Time. Such a simple word. But for someone who had spent her entire life in a tower where nothing ever changed, it felt like a gift.
Time to learn. Time to explore. Time to discover all the things she’d been missing.
She threaded her fingers through his dark hair and pulled him back up to her mouth.
“I want to know everything,” she said against his lips. “About attraction and desire and what happens between males and females.”
“I’ll teach you.” He kissed her again, slow and deep. “Everything you want to know.”
“Starting now?”
“Starting now.”
His hand slid from her waist to her hip, fingers tracing patterns through the fabric of her dress. Even through the cloth, his touch left trails of fire. She shifted restlessly beneath him, seeking more contact, more pressure, more something she couldn’t quite name.
“Easy,” he murmured. “We’ll get there.”
“Where?”
“Wherever you want to go.”
She considered all the sensations currently swirling through her body—the heat, the tension, the ache that seemed centered low in her belly. She didn’t know enough to name what she wanted. But she knew she wanted more.
“I want to see you,” she said. “Without your shirt. I want to touch you properly.”
Something flared in his eyes. He sat back, kneeling over her, and pulled his shirt over his head in one smooth motion.
Oh.
She’d seen his arms earlier. She’d seen the scars, the muscle, and the evidence of a life spent fighting and surviving. But seeing hisfull torso was something else entirely. Broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. Defined muscles shifting beneath silver-bronze skin. More scars, tracing patterns across his chest and stomach like a map of battles survived.
“You’re beautiful,” she breathed.
“Most people don’t say that about scars.”
“Most people are fools.” She sat up, reaching out to trace one of the raised lines across his chest. “These tell your story. They prove you’ve lived, really lived, not just existed inside a safe little box like me.”
“You’ve lived too. Just differently.”
“Maybe.” She continued her exploration, exploring the planes of his body, the texture of his skin, and the way his muscles twitched under her touch. “But I want to live more. I want to have my own scars. My own stories.”
“I’d prefer you didn’t get scarred.”
“Would you? What if a scar came from something good? Something worth the pain?”
He caught her wandering hand and pressed it flat against his chest, over his heart. She could feel it beating—strong and fast, faster than she’d expected.
“You feel that?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“That’s what you do to me. Just by existing. Just by being you.” He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers. “I came to this tower looking for answers. Instead, I found you. And nothing makes sense anymore, except that I don’t want to leave.”
“Then don’t.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Why not?”
