When I finally crawl up beside him, he grabs me, pulls me into his chest like a man starving for touch. I press my face into the crook of his neck, heart thudding in time with his.
We lie there for a long time, tangled together, sweat cooling on our skin. No words needed.
This is where I want to be.
After a while, Rangi shifts a little, voice still thick with sleep and satisfaction. “So, is this the part where I get knighted for services to the Crown?”
I snort, lips curling against his skin. “You wish.”
“What? You don’t think Captain of Covert Royal Affairs would work?”
I kiss his shoulder. “More like Lord of Very Good Decisions.”
His laugh rumbles through his chest. “That’s got a nice ring to it.”
“I could see you as a Duke,” I muse. “Duke of Dicks, perhaps?”
His laugh is deep and lazy, rumbling through his chest where my head rests. “That’s got potential. Do I get a sash? Or maybe a ceremonial sword?”
“No,” I reply, dragging my hand slowly down the plane of his stomach. “But it might come with breakfast, if you behave.”
“Mmm. I am extremely well-behaved.” His arms tighten around me, pulling me closer, and for a while, we just lie there, our limbs tangled beneath soft sheets.
It’s quiet, but not empty. It’s apeacefulquiet. A rare thing between the two of us.
“Did you ever imagine this back then?” he says eventually, voice softer now.
I press a kiss to his chest. “All the time.”
“Mm.” His fingers trace lazy patterns against my back. “I wanted it. Gods, I wantedyou. But wanting and having are two very different things.”
“You could’ve had me,” I murmur.
“You weren’t ready,” he says simply. No judgment. Just truth.
I lift my head, just enough to meet his eyes. “I think I’m ready now.”
He smiles. “Yeah. I think you are.”
We lie like that for a while, just breathing. Touching. Letting the world exist somewhereelsefor once.
Then Rangi shifts slightly beneath me, adjusting so our legs tangle more comfortably. He hums, low and content, and I feel it vibrate in his chest under my cheek.
“Do you ever think about what life would be like if you hadn’t been born into all this?” he asks quietly.
“All the time.”
“And?”
“I’d be a florist.”
“Aflorist?” he coughs out a laugh.
“Sure.” I lift a hand to lazily paint a picture of the idyllic life I’ve always wanted. “Own a little shop by the ocean. Wake up with the sun, drink too much tea, scold the roses.”
He grins. “Would you wear the pressed shirts and tragic little brooches?”
“Obviously. I’d just accessorize with pollen and plaid.”
