34. Very Much Married
I t takes Dorian a long time—maybe even hours—to finish his story.
Entire universes seem to have been born and died by the time he gets to the end.
Selene lets him talk. At first, she is too shocked to speak, then too amazed, then too sad.
To have seen everything he has, to have walked so much of it alone, to have lost…
Her. To have lost their child.
It’s all so much, so she lets him speak. He needs to talk, to tell her everything. She needs to listen, to understand.
After Dorian finishes speaking, the room goes quiet. The fire crackles, and nothing else dares make a sound.
“Say something,” Dorian whispers. “Please.”
Selene doesn’t hesitate. She shuffles towards him on the bed, closing the space between them, her voice barely a whisper.
“You love me?”
His brows knit, lips parting as if to protest. “Yes, but did you not hear—”
“Dorian,” she breathes, reaching for him, fingertips grazing his jaw. “You love me?”
He exhales sharply, something caught between exasperation and disbelief. “Of course , I love you,” he says. “Didn’t you already know—”
She silences him with a kiss, her hands sliding into his hair as her lips claim his.
He stiffens for half a second before melting into her, groaning softly as he gathers her against him, one arm wrapping around her waist, the other tangling in her hair.
The heat between them is immediate, urgent.
He kisses her like he’s starved for it, like he’s afraid she might disappear.
Because I did, she understands now. He kisses her this way because she has already disappeared, and they have lost so, so much time already…
“I love you, too,” she breathes against his lips.
His response is another kiss, deeper this time, hands roaming as though trying to memorise her all at once. She presses closer, feeling the way his breath shudders, the way his fingers tighten in her hair, like he’s barely holding himself together.
“What took you so long?” he murmurs, lips brushing her jaw, down the curve of her neck.
She laughs, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Excuse me? You weren’t exactly forthcoming.”
“That’s because I was already in love with you,” he murmurs, voice husky as he presses a kiss just beneath her ear, “and well aware that you couldn’t feel the same.”
She stills, his words sinking in. “That’s… that’s fair.”
He chuckles against her skin, but she doesn’t let him get too smug before pulling him into another kiss.
This one is slower, more searching, her lips parting against his, her hands sliding over his shoulders.
He kisses her back just as hungrily, fingers drifting lower, tracing the curve of her spine, and she arches into him with a soft gasp, her body responding before her mind catches up.
Her skin tingles beneath the path of his hands, every inch of her suddenly aware of how close he is, how much she’s wanted this.
When his hand slips beneath the hem of her nightdress, brushing the small of her back, her breath catches.
Her thighs tighten around him instinctively, a quiet, helpless sound escaping her throat.
He groans softly into her mouth, his hand splaying against her bare skin, grounding her and undoing her all at once.
Selene’s fingers tangle in his shirt, tugging him closer, needing more—more of his warmth, more of his weight, more of this. Her heart pounds in her chest, and she can feel his beating just as hard against hers.
He mouths along her jaw, then lower, slow kisses blooming heat across her throat. She tilts her head to give him better access, her eyes fluttering shut as his lips find the hollow just above her collarbone.
“Dorian…” she breathes, not in protest but in awe. “Do you want to know why it took me so long?”
Dorian studies her, his gaze monstrously, perfectly soft. “Go on.”
She exhales, fingers tracing over the back of his neck.
“You were so nice to me. So easy to love. And I wasn’t used to love being easy.
” She swallows, glancing down before meeting his eyes again.
“I convinced myself that I was only clinging to you because I was lonely. Because you were lovely. I told myself so many things—that it was all part of the act, that I was just confused, that you didn’t feel the same, so it was foolish to hope… ”
His hand cups her cheek, tilting her face up. His thumb brushes her lips, his gaze dark with something aching.
“My sweet Luna,” he murmurs, voice rough, “how I’ve missed you.”
He kisses her again, slow and deep, as if trying to make up for every moment they wasted. She loses herself in him, in the way his lips move over hers, in the warmth of his body pressed to hers. It is intoxicating, devastating.
Then, abruptly, she pulls back .
Dorian’s hands linger at her waist. “What is it?” he asks, brow furrowing.
“Nothing,” she says, then laughs, shaking her head. “I’ve just realised I was jealous of myself.”
Dorian blinks, then grins, a slow, knowing curve of his lips. “You were jealous ?”
She presses her palm to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat. “She held your heart, and I didn’t,” she murmurs. “Of course I was jealous.”
His grip on her tightens just slightly, as if the thought pains him. “I’m not used to being the sort of man girls like you get jealous over.”
Selene cups his face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones. “I promise you,” she says, lips curling, “many women would get jealous for your sake. You just need to meet more women.”
Dorian snorts. “Don’t need to,” he murmurs, kissing her again, slow and sure. “Got you.”
His hands slide down her back, pulling her flush against him. Selene gasps softly against his lips, her fingers threading into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. Her hands drift underneath his nightshift, lifting it up and over his head.
He’s naked now, but she barely has chance to marvel at him before he’s kissing her again.
It is intoxicating, the way he presses into her, his breath warm against her skin as he moves to kiss along her jaw, down the column of her throat.
Selene shivers, tilting her head to grant him better access, her own hands roaming—until she feels the tremor in his.
She pulls back slightly, eyes searching his face. His breath is uneven, but not just from their kiss. There’s a faint sheen of sweat on his brow, a slight unsteadiness in the way he holds himself.
“Dorian,” she murmurs, pressing her hand to his chest. His heart is racing. More than it should be. “Maybe we shouldn’t. You’ve just recovered from being poisoned—”
“I’ve just recovered from learning that my long obsession with you is not unrequited,” he informs her. “So consummating that seems far more important.” He links his fingers into hers. “Do you think you could be gentle with me?”
Selene pushes him to the bed and lies astride him. “I can be gentle,” she tells him, his eyes going wide. She trails kisses down his neck, across his chest, and the beautiful, flat panes of his stomach. “I can be very, very gentle…”
Dorian is already making strange, soft, non-committal sounds. She kisses his hip bones, the tops of his thighs… and other, far more intimate parts of him. He turns to putty against the bedspread. She adores the quiet murmurs, the flushness of his skin, how limp her mouth can make him.
How hard, too.
She climbs back on top of him. His hands go straight between her thighs. She grabs his fingers and forces them back to the headboard.
“No,” she says. “Not today. Today you are resting…”
“Resting,” he whispers thickly, like the word has lost all meaning.
Selene grins at how tongue-tied he is. She’s never revelled in this before, how the giving of pleasure can feel, how the act can be tender and sensual, all at one.
She places herself on top of him and slides, slowly, carefully, watching him the entire time, delighting in the movement of his mouth, as he cries out voicelessly for her.
His fingers sink into her thighs. “Is this all right?” He finds the strength to speak. “I know that, technically—”
Her body should think this is her first time, even if her mind does not. But there’s no brief spark of pain like there was with the Duke, no discomfort. There is only her and Dorian and the meeting of their bodies, twinning as closely as their hearts.
Selene rocks back carefully, undulating her hips in response. Dorian lets out another gasp, another low cry. It sounds so like pain she almost stops.
“Don’t stop,” Dorian begs, tightening his hold on her. “Please, Selene, don’t—”
Selene moves faster, swifter. His hands roam up her body. She crawls closer to him, her breast skimming his chest, her mouth over his. She drowns in every sound he makes.
He comes undone inside her, and she collapses in his arms. Never once has she felt more a part of him. His flesh is hers. “Now,” she whispers against his neck, “we are very much married.”
She lies beside him, staring at his face, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest. His warmth seeps into her skin. She’s trying not to check for the lingering effects of the poison, trying just to take comfort in his nearness. It works, for the most part.
Dorian stirs, his arm scooping around her middle, tugging her closer with an easy, familiar possessiveness. His nose nudges against her cheek, his breath warm against her lips.
“Hello,” he whispers into her mouth.
She can taste his smile.
“Hello,” she returns, her fingers grazing the side of his jaw.
He opens his eyes fully, the flicker of tired amusement in them making something in her chest loosen. He brushes her hair over her shoulder, his knuckles lingering against her skin before he kisses her, slow and lingering.
“Do you have any questions yet?” he asks when he pulls back.
“A few,” she admits, smoothing a hand down his side, as if she might find answers there.
“You really don’t seem very shocked by everything.”
“Well, I have come back in time too—”