Chapter 43 #2
Just try. I can at least do that.
I take a deep breath, then force it out in a huff.
“I’ve not been fair to you either, Lyra.
I should have told you about the job, but .
. .” I reach around to scratch the back of my neck.
My muscles are tense, coiled and bunched up.
“But I really didn’t think I would get the job.
And when they did offer it to me, I told you as soon as I could. ”
“I appreciate that,” Lyra says, voice soft. “And I’m happy for you.” This time when she meets my eyes, there’s a sad smile lingering behind them. “I really am. I think this job will be amazing. You’re going to love it.”
She’s saying one thing, but I still hear the hurt in her voice, still see the sadness in her eyes.
Finally, I’m able to push my fear away for long enough to reach across the table—being careful not to jostle the platter and Juniper—and take Lyra’s small hand in mine. Her skin is warm to the touch, though not as warm as I remember it being the last time I touched her.
“I’m not taking the job to get away from you, Lyra.
I . . . I don’t want to be away from you.
I should’ve said that first thing, when you saw that letter.
But I was scared.” I huff and shake my head, horns casting shadows over the table from the window at my back.
“I’m not good at . . . at needing people.
I’ve been alone for a long time, and it’s made me scared to try anything new.
But then you came along, with your fire and your snappy attitude”—that makes Lyra crack a smile—“and something changed for me. And it terrified me. Hell, it still does.”
Slowly, Lyra squeezes my fingers with hers.
“It terrifies me too.” Her shoulders soften a bit, drooping down.
“After my mom left, I stopped trusting people. And that’s probably not an excuse, I know.
But it changed things for me, made me hesitant to connect with people when I knew they could leave me.
And when I heard about the job, I just felt like it was happening all over again, like you were going to walk away and never look back.
So I tried to pull away from you. Tried to act like it didn’t matter.
” Tears start to well up along her lower lashes.
“But it does matter,” she whispers. “You matter.”
“Lyra, I—”
“Wait!” She holds up a hand to stop me, then uses it to scrub the tears from her eyes.
“I’m not done.” She sniffles, then finally meets my gaze.
Her red eyes are made more vibrant by the glassiness from her tears, and they burn right through me.
“The way I acted was wrong. I should’ve just told you that I didn’t want you to leave.
It’s still selfish, but at least it would’ve been the truth.
The truth is that . . . that I’ll miss you, Cairn. And I don’t want to lose you.”
More tears slip from her eyes, and I abandon the warmth of my latte cup to reach out and wipe them from her flushed cheeks.
Then I cup her face in my hand and say, “I’m going to miss you too.
And I don’t want to lose you either. But the conservatory isn’t so far.
And you know we couldn’t keep this up here. Moonhart already knows about us, and—”
Lyra jerks up. “What? Moonhart knows? Why didn’t she say anything?”
I shrug. “Probably because I’m taking the job. I won’t be an employee here anymore, so . . .”
A long silence settles between us. Juniper stops eating, and her eyes dart between me and Lyra like she’s watching an intense runeball match.
“So, you’re leaving,” Lyra says slowly, like she’s choosing each word carefully, “but you still want to . . . ?”
With another deep sigh, I push up from my chair, then reach down and guide Lyra out of hers.
She’s so small beside me that she has to tip her head way back as I reach down to cup her cheeks in both my hands.
“I still want to be with you. Hell, I want to actually be with you, without having to sneak around and be worried that someone might see. I want to take you to that cheese shop I mentioned, and spend holidays with you, and not have to hide how I feel. I don’t know what this is, but I do know that I don’t want to give up on it.
I want to keep trying.” I stroke her freckled cheeks with the wide pads of my thumbs, my brown hands a stark contrast against her pale face. “Do you?”
Lyra stares up at me. Her crimson eyes reflect the winter sunlight coming through the window, and this close up, I can see the bands of yellow and gold encircling her irises.
Her lips part. I hold my breath. And for a moment, she says nothing.
Her gaze holds mine, and I swear I can almost see something softening in her eyes.
Like she’s finally letting down her walls for me.
And I’ll be damned if I don’t do the same.
Finally, her lips move, but instead of forming words, they press together, and then she’s pushing up onto her toes.
And she kisses me.
It feels so, so good. She’s like the first cool sip of water after a long, arduous journey, the feel of collapsing into a deep mattress after a full day of back-breaking work beneath the summer sun. I can’t get enough.
I slide my fingers from her cheeks to the back of her head, tangling my fingers in her hair as I taste her lips with my tongue. She tastes of cinnamon and vanilla, both spicy and sweet.
It’s oddly fitting for Lyra Wilder.
Our kisses are coming faster now, breaths gasped each time we break for air.
She grasps the hem of my sweater in her fists and starts tugging on me, guiding me backward, out of the kitchen and into the hall that leads to my bedroom.
It’s not smooth, but we laugh each time we stumble, and I steady her with my hands around her waist.
We make it into my bedroom, where I didn’t quite finish making the bed—but I suppose it doesn’t matter now.
Lyra pushes me down onto the end of the bed—or gives me the hardest shove she can muster, and I play along—then closes the door behind her. She leans back against it, breathing hard, hair mussed from where my fingers were grasping it. She bites her lip.
“Cairn,” she says softly. “I . . . I’m ready.”
My brain is muddled from the fire in her kisses, and I can hardly focus on the words that come out of her mouth. “For what?” I finally bring myself to ask.
Still biting her lip, she pushes off the door and walks slowly toward me.
She comes to stand between my legs where I’m still seated on the bed, her arms wrapping around my neck.
Pressing her forehead to mine, she whispers, “To feel you.” Slowly, she trails one hand down my chest, her fingertips finding my cock where it’s already straining against my thick winter trousers. “To feel all of you.”
Oh.
Oh.
I lean back, leveling her with a hard stare. “I don’t know. I don’t want to—”
“To hurt me.” She tips her head to one side. “I know.” With the hand still draped around my neck, she starts to play with the hair at my nape, drawing a rumbling sigh from me. “But we’ve got to at least try. And if it’s too much, I’ll tell you.”
Now I narrow my eyes at her. “Promise?”
Lyra laughs, and it’s more beautiful and more soothing than any piece of music I’ve yet heard. “I promise. So . . .” She gives me another little shove, guiding me back so I have to recline on my elbows on the bed. “Are you ready?”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. And I tell her the truth. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready for you, Lyra Wilder.”
Her eyes shimmer with mischief. “Good answer.”
Then she tugs the cord of my trousers free, grabs hold of my waistband, and guides the fabric down, giggling as I have to lift my hips to help her. As soon as the fabric releases me, my cock springs up, the tip already glistening.
And I barely have time to draw breath before Lyra crawls onto the mattress between my thighs, grabs hold of my shaft with one hand, and draws her tongue down its hard length, holding my gaze all the while.
This fire witch will be the end of me.
But I’ll go happily into that unknown dark—as long as hers is the last face I see.