Chapter 18 #2
This was what he’d wanted all day. Not merely her body, although he wanted that with a persistence that was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.
He wanted her things mixed with his. Her voice filling his quarters.
The small knife he’d carved for her lying beside one of his own.
Her half-finished necklace on the shelf.
Her clothing hanging near his weapons harness. Evidence of her everywhere he looked.
The thought edged dangerously close to a future he had no right to assume, and he turned away from it.
She disappeared briefly into her little sleeping cave, and he forced himself not to watch.
The past few nights had been difficult enough. Their intimacy had changed. She touched him with increasing confidence. She kissed him because she wanted to kiss him. She had allowed him to touch her, to bring her pleasure, and each new freedom she offered made the next one harder to wait for.
But patience had brought them here. He would not abandon it simply because waiting had become difficult. He went into his sleeping cave and lay down. She would come if she wanted to. Or she wouldn’t.
Either choice was hers.
A short time later he heard bare feet crossing the stone, and his body tightened immediately.
She appeared at the entrance a moment later wearing the soft blue gown she wore to sleep in now, her dark hair loose around her shoulders.
She hesitated for only a second before coming to him.
He lifted the furs and she slipped beneath them, nestling against his side with a familiarity that made his chest ache.
He put his arm around her, and for several heartbeats neither of them moved. Then her hand settled on his chest, and her fingers stroked slowly through his fur. He closed his eyes.
“Polly.”
“Hmm?”
“What are you doing?”
“Touching you.”
“I noticed.”
Her hand moved lower, and his entire body went rigid.
“Little one.”
She pushed herself up onto one elbow. “Look at me.”
He opened his eyes. Her eyes were clear. There was nervousness there, but it wasn’t fear. It looked remarkably like the nervousness clawing through him.
“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” she said.
His heart slammed once against his ribs.
“Polly—”
“No.” She put one finger against his mouth. “Don’t start.”
He frowned. “Start what?”
“Giving me reasons to stop before I’ve even started.”
His mouth closed.
“I know I can stop,” she continued, her voice softening. “You’ve spent a year teaching me that. I know you’ll stop if I ask. I know you’ll never take anything I don’t give you.” Her hand returned to his chest. “You don’t have to keep proving it.”
He stared at her. For so long, he’d believed that loving her meant making certain every door remained open. He’d built escape routes into every touch, every conversation, every moment of desire. Now she was asking him to trust her to find the door herself if she wanted it.
“Then tell me what you want,” he said.
Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away.
“You.”
The single word went through him with astonishing force.
She swallowed. “I want you.”
His restraint nearly broke. She wasn’t here because she needed comfort. Or because she’d had a nightmare. Or because the world frightened her and his bed was the one place she felt safe. She was here because she wanted him.
He lifted one hand and cupped her face.
“Are you certain?”
Her eyes narrowed, and he almost smiled.
“That was the last time,” he promised.
“It had better be.”
Then she kissed him, and this time, he stopped holding still. He rolled carefully, bringing her beneath him and supporting most of his weight on one arm as his mouth found hers.
She made a small startled sound. He froze instinctively, and her hands immediately tightened in his fur.
“Don’t you dare.”
A laugh broke out of him, low and rough. “Very well.”
He kissed her again. This time he let himself answer her fully.
Not with everything he wanted, but with enough to let her feel the hunger he’d kept hidden for so long.
His tongue stroked hers. His hand moved slowly along her side, feeling the warmth of her through the thin fabric of her gown, and she arched into his touch.
She wanted him. Gods. She wanted him.
He had imagined this moment too many times during the long nights when she’d slept curled innocently against him. In every fantasy he’d allowed himself, he’d imagined hunger. He hadn’t imagined joy.
That was what nearly destroyed him.
Not the softness of her mouth or the small sounds she made when he touched her, but the sight of her beneath him with bright eyes and flushed cheeks, happy because he was finally giving her something she had chosen.
She grabbed the edge of her gown, and he covered her hands with his.
She stilled, questioning rather than afraid.
“Let me,” he said.
Her gaze searched his, then her hands relaxed.
He lifted the gown slowly over her body and tossed it aside.
She lay naked beneath him, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe as he gazed at those small, perfect curves.
She had been naked in his bed many times, but this was entirely different.
She had chosen this, chosen to come to him as a female comes to a male, because she wanted him.
The distinction struck him with almost painful force.
She shifted beneath his stare. “You’re doing the rock thing again.”
“I am admiring you.”
“Oh.”
“May I?”
She rolled her eyes. “Njkall.”
“Not a question about stopping,” he said quickly. “A question about whether I may admire you with my hands.”
Her mouth curved. “Yes. With your hands and your mouth and any other part you want to use”
So he touched her. Slowly, not because he feared she would change her mind, but because he’d waited too long to rush now.
He traced the delicate line of her collarbone, the narrow span of her waist, the soft curve of her hip.
She watched him, her breath coming faster as he explored, and he watched her, learning the language of her pleasure the way he had learned the language of her fear.
“Does this feel good?” he asked as his fingers circled the tip of one small breast.
“Yes.”
He bent his head to taste her. She gasped as his tongue flicked across the sensitive peak, and he didn’t hold back the low growl of approval.
“I like the sounds you make,” he murmured against her skin.
“I think you like making me make them.”
He smiled against her. “Both.”
His mouth traveled down her body, her skin hot beneath his lips. When he parted her thighs and tasted the slick, delicious heat at her core, she cried out.
“More,” she panted. “Njkall, please.”
He couldn’t deny her. He found the small bud hidden at the top of her sex and circled it with his tongue. She cried out and twisted beneath him, her hips rising to meet him.