Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
Several hours later, Eve had completed arrangements with Renault, settled the camp, and made a stew for those who needed food along with a complex healing broth for Michel.
The men had calmed, telling stories of Michel fighting the monster.
Eve did not attempt to tamp down their gossip.
Let the legend spread that Ganbold had been felled.
They held a little memorial for Terence, too. He had been annoying to most of them, but these were men who tallied losses. They wanted to say goodbye.
In the end, Iman said it best: “You were a little fuck, Terence. But you kept us entertained.” He nodded his head. “We hope you have found your peace.” They shared a drink. Eve included.
By then, evening had come. Michel had slept fitfully throughout the day, calling out for her, still fighting in the space between dreams and wake.
She sat next to him on the bed and nudged him.
“Michel,” she whispered, running her hands down his chest, still using her fingertips to check for trauma. “You need to drink something.”
Michel stirred and opened his eyes with a start. “Eve,” he muttered.
“I’m here.” She stroked his cheek.
He blinked, coming fully awake for the first time since they had returned to their yurt. He pushed up, looking down at his bandage and then back to Eve.
“You took care of me,” he said, giving her a smile.
“I should say that to you.” She reached forward to touch his chest. Michel grabbed her hand and held it, pulling her toward him.
She sucked in a breath, her body responding, his heat seeping into her. But she pulled back. “You must drink if you wish to recover,” she said. “Lean forward. Be careful.”
Michel released her hand and lifted himself as Eve propped cushions behind him. Eve retrieved the bowl of broth and then sat on the bed, holding it out for him. “This will make it easier to rest.”
Michel drank, watching her over the rim. He handed it back when he finished.
“Are you in pain?” she asked. She ran her hand over the skin of his chest, his arms, seeking contact.
Feelings of gratitude and affection, need and desire, ballooned inside her, and she didn’t know how to navigate them.
So, she sat there, kneeling beside him, though she wanted nothing more than to feel his skin against hers, to affirm his spirit hadn’t dissolved like she had witnessed happen to two others just that morning.
“The pain’s tolerable.” He stretched, giving a wince as he did.
“Michel.” She took his hand. “We must leave here,” she said. “Renault cannot guarantee us lodging. He has secured a place for us in Carth, instead.”
Michel’s expression turned dark. “His livelihood is because of me. Everything he has.” He wiped his hand down his face, the disappointment evident. Then he shook his head, changing focus. “We must make some kind of arrangement for the bodies.”
“Iman offered to take Terence’s body back to France.
” She bowed her head. “And Ganbold…” She pressed her lips.
“Died a warrior's death. The forest will feast on him. He will return to the earth. It is the most respectful way.” She squeezed Michel’s hand.
“I truly don’t know if his death means I am free from that tribe or they will come after me tenfold.
” She looked down. “I do know that it was him or me.”
Michel leaned up, his other hand coming to her cheek. “Do you feel safe? With him gone?”
She smiled, knowing one emotion in her stayed pure, untainted. “To be truthful,” she continued, “I have felt safe since the moment you bought me in Merv.”
He pulled her to him. She leaned into his chest like she had wanted to earlier.
As her cheek touched his skin, she borrowed his strength.
She felt, for the first time, an overwhelming need to cry.
It surprised her, because until that moment, she had never thought about tears.
They flooded now. All of them. Tears saved from the shock of being stolen and losing her family.
Tears for Michel’s pain, tears for Terence.
They all came at once, and they soaked her cheeks, Michel’s chest, her dress, and the bed. The grief came as a rush of rain.
Michel held her and stroked her back. At some point, he tipped her head up and began kissing her cheeks, damming up the rivulets of tears.
She didn’t know how long they stayed like that—her tears writing all the words she ever wanted to say and Michel accepting each one on his glistening lips.
When she felt her cheek begin to dry, she pulled back and looked at him.
She touched her hands to his face. She ran her thumb over his lips. Michel just gave her a smile.
She needed something more.
Then she was up on her knees, between his legs.
Holding his cheeks, she kissed him with sudden, delirious desperation.
Michel startled at first, then wrapped his arms around her, adjusting himself to her kiss.
She tasted the salt of her tears on his lips and felt his desire and urgency break through to meet her own.
She opened her lips and took his tongue against hers.
She drew him into her, wanting nothing more than to be full of him.
The space inside her that had been taken up by grief flooded with desire. Throbbing waves went through her, down her thighs, across her breasts. She changed her position and lifted her shift enough to straddle his lap, sinking down onto his lap.
She heard a moan deep in his throat. At first, it thrilled her, but then she remembered his injury. “Have I hurt you?” She pulled back suddenly, looking over his injuries.
“No,” he laughed, keeping a firm grip on her hips.
“No?” she said, this time teasing. She rocked her body forward, sliding herself across his length.
Michel groaned and pushed up between her legs. The hardness of him pressed against the sensitive spot between her legs, separated from him by just a few layers of fabric. It caused her to gasp and brace herself with her hands on his chest.
“Should I stop?” she teased. “We can wait until you are healed.”
Michel’s eyes snapped onto her, and he gripped the back of her head. “Eve, I could have lost a leg today, and this would still be the only thing I wanted.”
She grinned and pressed against him, her lips against his. “You deserve everything you want.”
“Everything I want?” he rasped, nuzzling into her neck, his hands running along her thighs. “Are you sure?”
She made an affirmative noise, his breath tickling her skin.
“Take off your dress,” he said, and his want thickened the words.
She reached down to pull her shift up over her head.
“Mon Dieu,” he hissed between his teeth. With one hand around her back, the other came up to grip her breast.
Eve’s body trembled at the sensation, and she leaned in to feel more.
His lips came down, his tongue tracing patterns.
Then his teeth were on her flesh, pulling and sucking the nubbed skin into his mouth, while his hands squeezed her other breast possessively.
Eve groaned and rocked her body against his even more firmly, the feelings he created in her breasts making the spot between her legs beg for more friction.
“Yes,” she said. She felt that wonderful feeling again that brewed between her legs and made her stomach go tight.
She slid herself up the thick rod of him, believing that she could orgasm from just this contact.
She shifted her body to get up higher, climbing him, claiming him…
and kneed him right in his wounded side.
“Ah,” Michel made a sound and jerked as he released her breast from his mouth.
Eve froze. “I’m sorry,” she gasped. “Did I hurt you?” She shifted to check his bandages.
Michel grabbed her arm, pulling her back in place. “No,” he said. “A little.” He laughed. “Eve,” he spoke, turning serious again, commanding. “Take these off.”
“Yes,” she said, her breath gone, unable to deny him or herself.
She raised herself up. He pulled down her drawers, slipping them past her knees.
His hands came up her body, then moved up her thighs, up her backside. He wrapped an arm around her, lifting her to pull down his own undergarments.
He struggled with them, but he couldn’t balance her and lift himself with his injury. “Help.” He chuckled. “I need help.”
Eve grinned. “I can do that.”
She stripped him, getting all their remaining clothing off.
She’d waited too long to share this with him, this piece of her, all of her pieces.
She spread her legs over him again, her body aching for contact, and she felt the press of him against her slippery skin, the slick contact causing her to gasp.
He pulled her in to kiss her. She whimpered as he humped up to slide against her.
“Mon Dieu,” he said, the words deep. Then he paused, sobering. “Eve,” he whispered, pulling back. “Is this alright? I don’t want that you feel obligated—”
“Michel,” she put her hands on his cheeks. “I’ve never wanted anything more. This is my choice, and I’m grateful for it.”
She kissed him, and his arms were around her. There was nothing left to argue.
She was ready for more, though she wasn’t sure what came next.
She looked down to where they touched, the pressure building enough to break her, not quite knowing how to connect them.
She knew there should be more to it, but she didn’t know what to do.
Would it enter her by itself? Could he move the thing on its own?
Before she could question the ways of coupling anymore, Michel grabbed himself with his hand, positioned her, and thrust upward, in a move that said he was unable to wait any longer.
Eve gasped with surprise and pleasure as her body jerked involuntarily.
She had thought to feel more pain, but there was only a sharp spike and then nothing but pure pleasure.
Her head fell back, her skin sparked with desire, her breath came in hungry gasps, and her hands gripped her breasts. She couldn’t imagine a better feeling.