I nod my head slowly this time. “Yes, Bea. You are. You were brave to tell me of your past. You are brave for facing a new life away from your homelands, even if you did not choose it.”
“I don’t feel brave,” she confesses, her gaze falling back to where her palm rests on my chest, her cheeks blooming a darker shade. “I’m always afraid.”
Gently taking her chin in my hand again, I tilt her face upward. “There is no bravery without fear,” I tell her. “Just as there are no shadows without the light of the twin suns in the sky.” It is something that I have come to learn and observe overthe seasons as a Protector. The new green-males often come to training believing that fear must be conquered completely - you can not show it, you can not speak it, you can not feel it. That is not bravery. That is stupidity. The Goddesses gave us fear as a tool to be used.
Bea makes a soft little huffing noise and leans further into the hold I have of her, and I am left wondering why such a small act has my knees feeling weak. “I’m tired of always being afraid, Zyn,” she whispers.
I nod before leaning down, gently resting my forehead on hers. “What would you do if you were not afraid, little Bea?”
We are so close. It feels as if there is only us two and the stars awake this night. The riverwaters are gentle, but there is still a soft trickle noise that almost drowns out her quiet words; “I would ask you to touch me.”
Chapter 11 - Bea
As soon as the words left my mouth, I’m flooded with two opposing feelings. The first - one that I’m familiar with - is the feeling of apprehension and that God-awful sensation of a low, sickly swooping in my belly. It makes me want to snatch what I’d said from the air and shove it back down my throat. The other feeling was one of… anticipation? Excitement even.
And Zyntarr-
… Zyntarr seems to have stopped breathing?
“Are you ok?” I ask, gently pushing on his chest where the steady rise and fall of his breaths has halted completely… but thethump, thump, thumpof his heart seems to have tripled in ferocity.
“I am… I am well, yes… I am… yes, I can…” he splutters, and there’s just something so endearing about a seven-foot, broad-shouldered, battle-scarred, one-eyed, warrior getting all flustered - over me, nonetheless. “That is-” he pauses again, his eye dipping to my breasts and then quickly back up to my face again as he rubs at the back of his neck. “It would be an honor and a gift to be able to touch you, Bea. If you’ll allow it.”
Something about his demeanor bolsters my confidence - an occurrence that has been happening more and more recently whenever I’m with Zyntarr. But seeing him like this in particular, just reminds me that this is all very new for him too and, in a sense, I could be the one to lead us-
Lead you both down the wrong path, more like.
My mother’s voice echoes in my skull, and I can’t help but let my eyes fall down to Zyn’s bare chest again. If only he had his heart-stars shining bright and without question. Then I could hush mother’s voice for good. Even she wouldn’t be able to argue with heart-stars and mates that are fated to be together.
“But if you are not sure…”
I’d hesitated too long. Zyntarr now looks to me with uncertainty in that sky-blue eye of his.
“No, I mean yes, I-…”
Courage, Bea. A little bit of touching isn’t going to hurt. It might even bring on those brighter stars I so desperately want to see.
I take a breath, and reach for Zyntarr’s hand before securely fitting it over my left breast.
Zyntarr stops breathing again, his good eye going wide as he looks down at what he’s holding.
My boob.
It takes maybe a minute of him frozen and staring while his mouth softly opens and closes like he’s got something to say but he can’t figure out in what order the words need to come out.
Which is… oddly adorable.
I never thought I would feel that about letting a guy get to second base.
And, for once, the thrill of it all is too loud in my mind, drowning out any voice of doubt. Emboldened, I giggle - an act that makes my chest move a little in his grasp. Instinctively, he squeezes. It’s only a little - barely even noticeable. But his hand is so big and warm, and his skin is this delicious sort of rough texture that even the smallest of squeezes has desire for more swirling low in my belly. “You can touch the other one if you like,” I tell him, giggling again when he is quick to take me up on my offer.
“Bea,” he rasps, my name no more than a strangled sort of moan.
“Do you… like them?” I ask, pushing myself into his warm hands.
The huge, scary-looking warrior nods quickly, swallowing thickly as he starts to gently test the give and weight of my very average chest.
“They aremagnificent,” he tells me reverently, and I try to fight the urge to laugh again. Nothing about me has ever been called ‘magnificent’ in all my life. The word seems too big, too grand, too… worshipful. That’s not really me. I’m a ho-hum, plain-Jane kind of girl. Not this. It’s all enough to make my cheeks blush even harder.
