Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Agentle hand caressing the line of my throat, nails raking absently through the hair on my chest.
Soft, sweet kisses brushed against my pulse, my collarbones. Over my heart.
Lower.
Fingers tangle in silky hair, my breath escaping in heaving pants.
A low, melodious laugh. My goddess. Her teeth nip at my wrist, and I loosen my grip so she can continue her torment.
“What do you want, baby?” she asks huskily, mischievous blue eyes staring up at me. Her graceful fingers dip beneath the waistband of my sleep trousers.
“You.” A guttural rasp. “All of you.”
She tsks, a wicked grin curling her lips, and I grow impossibly harder. “I’m already yours. Try again.”
“Your mouth,” I growl, hands clenched tight against the need to haul her up and lay her out beneath me.
Her smirk widens.
A rustle of fabric. Cool air, and then her hot mouth, and—
My eyes flutter open, breaths sawing through me.
Mayah shifts in my arms, back flush to my chest. Based on her rigid shoulders and humming energy signature, she’s already awake.
And intimately pressed against my arousal.
“Sorry,” I rumble, voice rough with sleep. She shivers. “I usually leave before you wake. I don’t want you to feel … that.”
I should move away from her, untangle our limbs. Put distance between our bodies.
I don’t.
“It’s all right,” she whispers. “When I came here, I knew I’d have to … with Faramir—”
“Don’t say his name in our bed,” I growl, hand pressing possessively over her clavicle. “Or at all.”
“Sorry,” she murmurs.
She’s quiet for a few moments while I try to rein in my raging desire.
“You’ve done so much for me,” she says softly, still facing away. “You keep me safe—and I know I don’t make it easy. And it’s your right as my husband. So … if you wanted to … I’d be willing.”
Willing.
Skies damn the voice inside my head raging at me to take her up on her offer. To take her.
A deep, shuddering sigh escapes me, my fingers tracing her collarbones, before splaying over her ribs. The thin fabric of her silk nightgown conceals nothing, every curve and dip a map I want to brand on my skin.
Pure, desperate want crackles through my veins and hums across my skin. How many times have I imagined this? Her in my arms, writhing beneath me, mindless with pleasure, wanting me. Mine. Completely, utterly mine.
“Skies, Mayah.” This is torture. My lips brush her temple, fingers dragging lower to grip the bare skin of her thigh.
I’d be willing.
My hand stills.
No. Not like this.
“I don’t want you just willing, Mayah,” I groan into her ear. “And definitely not because you think you owe me something. When I take you, I want you begging for my touch. You come to me when you ache. I can wait until then.”
A beat of stretched silence.
“I could move to another room,” she whispers. “Just for a little while. So it’s not so … hard for you.”
Her words chase away the haze dampening my senses, a sharp spike of hurt spearing my chest. She wants to sleep somewhere else? After months of being together, I don’t think I could fall asleep without her nestled beside me.
I don’t want to. The fact that she’s considering it hurts more than I care to admit.
“That’s very considerate,” I finally manage, my voice stiff. “But I want you right here. With me.”
“But you’re suffering.”
“Nothing a cold shower won’t fix.”
She shifts her hips, pressing back against my arousal, and Skies damn me if a pained growl doesn’t claw from my throat.
“A very cold shower.”