Chapter 32
SOLEIL
That night, Soleil fell into a quiet, deep sleep.
She stirred before dawn, warmth pooled beneath her ribs, the same lightness in her chest.
When she opened her eyes, she saw them.
Above her bed, suspended in the air like starlight caught mid-spin, two spectral wolves danced.
One was hers, red, fluid, and graceful.
The other, unmistakably his, glowed violet-gold, massive and fluid, elegant and protective.
They circled one another in play, weaving in arcs along the ceiling of her small room, their auras touching, glancing, pulsing with light and warmth.
Soleil blinked, dazed, then smiled, until she remembered him.
She pushed the blanket off and slipped from bed, barefoot on the cold floor, in shorts and a tank top.
She wrapped a tattered shawl over her shoulders and padded to the door.
When it hissed open, the corridor greeted her in dim silence.
There he was.
Curled in the far corner.
His coat drawn around him, his boot laces loosened.
His head rested back against the wall, his brow soft in sleep, his lips parted.
Thinner than she liked, hollowed by guilt and longing.
Yet still so fokkin’ handsome, so magnetic, so freakin’ beautiful.
Her heart clenched so hard it stole her breath.
His violet glowing eyes snapped wide and found hers.
She jolted, but he didn’t move, nor speak.
He just gazed at her like she was a dream he feared would vanish.
Their spectral wolves appeared, prowled shoulder to shoulder, before coming to a stop in the chasm between the couple.
They circled once, twice, in unison, then vanished in a burst of golden shimmer.
Soleil held his gaze as she walked to him.
When she got to the space before him, she took a deep breath and extended her hand.
Santi stared at it.
His massive chest rose once, and he winced as if the gesture hurt.
Then he reached for her.
When their palms met, she tugged, pulling him to his feet.
Wordlessly, she led him down the corridor, back into her tiny room.
The door closed behind them with a soft hiss.
She led him to the bed and, without hesitation, pulled him down with her onto the narrow mattress.
He shrugged off his cloak and toe-d off his boots before sinking in beside her.
He scarcely fit, broad shoulders crowding the space, but he curled his frame as small as it could go.
Still, not one word was uttered between them.
When she turned to face him, he mirrored her, the cramped cot drawing them so close their breaths mingled.
Her hand lifted, hesitant but aching to touch him.
She brushed her fingers across his cheek, relearning the shape of him.
His breath hitched, and he shuddered, but still she went on, and he took an inhale, allowing her exploration.
His skin was warm, as her caress slid to the broad forehead softened by strands of his amethyst and sable hair.
She smoothed them back as her gaze traced the ridge of his aquiline nose. One that gave him a noble profile.
His cheeks were more sunken now, his cheekbones more pronounced, the angles of his face more severe.
His lips were still full, still lush, still maddeningly sensual.
Fokk, she missed them, and how they used to whisper ‘mi sol’ into her collarbone and nape, making her tremble with need.
Her thumb brushed against them now, and they parted, breath escaping in an exhale that ghosted over her wrist.
A rough-shorn beard covered his jaw, kept in check, but not with the grooming care he once put into it.
She ran her fingertips along it, perceiving the grit and heat of him beneath her skin.
And always, those eyes.
Those sapphire and violet eyes she adored, that burned with passion, fury, and fire.
They now heated for her, scorching, flaming as they took her in like she was his divine goddess, freakin’ undoing her.
Eyes that, even in their torment, never stopped seeing her as his.
She swallowed and ducked her head, unable to handle their burn.
Her hand slipped lower to her chest, still muscled but more lean under his tee.
He shuddered, like her touch had unstitched a deep wound, releasing the bitter bile within his soul.
Then his hand rose, slower than hers, worshipful in its hesitance.
His knuckles traced the round of her cheek, the line of her jaw, the place just beneath her ear where her pulse beat steadily.
His thumb trembled as it grazed the edge of her mouth, then moved upward, over the bow of her top lip with heartbreaking gentleness.
He touched her like she was fragile, as if she might vanish into smoke or memory.
His fingertips swept over the strong curve of her brow, the slope of her nose, the fall of her lashes.
When they reached the outer corner of her eye, he paused.
Then brushed away the tears slipping from her eyes in silence.
He tipped her jaw up so her mist-filled eyes would meet his own, glistening and unashamed.
They leaned in together, foreheads touching.
Then he kissed her.
Soleil, aching, open, undone, and desperate for it, let him.
Their lips meshed in an unhurried, tender melding that unraveled all the bitterness and distress they suffered all these weeks apart.
They lost themselves in worshiping the other, in sacred re-connection and devotion.
Santi’s hands gripped her like a man afraid she’d disappear.
She held onto him with the same desperation.
Eventually, his eyes fluttered closed.
His body sank into hers with trust, his breathing slowed, and a slight, gentle smile curved his lips, the first in what felt like forever.
He nestled his head in her nape, and her arms cradled him, fingers stroking his hair.
While he fell asleep, Soleil stayed awake.
It was her turn to watch over him, to breathe with him, to rest against the slow, steady beat of his heart beside hers.
At one point, Santi stirred, murmured inaudible words, and shifted closer in his sleep.
She leaned down, kissed the corner of his mouth with the gentlest brush of lips, and whispered into the dark.
‘Santi. I love you so.’
For the first time in so long, her soul quieted, her spirit at peace.
SANTIAGO
Santi woke to her.
To her warmth, her foil, and her beauty.
Soleil, still and quiet, was facing him in the half-light that spilled in from the corridor slit.
Her red hair, cropped close to her jawline, unruly in places, soft in others, suited her, highlighting her sculpted features.
His eyes traced every line of her.
From the slope of her high cheekbones to the lush bow of her lips, and the delicate straight nose he’d once kissed the bridge of in the dark.
Her lashes lay against her porcelain skin, dusted with tiny freckles.
Even sleeping, her face held an echo of sadness.
Strength too. Like she’d been reforged in silence, her experiences carving even more grace into her.
Her eyes fluttered open.
He didn’t shift, nor look away. She sustained his gaze, calm and steady.
With a fluid move, she sat, shifting until she was kneeling beside him, her spine straight, eyes never leaving his.
Her hands rose to the hem of her vest.
She pulled it over her head, then unhooked the waistband of her sleep shorts and pushed them down.
Every movement was deliberate, each second making his pulse pound louder in his throat.
Santi threw an arm over his face, the weight of the moment crashing into him with violent tenderness.
His breath broke as he shuddered into his palm, not from lust, but from the sheer ache of relief, of love so sharp it hurt to breathe.
Of the unbearable beauty of having her back, here, now, choosing him.
When her hands touched him again, his chest, his ribs, his jaw, he lowered his hands and met her halfway.
He pulled her to him, then, with a grunt, turned her so she lay underneath him.
He knifed up, staring down at her, lips parting to utter a raw, rough, desperate rasp. ‘You are so fokkin’ beautiful. So real. So mine.’
‘Naam,’ she whispered.
It was all the impetus he needed. He stripped off his tee, then his utility pants and shorts, revealing his chest, his thighs, and rippling muscles.
His cock appeared, throbbing and seeping, bobbing and thick, and she moaned, staring at it, widening her thighs, readying herself for him.
She slid a hand between her legs and stroked her slit, her other hand pulling on her nipple.
‘No cumming before me,’ he growled.
Her eyes flamed as she arched her spine.
With a growl, he bent over her, his weight braced on his forearms, his breath unsteady against her throat.
Her hand on her tit lowered, capturing his shaft, pumping it as she cried out.
He took over the stroking of her pussy, as his mouth meshed once more with hers.
Each harsh groan and every exhale was a promise that he would never again let her face a dark universe alone.
Her touch roamed over the ridges of his spine, tracing them.
He shuddered, pressing his forehead to hers.
‘Tell me this is real,’ he whispered.
‘It’s real,’ she breathed. ‘Now fokk me.’
With a growl, he slid into her, pumping so deep she mewled, clutching the back of his nape, her thighs anchoring themselves, clasping his hips.
His thrusts shifted into a rhythmic devotion, not frantic but slow and penetrating, bottoming out deep inside her.
Her pussy clenched around his length, and he gave in to remaking himself in her light, skin, heat, breath, and a bliss born of memory and forgiveness.
Every inch of her body against his felt like a prayer answered.
Each sigh from her lips pulled him further out of the pit of hell his soul had mired itself in.
When she trembled beneath him, he held her face as she came apart and shuddered.
He kept gliding in and out of her, remaining inside the circle of her limbs, his heartbeat syncing with hers.
His thumb traced her jaw, a slow, grounding touch.
‘Mi sol,’ he said into her nape. ‘I adore you.’
She smiled, fingers tangled in his dark locks. ‘I’ll adore you more.’
She then pressed her forehead to his and whispered his name.
He closed his eyes and convulsed as his bliss hit, and an incandescent joy flooded his soul.
Santi woke to stillness and the soft, rhythmic breath of the woman he loved.