mine. I take my time — tracing the line of her jaw with my mouth, catching the shiver in her throat when my lips find the sensitive skin there. She tilts her head, giving me space, and that small act of trust settles into me like heat.
“Rovax…” It’s barely more than a whisper, but I hear it, feel it in the way her fingers slide up, curling lightly around the back of my neck.
I pull back just enough to meet her eyes. “Say it again.”
Her mouth curves in the faintest smile. “Rovax.”
Something in me steadies at that. I lower my forehead to hers, our breaths mingling in the small space between. “You are not just… circumstance,” I say quietly. “You are not here because of danger, or exile, or necessity. You are here because—” I stop, not because I don’t know the words, but because saying them outright feels like stepping into unknown ground.
“Because what?” she prompts, her voice soft but certain.
Instead of answering with words, I kiss her again — slower, deeper, the kind of kiss that says everything I’ve never been good at speaking. My hand slides into her hair, holding her there, not to keep her from leaving, but to let her feel that I don’t want her to.
Her hands explore down my chest, fingers grazing the edges of my runic tattoos beneath my shirt. I feel them react faintly, heat pulsing under her touch as if the markings themselves want her.
I peel her sweater off slowly, revealing the soft curves I’ve imagined too many times. Her skin is warm, dotted with freckles, the swell of her breasts rising with each quick breath. “Beautiful,” I murmur, and I mean it with a weight that makes her cheeks flush.
She tugs my shirt over my head in return, her eyes lingering on the sharp lines of muscle and the silver glow of runes winding over my shoulders and arms. “You look like trouble,” she says.
