Instead, I stammer, “Let’s go to bed.”
He raises a brow. I flush. “To sleep! Just—to sleep.”
Zev’s chuckle chases me under the covers, but even in the dark, I lie awake for a long time.
Not thinking about the Rebellion or Tundrayn.
Not thinking about politics or my purpose here.
Only about the patient man beside me.
Chapter Forty-One
Slick,callousedhandsglidingup my thighs.
Tantalizing silk caressing heated skin, sending pulses of need through me.
Insistent fingers hooking under lace, waiting, always waiting.
Dark, stormy eyes snare my gaze. Tender. Affectionate. Hopeful.
I never want to look at anything else.
Arched hips and a keening moan—permission granted.
The gentle slide of silk against oil-slicked skin, and finally,finally, I’m bared before him.
He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, doesn’t touch.
My thighs part on their own, the invitation he’s waited for, and—
Sleep leaves me in a disorienting, receding wave, lapping at the edges of my consciousness. I moan softly, struggling to grasp onto the blurry vestiges of my dream, trying to chase it—him—but it slips away like water through my fingers. I arch into nothing, clinging to a touch that isn’t real. So close, we had beensoclose. My thighs slide smoothly against each other, still slick with last night’s oil, but that’s not the only reason.
The throbbing ache between my legs is unbearable.
There’s a subtle movement behind me—I freeze.
Zev is still in bed.
Slowly, ever so slowly, I crane my neck to look at him.
Tides ravage me, body and soul.
My husband is lying on his stomach, his gorgeous head resting on his bicep. The blanket pools around his waist, leaving his tanned back bare for me to appreciate—the broad width of his shoulders, the ridged lines of contracted muscle. A myriad of scars crisscross his skin, some shallow and thin, others deep and jagged. My fingers itch to trace them, my heart desperate to know the story behind each one. His brow is smooth, blissful sleep chasing away any worries. Long lashes cast dark shadows across his prominent cheekbones, and Tides help me, I’m drowning.
My pulse quickens. I’ve slept beside this heartbreakingly handsome, chiseled man for months now.
And I’machingfor him—just like he wanted me to be.
Careful not to make even the whisper of a sound, I turn back.
I’m weak, Tides plunge me into your unforgiving depths,I’m weak.
My hand presses flat over my chest, as if that might steady the racing thrum of my heart. Slowly, my fingers inch down, over the full curve of my chest, lying flat over my belly.
Lower.
Lower.
