* * *
He picked Aelin up from school on those three days a week, stayed with her until Silva got home from work, and stayed for dinner in the middle of that cycle.
Whatever complete amnesia he’d had over how to find his way to Cambric Creek had been resolved. He still never once said the name correctly, having landed onClamshot Crookeryas his favorite iteration, but as long as he made it there, Silva didn’t care.
He stayed for dinner midweek, sharing the bedtime responsibilities with her, reading Aelin a story, tucking her in, and saying good night with a kiss on her forehead. They would close the door and tiptoe out, and Silva insisted they wait a respectable forty minutes to ensure their little darling was sound asleep before getting her back blown out, making up for lost time by fucking him as many times as he could manage without wheezing in pain.
He was back for dinner on Friday nights, and that was her favorite night of the week. He spent the night, the two of them wrapped around each other in her bed, her head finding its way to his pillow, waking with her nose bumping his every Saturday morning. Just as it was meant to be.
Those early morning weekends at the Plundered Pixie had once been something sacred. And now, here in her bed in Cambric Creek, they were again.
Staying quiet was still her biggest hurdle. Her mouth would be open, her eyes screwed shut, panting soundlessly as he rocked into her, her legs over his shoulders, thumb rubbing her clit as he pumped his cock into her, not stopping until her muscles had contracted around him at least twice.
“Silva, we need to leave for playgroup in an hour,” he choked out, leaning forward, stretching her legs back until her knees were up at her ears, making her keen. “Are you planning on dragging this out until lunchtime? Or are you going to squeeze me?”
“This is not romantic pillow talk,” she whined, her eyes rolling back when his hips began to hammer into her, losing the ability to speak altogether.
He groaned when she came at last, her legs twitching in the air, her back leaving the mattress as her whole body contracted.Thiswas the part she loved best. Just a few more rolls of his hips, having held out till she’d finished, emptying in her with a hiss, pumping slowly through his orgasm, filling her to the brim.
If he had been willing to come inside her more often before, they probably could have avoided the entire five years of heartbreak. They would’ve been too busy, never leaving their bed, and the fae never would’ve found him.
He would carry her to the bathroom when they were finished, sharing a shower as they always had. She squealed as he dropped her onto the mattress after, wrapped in a towel, her hair still dripping. “Take care of yourself, ya lazy lumpling.”
She would crawl back beneath the covers, curling around a pillow and breathing in the smell of him clinging to the bedclothes as he made Aelin breakfast and took her to playgroup. When they returned, Silva would be up and dressed, and they would leave for the day on a little adventure somewhere in town. Taking Tate to the farm to show him the animals at the petting zoo, to the botanical gardens, to the children’s museum. They went grocery shopping as a trio, visited the garden center to pick out plants for Aelin’s butterflies, and bought several birdfeeders for the backyard.
They were taking things slow, but it felt very domestic to her.Are you family? Of course we are. That’s where they were thatmorning, breathless beneath the sheets, sweat cooling at the edge of her hair, her body sated and languorous.
“I went to see Ainsley.” His voice was a whisper against her skin, hot in the valley between her breasts, his cheek pillowed against a lavender globe.
Silva tightened the hand she had in his hair, scratching against his skull, moving her fingertip down the jagged scar where his stitches had been. “Yeah? How did that go?”
She could tell from the way he said it that the answer was “not well,” but the fact that he was even sharing with her felt significant.
“That’s not surprising to me,” Zola had told her the previous week, when she’d confessed to feeling closer to him now than she had previously. “I think, rightly or wrongly, the way you view each other now has changed, now that you share a child. Silva, you admitted that you sometimes feel jealous, but you crave normalcy. And Tate—”
“We’re on the same team now,” he finished quietly, not needing to be led to his answer.
He blew out a breath against her now, shoulders dropping.
“Not him, actually. Your friend.”
“Ris?”
He nodded, never lifting his face. “Went about as well as I deserve, I suppose. She gave me a good telling off. And I’ve earned that.”
Silvapfffttt’ed the response. “Yeah, well, I gave Ainsley a good telling off at the market. He’s a dick. And he definitely deserved that, so.” She shrugged, feeling the rumble of his laughter against her, going quiet after a moment. Silva sighed.Fucking Ainsley.
“She said I broke him.” Tate’s voice was a sad whisper.
“I don’t think that’s fair,” Silva murmured. “If he broke, there must have already been something cracked.”
Tate raised his head at last, craning his neck to look up at her. “I brokeyou.”
Shepfffttt’ed him again. “Oh, please. Don’t give yourself so much credit, mister. I was already broken. You finished the job, but like I said — already cracked. And I never would have learned how to put myself back together if I hadn’t.” She shrugged again. “I think he’s a whiner.”
His shoulders shook as he dropped against her once more, pinching her ass and making her squirm. “He’s not even friends with Shona anymore,” he went on after a moment, his laughter fading, his voice still a sad murmur. “I thought . . . I thought they’d have each other. But he moved away, and didn't look back.”
“Of the two of us, I’m the only one who’s actually done that and can speak to it. So again, I don’t think you’re being fair to yourself.”
