“Of course,” he said, tugging her closer. “You’re stealing all the covers.”
Her soft laugh melted the remnants of the dream.
For now, there was only her.
Her fingers toyed with the edge of the linen at his waist.
“So this is how you sleep? Taking up half the bed and grumbling?”
He huffed a quiet laugh.
“Ask Gabriel. He’ll tell you I’m worse.”
His eyes softened, lingering on her lips.
“But I’ve never slept like this. Not once.”
She tilted her head, teasing.
“Like what?”
“Like a husband.”
The word slipped out rough and reverent, his jaw tightening as though he might regret it—but he didn’t look away.
Her breath caught, her smile trembling into something fragile.
She nuzzled into his neck.
“Then let me be your wife,” she said, “at least for this morning.”
He held her, smoothing her hair, kissing her forehead, afraid she might vanish with the dawn.
“You undo me,” he murmured, voice raw. His hand traced the line of her jaw. “And still—I would spend every breath proving you’re safe in my arms.”
Her smile faltered, some old fear flickering through her boldness.
“Viktor…”
He kissed the shadow from her mouth before it could root.
“Not once have I known peace where I lie down until now. Not once—until you.”
Another kiss, softer still.
“You’ve awakened my heart to see beauty where there was once only ashes.”
Her throat tightened, lashes damp.
She held his face, breathed him in.
“I will mourn this night forever if I can’t have you.”
His lips brushed her brow.
“Not I…” He buried his face in her hair as though the words were both oath and prayer. “I’ll live in ecstasy if only for having known you.”
For a time there was only the hush of their breaths—the soft rise and fall of her cheek against his chest, his fingers tracing the curve of her spine. Then he eased onto his back, staring at the canopy above as though it held a map he didn’t want to read.
