Chapter 22 Truth Laid Bare #3
She tried to speak but the words sputtered out, lost in the warmth of his mouth as he kissed her collarbone, then lower. Then again when he pushed the towel aside and nuzzled the delicate place beneath her breasts. She let out a sound, quiet and raw and not at all innocent.
Then he was kissing her chest, her ribs, the dip between. He didn’t rush. Didn’t take. He offered—devotion pressed into every touch.
Without warning, the air shifted. Her hands gripped his shoulders tighter. Her body arched, seeking more. Her soft, helpless sounds stirred his blood like wildfire licking up dry bark. He realized—gods above and below—he was losing himself.
She was flushed now, breathing fast, her hands still tangled in his hair, and he thought maybe—just maybe—he’d finally stolen the breath from the one who’d stolen his reason. But then she made a different sound. Not a moan. Not a whimper. A frustrated growl.
She was pouting.
Pouting.
He blinked, dazed by how devastatingly adorable she looked like that—lower lip pushed out, brows knitted, her whole expression scrunched into something both fierce and helpless.
His thumb swept across the corner of her mouth. “What is it?”
She glared at his pauldron like it was a varkhound.
“Here I am,” she huffed, “finally with no clothes on to bother me, and you’re still hidden under all this.”
Resh’s heart did a strange flip. He’d faced armies. Wars. The edge of madness. But this? This indignation on her bare, radiant face—over his armor—this undid him?
He chuckled. “You’d rather I stripped in kind?”
“Yes,” she said, scandalously direct. “It’s only fair.”
Resh leaned in, brushing his lips up the column of her throat, trailing heat with every breath. She shivered when he suckled at her earlobe.
“Well,” he murmured against her skin, “you’re welcome to take it off…”
Another kiss to the hollow beneath her ear.
“…but I’m preoccupied right now.”
He kissed her again, this time just beneath her jaw. Slowly. Deliberately.
“I’ve got a beautiful and very naked little star in front of me,” he whispered, “smelling like stolen bath oils and sounding like she’s forgetting her name.”
She let out the tiniest whimper, half-indignant, half-melting.
“Don’t tease,” she whispered.
“I’m not teasing. I’m savoring.”
She reached for the bracer on his forearm first, fingers fumbling with the clasp.
It didn’t budge.
She tried again, this time with the strap on his pauldron. Auryn frowned as she struggled with it, her movements clumsy, impatient. Finally, she let out a breathless, frustrated huff and looked up at him with stormy eyes.
“Kailorien,” she whispered. “At least your gloves.”
He paused, brows arching.
“I want to feel your hands.”
Without a word, he lifted his hand to the edge of his glove, eyes never leaving hers. He tugged it loose, the leather creaking as it slipped free. He dropped it beside them, then repeated the same slow ritual with the other.
Then, he reached for her.
This time, it wasn’t with a soldier’s touch. It wasn’t the gloved grip of command or restraint.
This was him. Bare. Honest. Flesh to flesh.
His hand cradled the side of her face—thumb sweeping across her cheek—and she gasped, like she’d been waiting, desperate.
“Tell me,” he rasped, voice hoarse, barely above a plea. “What do you want from me, starlight?”
Her eyes widened, raw desire churning within.
She leaned in, her whisper a sigh against his ear. Then came the words.
Familiar. Like remnants of a dream.
Her request echoed a memory from months past. He had written these exact words in a moment of madness.
One stolen night by fluxlight after she’d gifted him the ribbon, ink bleeding onto the page as he tried to exorcise the ache she’d carved into him.
He’d imagined pressing her down onto the war table, her hands grasping the edge, her body trembling as he stretched her, filled her, moved within her until she shattered. Until he shattered.
And now she whispered it back to him.
Auryn. His little star. His miracle.
She had kept those words. Felt them. Wanted him enough to say them aloud. Her lashes trembled like the wings of a moth, waiting. Bare. Open. Vulnerable.
He exhaled a long breath, hands gentle as he cupped her jaw.
“You…” he said, voice rough, “have no idea what you’ve just done to me.”
He kissed her again.
Deeper this time.
Not just reverent. Ruined.
He rose, scooping her easily into his arms, one hand at the curve of her thighs, the other at her back.
He laid her on the cot. Her skin dewed with heat, breath quickening.
Her arms wrapped around his neck, fingers buried in his hair, and Resh—Void, he was trying to stay in control.
To not press her down. To remember that she was still healing. That she was Auryn.
But then she leaned in. Lips at his ear again.
“Not like that, Kailorien…like…”
The next words she whispered scorched him. From the same journal. Written in solitude, in shame, in darkness.
He froze.
Not because he was afraid.
But because something inside him broke open. Quietly. Cleanly. Like a gate that had been waiting since creation for someone to unlock it.
Her words hadn’t just burned him.
They freed him.
“Auryn,” he said, voice low and thick.
His hands found her hips. Patient. Unhurried.
And then he turned her, positioning her toward the cot.
He stepped in behind her, close, one hand on the small of her back, the other brushing her hair aside to kiss the nape of her neck.
The gesture was soft, chaste. But the heat behind it was fierce. Focused.
He bent close to her ear. “I haven’t forgotten,” he murmured. “Not a word of it.”
Her knees buckled. He caught her.
“Lean forward,” he said, guiding her hands to the cot.
He pressed against her—his chest flush against her back, armor cool against her skin. His hand slipped around between her soft thighs, slow and sure, fingers moving with the shape of her need.
“Is this what you want?” he asked.
She gasped. Nodded. Couldn’t even speak.
“Then let me give it to you.”
He exhaled, allowing his awareness to sink into all the subtle motions of her body. Kissing her shoulder. Her spine. One arm braced beside hers on the cot.
She responded like a bloom turning to light. Every breath she took shivered through her—delicate, startled, so alive. Her heart fluttered beneath his palm as he held her to him; their bodies aligned along every inch.
She mewled when his fingers slid lower. He stilled—just a heartbeat—listening. She pressed back into him, wordless permission in the tilt of her hips, in the way her breath caught and then came faster. So, he moved again.
Her thighs quivered. She was so fiercely honest in her pleasure. No artifice, no game. Just trust.
He murmured her name once.
She turned her head, cheek brushing his. “You feel so good,” she whispered, voice trembling like wind-chimes caught in a breeze. “So warm.”
“So do you,” he said, his voice nearly breaking with how much he meant it.
He murmured encouragements against her shoulder as her sounds grew frantic—soft cries, whispered pleas, shivering moans that sent heat lancing through him.
“I have you,” he promised. “Don’t hold back. I want to feel all of it.”
Her hand reached back, found the side of his face, pulled him close. “Kailorien,” she breathed, “please—”
Her release struck like a tremor through her spine. He felt it before he heard it, the way she seized around his hand, the way her whole body arched, the cry she tried to muffle against her own arm.
He let out a ragged breath, forehead resting between her shoulder blades, his hand still trembling against her belly. His other hovered near the buckles at his waist.
“Just—give me a moment,” he murmured, voice husky, velvet-edged with strain.
She nodded, dazed, her cheek resting against her forearm. “You’re still wearing...all of it.”
A breathless laugh, half pained, half amused. “I thought it might keep me safe.”
“From…what?”
“You,” he breathed. “But against you, I have no defense.”
He undid the ties to free himself. The moment he pressed against her again, she gasped. His fingers tightened around her hips as he adjusted his position behind her, careful—always careful—despite the storm crashing through his veins. His breath came hard now.
“You feel it?” he murmured, his voice rough silk, broken open at the edges. “That heat between us?”
“You’re...” she whispered, voice cracking with awe, “Kailorien—you’re—I thought I understood...but I didn’t. Not until now.”
Resh steadied her. His mouth brushed her spine.
“Does it frighten you?”
She shook her head.
He gritted his teeth, anchoring himself in the sound of her as she pressed her backside against him.
Arching.
Inviting.
He moved his hips, pressing himself between her thighs without entering her, letting her feel the length of him sliding against the tender wet seam of her body. When she wiggled her hips, he had to grit his teeth to keep himself from taking her.
“Careful,” he groaned, nipping at her earlobe.
She gasped as he swelled.
“…Kail…”
“Hmm?”
“Can you…I want to… so empty…”
He shuddered, her words unraveling the chains around his self-control.
“Not yet, sweetfire.” He breathed the words into the hollow behind her ear, but even as he spoke them, his fingers drifted lower again—trailing heat down her belly. She whimpered as his touch found her, parted her.
“Still reaching,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “Even after that release…”
His middle finger eased inward—just one, slow and deliberate, drawing a gasp from her lips as her body fluttered around him.
“Kai—” she choked, her voice cracking under the weight of sensation.
He groaned, his lips brushing her spine. “I can feel how much you yearn,” he whispered. “How much you want me.”
His free hand smoothed beneath her ribs, holding her flush as he began to grind again—slow, languid strokes of his hips that let her feel every hard inch of him against her. Not inside. But there. Sliding. Pulsing. Tempting.
Auryn sighed in bliss, her hips trying to match him in rhythm.
“Easy,” he rasped. “Let me give myself to you like this.”
She arched.
“Gods,” he growled, his voice fraying. “You grip me like you don’t want to let go.”
“I don’t.”
He cursed under his breath. Bent to kiss her shoulder. Her neck.
“I know what you’re asking for,” he whispered, grinding harder now, sliding his length against her slickness as his finger pressed deeper. “But if I take you now—if I lose myself…”
She shook her head, breathless. “Then don’t lose yourself. Just stay…with me.”
His hand stilled for half a breath. Then moved again. Deeper. Curling. Working with patient, unrelenting focus—drawing her closer, deeper, until she couldn’t speak anymore. Until her body strained toward release, her hands fisting the blankets, her soft cries unraveling into something primal.
Then he said it—right against her pulse.
“Come for me, Auryn.”
She did.
She came with a sound like a sob, trembling against him, her body locking tight as if even her soul couldn’t bear the intensity of what he gave her.
And through it all he held her. Moved with her.
Murmured her name into her skin. With a quiet groan, he found his own end, shuddering hard as he pressed his forehead to her shoulder, his breath staggering, his fingers still wrapped around hers.
Nestled against her from behind, Resh brushed her damp hair aside and pressed a kiss to the curve where her shoulder met her neck. Her skin was flushed, radiant with residual pleasure, and he couldn’t help himself.
He let his lips linger. Then he parted them and grazed her skin with his teeth.
Auryn startled, a soft gasp slipping from her mouth as his bite sank in—not hard enough to break the skin, but deep enough to mark.
Her breath snagged. “Kail…?”
“Forgive me,” he murmured, though he wasn’t repentant in the least. “I had to. You felt…” He exhaled, breath shaky. “Mine.”
Her fingers tightened in his. “Did you mean to leave a mark?”
He kissed the spot again. “It’ll fade. Already healing, I imagine.”
She turned her head to look back at him. Her eyes were shining.
“I wish it wouldn’t,” she whispered with a smile. “I want to keep you on my skin.”
The air was thick with warmth and the lingering perfume of oils.
The cot creaked as Kailorien rose, the sound of leather straps and buckles breaking the hush.
He unfastened each piece with care—pauldrons, bracers, the waist harness—laying them aside in sacred silence, like one might disarm before a temple altar.
Auryn stirred on the bed, her cheeks flushed, a soft hum in her throat.
He crossed to her and bent low. “Come,” he murmured, his voice like velvet dusk. “We’ll finish what you started. Properly, this time.”
She made a sleepy sound of protest as he gathered her into his arms but didn’t resist. Her limbs melted against him, her head nestled under his jaw.
The water welcomed them in a rush of steam. Kailorien settled first, drawing her onto his lap, chest to chest, arms around her. She adjusted, blinking up at him with dazed eyes.
“It’s gone lukewarm,” she mumbled, brow furrowed.
He chuckled. “Then let me show you how to warm it safely.”
Her gaze drifted to his hand as he guided it through the air, his voice low and instructive.
“You see the shape?” He traced it against the surface, and then against her forearm. “Not just a flick—it’s a pull. A coaxing. You invite the heat, not command it.”
Her fingers trembled as she tried, so he placed his palm over hers and helped her draw it again—slow, patient, skin brushing skin.
Warmth bloomed in the water. The steam rose thicker now, curling lazily into the air. Her hand slackened beneath his.
“Kailorien…” she whispered.
“Hmm?”
But she was already asleep.
He exhaled and leaned back against the stone basin, cradling her against his chest, his hand still cupped over hers.
He rested his chin atop her damp hair, listening to the soft breaths she made in sleep. He stroked his thumb along her knuckles, the faint pulse of her magic brushing his skin like a promise. And as the heat settled around them, he admitted that surrendering had never felt so right.