The moon hung high above the trees, casting silver light through the branches and painting your bare skin in cool, ghostly sheen. The forest around you was alive with night—soft with the hush of wind-stirred leaves, heavy with the scent of moss and wildflowers, and quiet save for the labored rhythm of breath and the slow, grounding thud of heartbeats pressed together.

You were straddled across him, legs trembling as you moved in a steady rhythm, your hands braced against his chest, his scarred palms gripping your hips with reverent desperation. His back was against the smooth rock, broad shoulders bathed in moonlight, the heat of his body so sharp against the cool night air it made you dizzy. His golden eyes were half-lidded, darkened with lust, jaw tight as he watched you ride him like a prayer.

Neither of you spoke. There was only the sound of breath, the low, strangled moan in his throat when you ground your hips just right, the soft gasp you couldn’t suppress as his hands slid higher, firmer, more desperate. The world had fallen away—it always did when it was like this. No contracts, no blades, no monsters. Just this feverish pull between you, your name rasping from his lips like a curse and a blessing all at once.

And then he stilled.

Not from pleasure. Not from restraint. From something else.

His eyes opened fully, flicking toward the trees behind you, going sharp in an instant.

“Don’t move,” he growled, the edge in his voice cutting through the heat like a blade.

You froze, breath still caught in your throat. Your heart beat wild as you turned your head, searching the trees.

He reached for your waist, not to keep going—but to lift you off. His expression was dark now, predatory, all traces of intimacy shuttered behind that familiar Witcher mask.

“I heard something.”

You were still breathless, your thighs aching, the loss of him leaving you empty and cold.

“For fuck’s sake,” you muttered, voice thick with frustration and the ghost of what you’d just had.

Geralt was already rising, grabbing his sword with one hand, the other still holding you steady until you found your footing. His eyes swept the trees, scanning the shadows. “Two legs,” he murmured. “Heavy. Not human.”

Of course not.