I pull my shirt over my head and then sit up, catching sight of him just along the tree line. He gives me a small wave, and I smile, and then he turns to go. He only manages one step before he turns back. “Hey, Vivian.”
My eyebrows raise. “Cornelius?”
“Right before you leave this clearing, turn around. Make sure you take a good look.”
My smile falls, and my eyes narrow. “Why?”
He lifts a shoulder and smiles. “You’ll see.”
I plop back down on my back, not at all prepared for a damn riddle. Now answers? Answers I can get behind.
Zion’s arms tighten around me, pulling me flush against his front. He squirms around, pushing himself into my hip, then his face is pressed against my ear, and he murmurs sleepily.
Exasperated and slightly overwhelmed, I jab my elbow into his gut. “Stop that.”
He stops squirming, but his grip tightens slightly, and he whispers, “Why are you dressed?”
“Well, I would hardly call it dressed,” I respond dryly. “But Cornelius showed up, we’ve got to go.”
His entire demeanor changes. He’s fully awake and on his feet in a blink. And I’m lying on the ground, dumped there rather haphazardly, staring up at him. “You make a rather silly defender without your pants on.”
He glances down at himself and then glances around rather helplessly, and after a moment of letting him struggle, I point to where Cornelius had been standing. “I believe there’s a pile of clothing right over there.”
Zion looks over, immediately looking relieved. He walks toward the clothing, and I roll onto my side, coming up onto my elbow and leaning my head against my hand as I watch him go. As if he can sense my eyes on him, he looks at me over his shoulder and says, “Stop gawking.”
I smile; I can’t help it. “But you look so cute walking away.”
He stops just short of the edge of the clearing and turns back to me, his hands on his hips. “I’m not cute.”
Laughing, I respond, “I beg to differ. But you seem kind of different. Do you feel different?”
He gives me a bland look and shakes his head. “Different how?”
“I don’t know,” I reply tentatively. “You just seem different. Bigger somehow.”
He quirks a brow at me, his chest puffing up dramatically as he glances down at his dick. A sharp laugh falls from my lips, and I slowly manage to get to my feet. “Not that.”
His grin is boyish, and I swear my heart does a pitter-patter in my chest. Shaking my head in disgust, I walk toward him, stopping beside him where he’s putting his pants on. I bend down to pick up my own pants, but he slaps my hand away, so I stand there, watching him curiously as he continues to dress.
Once he’s secured his sweatpants efficiently, he stoops over and retrieves my pants. Then he’s kneeling in front of me, nudging my leg until I finally raise my foot, and he slides my pants up my calf. He does the same with my other leg, and then he’s rising to his feet, dragging the fabric up my thighs, settling them over my hips. Unsteady, I rest my hands on his shoulders, and then, when his eyes meet mine, I mutter, “This is entirely unnecessary.”
He gives me that same boyish grin, almost as if he knows what it does to me. Then, he leans in quickly, pressing a kiss to the end of my nose that has my frown deepening before he sits back and says, “I beg to differ.”
Surprisingly, I’m not nearly as annoyed as I usually would be. As if he knows what I’m thinking, he adds, “Don’t worry, Viv. You still get to be a hurricane with everyone else.”
I make a face. “But not with you?”
“Nope. With me, you get to be a gentle spring rain.”
I snort, my hands fall from his shoulders, and I cross my arms over my chest. “Apparently, you got knocked in the head in the middle of the night if you think that’s true.”
With a wink, he kneels at my feet. He yanks at my ankle, once again throwing me off balance, so my hands rest on his shoulders as he puts on one sock and one shoe. He gives the other foot the same treatment, and then he pauses, his hands gripping my calves, his forehead pressed into my stomach.
One of my hands moves from his shoulder to the back of his head, my fingers tangling in the silkiness of his hair. I move my other hand so I’m gripping his head firmly, giving his hair a tug until his head falls back and he’s staring up at me.
My heart stops in my chest, my breath in my lungs. Those blue flames have shifted, now an iridescent dance reflected at me. Truth. Devotion. Rapture.
I shift a hand, stroking his cheek delicately before pressing my palm against his warm skin. With his eyes half-closed, he leans into my grip. Then, with a resigned sigh, he stands.
