Fated mates were rare. What they could do for each other was rarer.
Skin-to-skin contact was the cheat code for fast healing.
Nicholas's father had taught him that once, though most healers would consider it fairy-tale nonsense. He was trusting faith, pure instinct, and the wolf currently screaming "clothes are a hate crime."
He released her neck and yanked his shirt over his head like the thing had personally wronged him, then moved to hers. His hands hesitated for half a second of pure 'this is happening' before he yanked the whole fucking ensemble off, bralette included.
Then he saw her and he forgot how to breathe.
Heat punched straight to his groin. His cock thickened and lurched up, straining against the wet fabric like it was trying to escape prison. The head of him throbbed with every panicked heartbeat, borderline painful.
Not now.
He muttered it like a holy fucking prayer while his hands didn't stop until they were both completely bare. Everything. Gone.
