My hips are still pressed against her. I don't pull back. I let her feel exactly what she's doing to me, exactly how hard I am, exactly how easy it would be for me to hike up this shirt and slide inside her right now.
"How long have you been—" she starts.
"A while."
She's quiet, and I can feel her thinking. Her heart rate picked up the moment she woke—I can feel it against my palm, faster now, and faster is better. Faster means I'm affecting her. Faster means she's not as calm as she's pretending to be.
"I should—"
"Stay."
Not a request. She goes still again.
"The War God," she says finally. "Renan mentioned—"
"Later."
"But if there are plans to discuss—"
"Later."
My hand slides up, just slightly, enough that my fingers brush the underside of her ribs. The soft give of flesh over bone. She inhales sharply.
"There," I say. "Good morning."
"That's not—" She tries to pull away again and I let her get an inch before I drag her back. "Koshin."
"Iowyn."
"You're being—"
"Myself. Yes."
She makes a frustrated sound and I smile against her hair.
"I need to get dressed," she says.
"Eventually."
"Now."
I consider it.
Now.
She wants distance.
She wants space.
She wants to rebuild whatever walls she thinks will protect her from—
From what, exactly? From me?
I release her.
She scrambles out of the bed immediately, too fast, overbalancing, catching herself on the edge of the mattress. I don't move. I watch her from the pillows with my arms behind my head.
She's wearing one of my shirts, hanging off her shoulders, hitting mid-thigh. The collar gaps and I can see the edge of her collarbone, the hollow of her throat.
