Chapter 23 Mav
MAV
The moment her lips touched mine, the world narrowed to a single point of heat. She tasted of rain and mercy I didn’t deserve. My heart thundered as if it had been waiting for this—for her—not for days, but for years.
My chest tightened.
Not like this.
Not now.
She’d just been dragged through the seven hells—snatched from her feet, held at knifepoint.
And now she was pressing herself into my arms like I was safety, salvation.
And I wanted to be. I wanted her. But I wasn’t the kind of man who took kisses in the aftermath of fear. Who mistook adrenaline for affection.
I broke the kiss. “Quinn.”
She froze. Her brows drew together above rounded eyes. “I—” she stammered. “I thought—”
“I don’t want this,” I said.
The light in her eyes guttered out, replaced by confusion and hurt. I hated it. Hated that I’d put it there.
Panic rose sharp and sour, burning the back of my throat. “I don’t want it this way,” I blurted. “I mean—you don’t owe me anything. Not for what happened today. I didn’t get you out of there with any sort of expectation.”
She gaped at me.
I raked a hand through my hair, grasping for words. “You don’t have to...reward me. I didn’t—” My voice caught. I shook my head hard. “I’m not expecting anything from you. I never have.”
I thought that would make it better, but the silence thickened.
She looked at me like I’d dropped something fragile for the sport of watching it shatter.
A line formed between her brows as her lips pressed into a thin line. “It was not…payment,” she said finally. “I wanted to kiss you.”
Now it was my turn to be entirely confused.
She wanted to kiss me?
Not because I’d saved her. Not because she felt beholden. But because she wanted to. And now, I’d bruised her pride. I might have damaged the trust between us.
I wanted the kiss too. I’d dreamed of it—her mouth on mine, the soft sounds she’d make, her fingers fisting in my shirt to drag me closer.
And yet—I’d still pulled away, because I feared she was functioning on relief and gratitude.
I couldn’t live with myself if I took something that wasn’t freely given.
“Do you not find me attractive?” she asked.
My head snapped up. “Saints, Quinn. That’s not the problem.”
She held my gaze. “Then what is?”
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
Tried again.
But nothing came out. Because what was I supposed to say?
I’m falling for you so fast it terrifies me. You make me feel like someone I’m not sure I deserve to be. Every time you look at me like I’m more than I am, I don’t know whether to reach for you or run.
None of those words made it to my lips. I sat there in silence. And she took it for the answer it wasn’t.
Her expression shuttered. She nodded once—the kind of nod people give when they’re trying to be brave—then turned without another word and slipped into the washroom, closing the door.
All I could do was sit there, hollow, aching, and furious with myself. I waited, hoping she might call for me. Maybe I could fix it if I stood still long enough. As if holding my breath could somehow undo the last few minutes and make me brave. It didn’t.
When she finally emerged, her gaze flicked toward me once—guarded, unreadable.
She crossed to the bed and slid beneath the covers without a word, facing away.
“Quinn, I—”
“Please,” she said, her voice flat.
The word hit harder than anything the goblins had thrown at me. “I’m sorry,” I said anyway.
I stood and moved to the armchair, wanting to give her as much space as possible while staying in the room. Sitting down, I searched for the right words—something that would explain without sounding like an excuse. Straining my ears, I could tell by her rapid breathing that she wasn’t asleep yet.
Gathering all the nerve I could muster, I rose from the armchair, crossed the room, and stood at her side of the bed. “Come with me,” I said quietly.
She didn’t answer. Didn’t move.
I softened my tone further. “Please.”
A beat passed.
Then, she sat up slowly. Her eyes met mine, brimming with questions and suspicion.
I held out a hand.
Let me show you.
To my utter relief, she placed her hand in mine.
The balcony creaked softly beneath our feet as I guided her outside. Mist coiled around the railings. Far off, birds trilled their sleepy songs. The canopy stretched in a tapestry woven of moonlight and shadow, clouds drifting lazily across the scatter of stars.
Quinn leaned against the railing, hair stirring in the breeze. She whispered, almost to herself, “It is beautiful.”
“Nothing compares to you.” The words slipped free before I could stop them.
When her eyes met mine, my chest tightened. I couldn’t stand to be apart from her a moment longer. I stepped into her space, close enough for her breath to mingle with mine. Close enough to fall. But I’d already been falling. Long before this night. Long before I was ready to admit it to myself.
My palm rose to cup her cheek, thumb grazing the curve of her jaw. Her skin was warm beneath my touch, softer than it had any right to be after the horrors of the night. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t move away. Emboldened, I slid my other hand to the small of her back, bringing her closer.
I bent my head and kissed her.
It wasn’t gentle.
It couldn’t be.
The moment our mouths met, it was as if everything we’d been holding back—fear, fury, longing—ignited at once.
She moaned softly against my lips, and I drank in the sound with a hunger I could no longer leash.
Her hands rose, clutching at my shoulders, then sliding to the back of my neck, anchoring herself to me.
My grip tightened at her waist, pulling her flush against me.
Her lips were warm and soft and urgent beneath mine.
I angled my head, deepening it further, tasting salt and heat and every breathy sound.
She met me with equal fervor, her lips moving against mine, answering every ragged beat of my heart with her own.
The wildness eased into something quieter. My hands slid up her back, cradling her as though she were something fragile I’d been entrusted to keep safe. I kissed her again—softer this time. Less need. More devotion. She tilted her chin, asking without words, and I gave her more.
When we finally parted, we were both breathless. Her lips were flushed, her eyes wide and luminous in the moonlight. I pressed my forehead to hers, holding her close.
“Did that feel,” I whispered, “like I didn’t want to kiss you?”
A soft, stunned laugh slipped out of her. “You have more than proven your point.”
She was still smiling when I kissed her again.
Need rose fast and hot. I kissed her like a man who had nearly lost her.
Because I had. My hands slid beneath her thighs, lifting her easily.
She gasped into my mouth, smiling against the kiss.
Her legs wrapped around my waist as I carried her through the balcony doors into the quiet warmth of our room.
The bed waited, impossibly far away. I kissed her as I walked—slow, careful, greedy—my lips mapping hers.
Her fingers tangled in my hair, and I couldn’t tell where I ended and she began.
At the edge of the mattress, I lowered to set her down, but she caught me by the shirt, pulling me with her.
We sank into the blankets together, mouths moving, hearts racing in time.
My hand splayed across her back. Her body curved into mine.
I was drowning in her scent, in her warmth.
Her nightgown was nothing but a whisper of fabric beneath my palms. I could feel every curve of her, every point where her body met mine. The soft rasp of my name on her breath was nearly enough to unravel me completely. But even as I kissed her deeper, my thoughts began to splinter at the edges.
This eclipsed desire.
I wasn’t just falling for her—
I was falling in love with her.
And I couldn’t let this be rushed.
I kissed her more slowly. Then slower still. I pulled back to meet her eyes. She looked up at me, lips parted, chest rising in quick, uneven breaths.
“I want this, I want you,” I said softly. “But not tonight.”
Confusion flickered in her eyes. “Why not?”
I brushed her hair away from her face. “Because I don’t want this to be… aftermath. I don’t want to take anything from you. Not like this.”
Her gaze didn’t falter. “You are not taking.”
My lips curved. “But I want more than this moment. I want every part of you. If and when you’re ready to give it.” I kissed her again, a gentle brush of lips. “Can I hold you?”
She nodded and melted into me with a sigh.
I leaned down and kissed her forehead. Her temple. The tip of her nose. Slow, cherishing touches. She smiled, and we both shifted, easing onto our sides, limbs tangled. Her hand found mine, fingers lacing through like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And maybe it was.
Maybe this was what right felt like.
I pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, my cheek settling against her hair, breathing her in. If I could sleep this way forever, I’d call myself lucky.
My body ached for her.
But my heart ached more.
I lay there, watching her lashes lower, listening as her breathing slowed, savoring the rhythm of her heartbeat. And I swear—I thought my chest might split from the sheer force of everything I felt for her. I exhaled, slow and full.
I didn’t need more.
Only this.
Only her.