When I have found some semblance of calm, I open my eyes again. I study the runes etched into his skin, tracing their lines with my gaze and wondering what stories they tell. My attention drifts to the column of his throat, transfixed by the subtle movement when he swallows. I do not know how long I watch the hard line of his jaw, or when my cheek comes to rest more firmly against his chest, when that closeness becomes a choice rather than a necessity.
Time blurs.
All I know is that when sleep finally claims me, with Luceran held close in my arms, it feels nothing like a mistake.
It feels like the safest place in the world.
16
Istir slowly the next morning, drifting up from sleep wrapped in a warmth so deep and complete it feels unreal, like sinking into sunlight after a lifetime of cold. It is, without question, the best sleep I have ever had.
A yawn slips free of me as I stretch beneath the covers, a soft, unguarded smile blooming on my lips while I wriggle against the plush warmth, relishing it for a few stolen seconds before thought fully returns.
Then I remember where I am, and who I lie next to. An arm drapes heavy around my waist, its weight anchoring me in place while smooth skin presses hard against my spine.
I go utterly still, because it is not just the skin against me that has my breath hitch. The skin is warm. Luceran is warm.
I start to turn, heart pounding, needing to see for myself, but he moves first.
He presses closer, his body fitting against mine, his legs curling tighter behind mine until I am cradled between him and the mattress. When his hips shift slightly, the unmistakable press of his length against me steals the breath from my lungs entirely.
I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry.
One of his arms lies stretched beneath my head along the pillow, possessive without possibly meaning to be, while the other tightens around my waist, dragging me closer still. His thumb brushes slow, absent-minded strokes across my skin, as though his body knows me even if his mind is not aware.
Then he breathes against my ear.
Warm breath.
The sensation tears through me like lightning, nerves sparking, my body reacting before I can summon a single rational thought to stop it. My pulse stutters, my skin prickles, and I am suddenly, acutely aware of every place where we touch.
The arm along the pillow folds over me then, settling across my chest, the weight of it sending another shudder through me as I wonder whether he is awake, whether this closeness is instinct or intention.
His hand moves. Tattooed fingers curl. They brush my breast, the lightest graze, and my body betrays me, my breath hitching as my nipple tightens without permission, heat pooling low and dangerous inside me. This cannot be happening. He is clearly so lost in his dreams he does not realize. I need to get up and out of this bed.
But yet I stay.
Stay as he curls even closer, as he hardens, pressing against my back, as he almost seems to thrust slightly, softly grinding against me, while his fingers sweep the goose-pimpled flesh below my breast, tracing the curve as his thumb flicks over my taut nipple. Not once. Not twice. Enough times that it is more than an accidental brush, a teasing motion that has me squirming against the sheets.
Fuck.
It feels so good. So wrong and forbidden and so fucking good.
The hand around my waist moves too, and my breath shudders as it slides lightly down, skimming over my belly, lower and lower.
And then the door opens.
“That damn mine collapse has my healers scattered across the entire province,” Atilia says tersely.
My heart slams violently against my ribs as I stiffen beneath the covers, panic roaring to life, while Luceran exhales softly and unaware behind me.
“I managed to get word to a rider, though,” Atilia continues briskly, oblivious. “Hopefully someone will be here this evening. Otherwise, heads will roll.”
She finishes ranting. Pulls off her coat. Tosses it onto a chair. Closes the door behind her.
And then her eyes finally meet mine.
The silence that follows is deafening, so complete I’m certain I can hear snowflakes landing on the roof. Atilia’s blank, wide-eyed gaze flicks from me, to Luceran, then down to the unmistakable tangle of limbs beneath the blankets.
