Dee sat down on the couch and he eased down next to her. “Ah. So that’s why Gremma was putting on extra lipstick when I left.”
James laughed. “I told you. But at least I know my couch’s virtue is still safe.” He patted the paint-stained cushions affectionately.
If that wasn’t an opening, she didn’t know what was.
Dee took a breath. “Actually. I came here—well. I mean. If you wanted to change that. The couch’s virtue. I wouldn’t be… opposed.”
As seductions went, that line probably wouldn’t go down in history.
Even so, he jerked in surprise. He gazed at Dee, as if he was sure he heard her wrong. “What?”
She kept her voice steady. “I distinctly remember you complaining about how if anyone was going to be naked on this couch, it should be you.”
He looked at her. Swallowed.
“You want to—” he began to say, all hoarse.
“Yes,” she said, too quickly.
Another swallow. “Have you ever…?”
“No,” she said. “You?”
He gazed at her intently, as if he were afraid she might suddenly vanish. “Yes. But I’m clean. Tested and—well, it’s been a while. Dee, we haven’t known each other very long—”
“Months,” she said. “That’s longer than some people wait.”
He hesitated. Just a little too long. Hurt flashed across her face and he saw it.
“Dee,” he said. “Dee, I want to—but, Dee, you’re going through a lot of things right now, with your parents and the voids and the Daemon. I don’t want you to want this because you’re afraid or because you think you might not get another chance. Because you will have other chances.”
“I want to,” she said. “Not because I’m afraid—I mean, I am afraid. But I’d want to even if we weren’t possibly going to die soon. I want to because… because I trust you. I trust you with this.”
He knew what those words meant.
She had said as much after he told her he liked her for the first time.
I’m not sure I’m capable of loving anyone—not if I can’t trust anyone.
His fingers shook slightly; his thumb brushed over her cheek. “If I do anything that you don’t like or want to stop, please tell me.” He kissed her, and it was sweet and gentle, and she pulled away for a moment.
“James,” she said, but she was smiling when she said his name. “I’m not going to break.”
They kissed again, and this time she could feel joy in it—a wild, breathless laughter in his mouth.
“Not on the couch,” he said.
“All right, then,” she said, and took him by the hand and walked to the bedroom.
It felt as if she were shedding her own skin in addition to her clothes—she was tingling with every soft touch. He pressed kiss after kiss to her throat, her shoulder, her collarbone. “You are beautiful,” he told her. “So beautiful and strong and you’ve got the best sense of humor of anyone I’ve ever met—”
Her mouth found his and she silenced him, swallowing his words of praise. His fingers dug into her hip and she welcomed the sensation. When they broke apart, she said breathlessly, “You can leave off with the compliments, you know. I’m already in your bed.” He had somehow lost his shirt on the way to the bedroom, and her fingertips dragged over his bare stomach, making the muscles jump.
He nipped at her neck. “What if I just feel like complimenting you?”
She laughed, her thumb sliding over the swell of his lower lip. “Gallantry?”
He shook his head. “Truth.” His fingertips skimmed over her bare side, catching on the edge of her bra.
