“Jesstin!”
“How’s the pain now?”
“That weird berry did something to your head, didn’t it?”
“How’s the pain?”
“It’s...” She frowned. The pain was slowly fading, and he’d distracted her through the worst of it. “Better. Thank you.”
“You might bruise, but luckily it won’t last long.” Still on his knees, he sat back on his heels. “Nothing seems to be broken.”
“Oh, you’re a medic?”
“Most who come to Mythgarde prefer to have their problems dealt with in-house,” he explained. “A little nursing is part of the job.”
Elloven was incredibly conscious of her spread legs... of him still on his knees. She snapped them closed and angled away, but he gently placed a hand on her knee. His other hand hovered over the brand on her outer thigh. She held her breath, waiting for his pity.
“May I?” he asked.
Her nod was more of a twitch. She had no inkling what she’d agreed to. But when he leaned in and brushed his lips to the scarred flesh, a gentle gasp rose up and her tears returned, though they weren’t the same as before. The man in front of her would have taken his sword to everyone connected to her pain, right down to the blacksmith who had fashioned the branding iron. But he could offer her no authentic piece of himself.
He ran his thumb along where his lips had been. “Scars are battles won, not lost, Elloven.” He kissed the spot again and then again. “You’re stronger than any man I’ve ever known.”
“That can’t be true.” Her voice was breaking, and her heart... Her heart was too, but it had also never been fuller.
But there was another sensation. It was one she had not felt for many years and hadn’t believed she would ever feel again.
Desire.
“The most dangerous lies are the ones we tell ourselves.” He looked up at her. His thumb traced gently over the Q seared into her thigh. “Any man worthy of you won’t be afraid of your scars. They’ll see what I see.”
Elloven relaxed into her discomfort. The tension in her legs eased. She didn’t know what was happening, only what she wanted, but asking him would be a betrayal of her promise.
Jesstin’s eyes traveled back to her leg but lingered, a second too long, on her undergarments. After a jerky breath, he lifted his eyes back toward hers.
His question blazed there.
Her answer arrived in a messy nod.
But if they were honoring scars, there was one more she needed him to see. “I’ve never... That is, no man has ever...”
“No man has ever prioritized your pleasure,” he said, finishing for her. The same thumb that had lovingly caressed her brand skimmed against the longing she couldn’t hide. It moved in circles against the fabric. She slid her hand down and pulled her undergarments aside, and when he leaned in and dragged his tongue down the center of her, her whole body lit up like she’d set it on fire.
Her hands twisted over the chair, and she ground her toes in her boots as she lifted in involuntary response. He was so gentle, the depth of his restraint evident in his white knuckles, gripping her thighs, and she slid further into the moment by falling back, helping him drape her legs over his shoulders one by one. The old urge to disconnect, to self-protect, was still there, and perhaps it always would be, but she resisted and focused instead on protecting her stillness, so she could commit every detail to memory, so she could replace the ones that had left her believing that moments like these were not hers to have.
Jesstin’s fingers dug against her thighs as he pinned her in place, watching her receive his gift. The sheer hunger in his eyes was the moment of her undoing. She released a cry from the center of her chest, a pleasure so intense, she almost couldn’t bear it. He never slowed, even as she murmured it was too much, but he seemed to know she still needed more, and he was right.
Jesstin’s name slipped from her lips in a tormented whisper as she finally melted against the chair.
His flushed face flowed in and out of her drowsy vision as he fell back. The fearful, insecure pieces of her searched, uneasily, for any indication of his remorse, but it wasn’t there, and she knew if she asked, just then, he would throw everything he’d promised himself away. For her.
It seemed, even, that he wished she would ask.
Which was why she would not.
Jesstin drew a steadying breath. His tongue slid along his glistening lips with a pinched groan. “You’ll, um, need something new to wear,” he said and stood. “I can run across the way.”
“Jess. Wait.” Her muscles felt like mush as she worked herself out of the chair. She cupped his face between her hands and kissed him. “Thank you,” she murmured against his mouth, tasting herself. His arousal stirred against her belly as she rose onto the tips of her toes to kiss him properly. How she wanted to do for him what he had done for her, but there was too much darkness tied to that particular act for her. “I didn’t know I could feel this way.”
