8. Chapter 8 #3
"Now your breasts. Your throat. Everywhere I'd start if these hands were on you." I rasped. She bit her lip and started to massage her breast.
I watched her hands—and I saw it. The hesitation. Her furrowed brow. Another adjustment. She was trying to find the pressure I'd used that night in the ballroom when I'd finally let myself touch her.
Her fingers were too soft. Too careful. She didn't have my calluses. Didn't have the weight of my palm.
Her brow creased in frustration. She couldn't find me with her own hands. And we both knew it.“Gently scrape the lower swell of that breast. Let me feel you, let me tease you.” She complied and with featherlight touches skimmed the lower swell of both breasts. She moaned and leaned back fully onto the lip of the tub.” “That is my hand, move it up to your throat and grasp it. Now.” She quickly caught herself by the throat and gasped.
"Now your other hand. Slide it down your stomach." Her hand dipped below the water. She went straight for the heat between her legs.
"Stop." Her hand froze inches from her center. Her eyes flew open.
"Eryndor—"
"Not yet." I forced myself to breathe.
"Tease yourself, Amaria. Touch all your most sensitive and secret parts before you give in. I want to watch you unravel before you even touch the center." "Please. Do it."
She made a whimper of pure frustration, but she obeyed. Her hand moved in slow, agonizing circles over her hip bone, down her thigh, skirting the very edge of where she needed to be. The water swirled around her movement, teasing her.
"Now," I breathed. "Touch what's mine."She dipped her hand below the water and started moving rhythmically against her clit.
My body swayed forward without permission.
One step. The Marks burned white-hot across my chest—and I wrenched myself back.
Grabbed the stone ledge of the wall behind me hard enough to rip skin.
Stay. Stay where you are. You move and you kill her.
“Grasp your throat tighter. Let me own you.” She did.
Her cheeks flushed and she went breathless.
“Harder. Show me how you need it. Show me what I'm going to do to you when there's nothing between us.”She was gasping and moaning now.
Her body released small jerks of pleasure as she got closer.
I would have given anything to taste her right now.
To give her more sensation. More pleasure.
More of everything she needed. "My mouth is on you.
You feel it? That's me. Giving you everything. "
She moaned and thrashed in the water. Every instinct I had was screaming.
Close the distance. Put your hands on her.
Drown in her. The Marks were burning so hot I could smell singed fabric.
My knuckles had gone white on the stone.
I was shaking—not from cold, not from want, from the sheer violence of holding myself still while she fell apart ten feet away from me.
I would not break. I could not.
"Now take what you need and come for me, Rupture."
With one hand she grasped her breast and the other set a relentless rhythm over her clit.
Her breathing hitched and her back arched.
“Imagine me worshiping you Amaria, and come.” And she did.
She let out a scream-snarl that was pure maddening frustration seasoned with release.
My poor Little Fox deserved so much more, and she would get it.
The bond should have been roaring between us.
Should have flooded me with everything she was feeling.
Instead—silence. I watched her shatter from the outside, starving for the echo I couldn't feel.
She panted for a few minutes in the tub, her head tipped back against the edge, chest still heaving.
I watched her closely—the flush on her skin, the way her fingers had gone slack against the water's surface, the slight tremor in her shoulders.
Then her eyes went glassy. Unfocused. The telltale signs of a mind slipping somewhere far away.
She was dropping.
"Amaria. Stay with me."
Her gaze drifted to mine. Like she was swimming through fog to reach me.
"There you are." I softened my tone just enough to let her know she was safe. "You're going to stand up now. Slowly. Use the edge of the tub."
She obeyed. Unsteady. Water sluicing off her skin, firelight catching every curve and hollow. I wanted to be the one drying her off. Wanted to wrap her in my arms and carry her to the bed and hold her until the trembling stopped.
Instead, I grabbed the towel from the chair.
"Dry off." I set it on the edge of the tub, close enough for her to reach. "Start with your hair. Then your arms. Slow. There's no rush."
She moved like she was underwater. Dreamlike. Each motion deliberate and unhurried as she followed my instructions. Hair. Arms. Shoulders. The curve of her neck.
I watched every second of it. Let my gaze be the touch I couldn't give her.
"Good girl. Now wrap the blanket around yourself. Tight."
I crossed to the bed and grabbed one of the heavy furs, tossing it onto the floor in front of the fire. Close enough to the hearth that the heat would sink into her bones.
I gave her a second blanket. She wrapped it around her shoulders. Pulled it tight across her chest like armor—or like an embrace she couldn't get from me.
"Lie down." I gestured to the fur. "On your side. Facing the fire."
She sank down onto the floor. Curled into the blanket. The flames painted her face in gold and shadow, and I had to stop breathing for a moment just to survive how beautiful she looked.
I lowered myself to the floor. Close. As close as the Marks would allow. I could feel the heat of the fire on my skin, and I knew she could too.
"What about you?"
Her voice was soft. Drowsy. But her eyes had dropped to the obvious strain against my pants, and I saw the question there—the guilt already starting to creep back in.
She just shattered for me and she's worried about my comfort.
Gods, this female.
"I just promised you no one else would touch me but you, didn't I?"
She blinked. Processing.
"That includes me." I held her gaze. "My body waits for you, Little Fox. Even my own hands don't get what's yours."
Wonder flickered across her face. Maybe she was beginning to understand what it meant to be wanted like this.
"But you're—" She glanced down again. "That has to be—"
"Uncomfortable?" A low laugh rumbled out of me.
"Agonizing. I've been hard since you unclasped the first hook on your jerkin.
I'll probably be hard until the sun comes up.
" My smile sharpened. "And I'm going to savor every second of it.
Because this—" I gestured between us. "This wanting?
This ache? It means I'm alive. It means you're here.
It means we survived long enough to want each other again. "
I rose and grabbed the remaining furs from the bed, layering them over the one she was already lying on.
Added a pillow near her head. Arranged everything so she'd be cocooned in warmth—the fire at her front, softness beneath her, and me as close as the marks would allow.
If I couldn't hold her tonight, I'd make damn sure the room did it for me.
I lowered myself back down beside her.
"Besides." My voice dropped. "When I finally do get to touch you—when there's nothing between us and I can put my hands on you for real—I want to be so desperate for you that I lose my mind. I want to have been waiting so long that the first contact breaks me."
I held her gaze. She shuddered. The blanket pulled tighter around her.
"That's..." She wet her lips. "That's either the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me or the most terrifying."
"Yes."
A wet laugh broke out of her. Still shaking. Still raw from everything we'd been through tonight. But real.
I settled onto my back. Let the fire wash over me—the same flames that were warming her skin right now. The same heat touching us both.
This is what we get, I thought. Shared warmth. Shared air. The same fire on two bodies that can't meet.
It wasn't enough. But it was ours and I would take what I could get.
Then, soft: "Eryndor?"
"Mm."
"I don't know how to do this." Her voice was small. Vulnerable in a way she never let anyone see. "Be this close to you and not—"
"We’ll learn." I turned my head to look at her. Found her eyes already on me. "Together. This is what we have right now. And I'm not wasting a single second of it."
She held my gaze for a long moment. Her expression yielded. Released.
"Okay." She pulled the blanket tighter. Let her eyes drift closed. "Together."
I watched her breathe. In. Out. The furrow between her brows slowly smoothing. The death-grip on the blanket loosening one finger at a time. She was letting herself be held—by the furs, the fire, my voice. By everything except my hands.
It was the closest thing to peace I'd seen on her face in months.
The fire crackled. I thought she'd drifted off. Then, so quiet I almost missed it:
"Eryndor."
"Mm."
Her eyes stayed closed. Her voice was soft but unyielding.
"When we break this curse..." A pause. "I'm going to touch you first."
My chest cracked open.
"And I'm not going to be gentle."
I laughed and it quickly turned into a groan. This wicked little fae. Even half-asleep. Even wrung out and vulnerable. Still finding ways to bring me to my knees.
"Is that a promise?" My voice came out rough.
"It's a threat."
I smiled into the dark.
That's my girl.
I stayed awake long after her breathing evened out. Watching her. Guarding her. Memorizing the way the firelight played across her features.
Soon, I promised her silently. Soon I'm going to touch you and never stop.
But for now, this was enough.
For now, she was here. She was safe. She was mine.
And I was hers.
And we would burn the world down before we let anyone take that away again.