Chapter 46
Chapter Forty-Six
TALLY
The first of the sun’s rays burn a path through the window, warming the flesh that isn’t wrapped around Cyrus’s still sleeping form.
She’s so warm– soft and cosy– as I sink further into her side, twisting my legs tighter with hers.
I know we have to get up. Hago and his minions are downstairs, locked up and undoubtedly angry about being made to wait.
But I don’t want to get up. We stayed up so late, spending time at the pool until the late evening, and dinner became more of a late night snack as we talked and kissed.
And we definitely made sure to make each other come a few more times too.
There’s a heavy bang at the door, making me jump and waking Cyrus. She jumps to a seated position, wrapping her arm around my front to keep me behind her.
“Wake up lovebirds. We have torture to dole out!” Amara’s voice rings out, far too chirpy at this time of day.
A giggle echoes, behind the closed door. “They might be fucking, Amara.”
There’s a huff and then another bang against the wood. “As if Cyrus hasn’t interrupted us before.”
Cyrus groans, throwing herself back onto the bed dramatically. “Give us five minutes, arseholes.”
Arms wrap tightly around my middle, pulling me back down onto Cyrus’s chest. She’s so soft, I could easily fall back to sleep, the additional banging at the door stops me.
“Don’t you dare fall back to sleep! Or I’m starting without you.”
This time Cyrus’s grumble is dangerously close to a growl, sitting up with me still draped over her chest. “Impatient fucks, I’m up.”
Amusement fills me, as a deep scowl carves its place into Cyrus’s features. She’s adorable when she shows emotion. I hate the fact she ever felt the need to stonewall.
Patting her chest as I slide off the bed, the sound of booted footsteps walking away from the door, thankfully, leaving us alone to get dressed. Cyrus continues her tirade of grumbles as she gets up too, muttering threats and insults to herself.
It’s only once I’m standing in front of Cyrus’s wardrobe, that I acknowledge the fact I have no clothes here. And I’m certainly not putting on the same dress I’ve been wearing the last two days again.
Guess I’m raiding her wardrobe then.
Only problem with that is, she’s a fucking giant in comparison to me. None of this is going to fit me. Cyrus quietly dresses next to me, not noticing my conundrum. Not until I huff and cross my arms over my chest, one hip popped out to the side.
“What’s wrong?” She stands from fixing her boots, quizzical eyes observing my very much still nakedness.
Waving my hands in the general direction of the wardrobe, I huff again and frown. “None of this is going to fit me.”
She’s silent for a second before she bursts out laughing.
I pout as I watch her laugh. “It’s not funny, I’ll drown in your clothes.”
“It is a little bit funny. Give me a second, I’ll figure it out.” Hands fly into the wardrobe, sliding garments around until she decides on something with a nod. “Here, try this.”
Black fabric is thrown at my face, blocking out my vision for a moment. When I peel it back, I give her a flat look, whilst she looks all too impressed with herself. “Arsehat.”
“Put it on, I have an idea.”
Rolling my eyes, I take in the fabric. It’s a long black shirt with adjustable ties. Long enough to hit my knees, but with a bit of cinching it could make a cute, if unconventional, dress.
Sliding the fabric on, Cyrus goes back to rummaging through her wardrobe, looking for god knows what else.
The silky material glides over my frame, resting on every dip and curve and– like I guessed– hits just above my knees.
Tying up the front undoes the illusion though, the garments too big, it hangs off me in waves.
“Cyrus, it’s still too big.” It’s petulant, but I stomp a foot anyway.
She hushes me, treating me like the child I am currently acting like. I pout again. The expression souring my mood for what’s already going to be a difficult day.
Cyrus pulls out more fabric, this one blood red overlaid in black lace. It’s stunning craftsmanship and when she drops to her knees and winds it around my waist, I realise it's an under-bust corset. She cinches me in perfectly, knotting the ties until I have some shape once more.
From her knees she looks up at me, awe spiralling around those deep blues.
“Now you look perfect for committing torture.” She whispers, leaning forward to plant a kiss over my navel.
“It’ll be a shame to get this covered in blood.” My tone matches her low one. Afraid to break such a tender moment.
“I’ll buy you more.”
Banging at the door interrupts again. Cyrus’s smooth, sweet expression melts into one of annoyance. Eye roll to match.
“You’re five minutes are up, get out here.”
Stepping back out of the hold– a very much sulking– Cyrus has on me. I glide over to the door, throwing open the thick wood and revealing Amara and Mabel.
With my best grin I use for serving patrons at the tavern, I address them. “Well what are we waiting for, let's make some bastards bleed.”
Without waiting for a response, I walk straight past them, heading to the brig, without even checking to make sure they're following me.