A small “Why?” escapes. Veda knows what he’ll see and looks away to avoid the swelling in her throat that comes with thinking about the condition of her body. There are the scars and marks and bruises she can see. And then there are the wounds she cannot.
“Because you shouldn’t hide anything about yourself. Not from me.” He slips his finger under the collar of her shirt, sliding it off her shoulder, exposing a hint of the full story. Hiram pauses, and a slight inhale clues her in to what he’s seeing.
Veda starts to turn, but his grip tightens and his lips brush the jagged skin on her shoulder.
“You’re tense,” he murmurs against her neck. “Let me help you relax.”
“Why?” she asks again, voice stronger.
“Because you don’t ask for what you want.”
Veda remembers when she did, when she demanded what she deserved. Now she’s reserved, restrained, weighed down by trauma, avoidant of anything that makes her uncomfortable and aware. But each day exposes more cracks in her fortress, waking parts of her that she thought were long dormant. Veda wants his touch, craves the hands of someone who has proven to know her. Her hesitant mind only falls in line when Hiram once again breathes on the edges of her cursed scars.
“You can ... touch me,” she whispers.
Hiram moves with careful precision. Before she can question it, her pants are at the middle of her thighs, his fingers teasing the elastic of herpanties, then slipping inside. Veda doesn’t realize she’s tense against the counter until Hiram kisses her, gently urging her to relax.
“Don’t tell me how you like to be touched. I’ll figure it out.” He moves beside her, teasing her earlobe as he runs two fingers through her lips, brushing her clit, and enjoying Veda’s gasp when he sinks one finger inside her slowly.
“Fuck.” Hiram muffles his own moan. “How are you this wet? I’m only touching you.”
Heat explodes as a thick finger moves inside her, stroking, caressing. His breath dances across her neck, kisses and murmured words blending into white noise. Veda keeps swallowing moans and half-formed cries, her stomach tight, wanting to make it last but knowing it won’t. Hiram turns to kiss her, his free hand resting on her lower back, confident. Just when her knees go weak, he stops.
“Wait—no.”
He withdraws his hand and licks his fingers clean. “Just a second.”
Veda’s ready to protest until Hiram picks her up like he’s done it a hundred times and carries her down the hall, closing his door behind them with a flick of his wrist. He deposits her on the edge of his bed, pants and panties abandoned, before sinking to his knees. They both moan in unison as his fingers return, then his tongue, lapping her clit. His mouth worships through touch; the low timbre of his moan is an ode of praise. Veda is quaking embarrassingly quickly, back arched, hand fisting his hair, right back on the edge she was pulled from. With an eager tongue and urgent fingers, he’s pulling noises out of her she didn’t know she could make.
She breathes his name, nails digging into anything within reach, tensing around his fingers and shaking at each flick of his tongue. Eyes watering, breathy, high-pitched sounds escape as she tries to keep herself together, while Hiram seems determined to make her fall apart.
“Just a little more,” he murmurs, kissing the inside of her thigh, his finger finding exactly what she needs. “You feel so—”
Veda drowns in the rush of sensation, pleasure holding her under until Hiram pulls her free. He holds her as she shakes.
Whispering as they lie together, they share kisses laced with her taste as she slowly comes down from the finest high. He rubs her back as they drift in silent reflection.
Side by side. Face-to-face. Veda’s thoughts and worries threaten to take flight, but one word grounds her to the earth. To him.
“Stay.”
She closes her eyes, holds on tight, and doesn’t let go.
Twenty-Six
Dense trees surround the house. Protected by layered canopies that allow only streaks of sunlight through, ferns and shrubs grow wild. Moss covers everything.
Hiram follows Veda on a morning hike with Antaris, watching her excitement when she notices something new. They find the path by following the shifts in the forest, catch the breeze by noting changes in elevation, discover the lake by following the stream. The trees touched by magic draw wildlife in with their energy. Hiram sits on a rock at the lake’s edge, his back to the picturesque view, fully in awe of her.
Veda kneels beside Antaris, pointing out birds and letting him feel the moss. When something catches her eye, Hiram follows as she leads his son to a different tree. Veda touches the base of the tree, and the space between the bark glows.
“So many trees in this forest are touched by magic,” Hiram remarks.
“Proof that nature is fine without human interference, but we can’t survive without nature to give us what we need.” Veda peers around the tree, her smile fading into something curious. “Like foxgloves.”
Standing tall in a bed of ivy at the edge of a clearing beside the lake are dozens of lavender foxgloves in bloom. Hiram knows little about plants outside of herbs, but they are beautiful. “What about them?”
“They’re poisonous, likely more potent due to their proximity to this tree. I don’t typically forage poisonous plants, but foxglove poisoning is treatable if you’re quick.” When his eyes widen in awareness, Veda nods.“I can dry the leaves to create a powder. Half a gram is enough to stop a heart. It’ll work slower than a potion, but it’s less prone to human error.”
