His palm skimmed along the curve of her backside.
“You’re precious, and you deserve to be treated as such.”
The hand slid up her spine, settling at the base of her neck.
“That’s…sweet, Rey.”
Their slow retreat across the room had halted, having reached the bed, and the realization made Rey’s teeth clench tightly.
“You deserve sweet, Silla. You deserve kind. You deserve to be worshiped and respected and treated right.”
“Show me,” she whispered. “And I will show you—the man who is so busy caring for others, he forgets about himself. Let me show you what it means to be cared for.”
Her eyes met his in silent challenge. “You’re running out of excuses, Galtung. Tell me why else I shouldn’t want you.”
Rey opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
“Good,” she said. She fell back onto the bed, pulling him with her.
Chapter Forty-Nine
As Rey’s lips moved against hers, Silla’s body seemed to sigh, bowing up toward his.This, her heart beat out.Him. As he kissed her, she was infused with such happiness, it seemed to spill out everywhere.
Bracing himself above her, Rey deepened the kiss, and she clutched at his forearms like she might otherwise fall. It didn’t matter how they’d started. Didn’t matter that they should be all wrong for one another. Kissing him was like the first spring day after a long, brutal winter. Like finding one last sweet roll hidden in the bottom of the basket. It was like all the hearthfire thoughts she’d ever had combined.
There had been a moment, when she’d thought she’d read him all wrong. That tendril of fear, borne of Jonas’s betrayal, had wriggled and grown.But as his tongue dipped into her mouth, as the hand at her hip fisted her tunic, all worries were burned up with the rest of her. Gods, but she wanted this man. Wanted to discover the taste and smell and feel of him.
Rey dragged his nose down the length of her neck. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do this?” he whispered into her skin.
She made an incoherent sound, trying to pull his mouth to hers, but Rey resisted.
“Weeks,” he muttered, trailing his mouth along the edge of her jaw. “Months.”
His touch was maddening and not nearly enough.
“Silla,” he pleaded. “You feel…” Whatever he was going to say was drowned out as he kissed her again. The world sharpened where they touched—their slanted lips, the heat of his chest melting into hers, the drag of his hand along her hip, her waist, higher, higher.
Rey’s hands were everywhere—under her bottom and around her back, crushing her to his solid body as though he could not get close enough. And she was unraveling, strand by strand, beneath his touch, growing soft and boneless.
It was too much, and yet not enough.
“Rey,” she whispered.
A husky groan from the back of his throat turned her insides liquid and scalding hot. Her hands raked down his back, seeking the edge of his armored coat. She needed to touch him, needed to run the pads of her fingers along his smooth skin. Discovering a tunic beneath, Silla growled.
“Did you just growl?” Rey teased.
“Off,” she begged, yanking at his tunic.
“Ask me nicely,” said Rey, in a low, dark voice.
Silla scowled. “Please.”
Rey made a low sound of satisfaction, and she felt it in all the tender places of her body.
He climbed off the bed. Staring at her with dark eyes, he toed off his boots, each thud sending shivers down Silla’s spine. As his hands began working the buckles of his lébrynja armor, Silla propped herself up on her elbows to get a better view. Slowly, he pulled off the blood-stained armor, stripping down to his breeches and undertunic.
Gods, but this was…doing things to her.
