His hand spread over my sternum, firm but careful.
“Breathe with me.”
I tried to drag air in and it splintered halfway down. My lungs seized. My chest locked.
“In,” he repeated, exaggerating the movement, drawing a slow, deliberate breath that expanded his chest against my back.
I felt it.
The movement.
The rise.
I tried to follow.
It came out broken and sharp and useless.
“Again,” he said, and there was no impatience in him. No alpha edge. There was strain. Something dangerously close to fear.
I dragged another breath in and it hurt, like something tight inside me was tearing open.
“Out,” he murmured.
His arm tightened slightly as he exhaled, guiding me without forcing me. He began to rock, barely perceptible at first, a subtle sway that shifted the world into something rhythm
