There was something careful in the way he said it, as though he was remembering all those mornings when she’d vanished before he could open his eyes. As though he’d been waiting to see what this morning would bring.
“I stayed,” she agreed, and rolled over in the circle of his arm to face him.
He looked different in the morning light. The hard planes of his face were softened by sleep, the deep-set blue eyes heavy-lidded and warm. The fine lines at their corners—marks of age and responsibility that she’d come to love—creased as he smiled at her.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning.”
For a moment they simply looked at each other, and she felt none of the awkwardness she’d expected. No desperate need to fill the silence with chatter, no frantic scramble for clothing and distance. Just the two of them, tangled together in the furs, the fire burned down to embers and the world outside still quiet.
He gently brushed a strand of hair from her face. “How do you feel?”
“Happy.” The word came out before she could second-guess it. “I feel happy, Njkall.”
Something shifted in his expression—a flicker of emotion too quick to name, there and gone—and his thumb traced the curve of her cheekbone. “I’m glad.”
“And you?”
His hand stilled. “I haven’t been this content in a very long time.”
She nodded, her throat unexpectedly tight. “Then we should probably stay like this forever.”
The corner of his mouth quirked. “Is that your plan?”
“I’m considering it.”
“A wise decision, little one.”
She laughed, and the moment lightened again. She snuggled closer to him, the movement bringing her naked body flush against his. The air was cool against her bare skin, but beneath the furs it was warm, and the heat of him seeped into her everywhere they touched.
“You’re going to make me forget I have responsibilities,” he murmured.
“Do you have responsibilities?”
“I do.” His hand moved to her shoulder, his thumb stroking lightly along her collarbone. “Many of them.”
“What kind?”
“The usual.”
“Then we should definitely stay here.”
He chuckled, a low rumble that she felt against her breasts. “You are a bad influence.”
“You bring it out in me.”
“So I do.” His hand slid lower, tracing the line of her spine, and she shivered. “Are you cold?”
“No.”
His touch grew bolder, his big hand spreading across her lower back, fingers splayed over the curve of her hip. “Are you sore?”
She wanted to deny it, but she hesitated long enough that his eyes darkened with regret.
“I was too rough with you.”
“You were nothing of the kind.” She reached up to touch his face, the white fur dense and soft beneath her fingers. “But you are kind of large.”
