22. Ash
Ash
No sooner had the door slammed shut behind us than her hands tangled in my tunic. Reaching out, I caught her around the waist, pulling her flush against the solid wood. Claire’s breath hitched—a sharp, sudden gasp—before her lips found mine again.
It was everything I’d been holding back all at once.
Her hands found me just as quickly, fisting into my shirt to pull me closer. I pinned her back against the door, my hand firm at her waist, anchoring her there as my mouth moved against hers again and again.
Because I couldn’t get enough.
And I didn’t care where we were. The inn. The road. The Wilds. We could’ve been standing in the middle of a frozen tundra and I wouldn’t have noticed. All I could feel was the warmth of her, the softness of her lips, the way she leaned into me.
It nearly brought me to my knees.
My hand slipped from her waist, trailing upward and over the curve of her side, along her arm. My fingers traced the softness of her skin, trying to memorize every inch of her. She shivered beneath my touch.
Pulling back just enough to breathe without breaking away, I rested my forehead near hers as my hand came up to her face.
My thumb brushed her cheek, a sensation softer than anything I was used to.
As I cupped her jaw and tilted her toward me, I drank in the sight of her flushed cheeks, parted lips, and wide eyes.
The moment stretched, the heat between us shifting. I studied her face, my thumb still resting against her cheek.
“Claire…”
I hesitated.
“Is this your first time?”
The words hung there between us, sharpening into something I couldn’t ignore when Claire shook her head.
“I have,” she admitted softly, her voice almost unsure, “but this… feels so different.”
Different.
Somewhere deep, the word landed. Bringing my hands up to cup her cheeks fully this time, I held her there, terrified she might slip away if I didn’t.
My thumb traced her lower lip, catching the softness and the tremble lingering on it.
She felt it, too; it was there in her eyes and in the way she looked at me.
This wasn’t just a moment, and we both knew it.
I swallowed, my chest tightening in a way I didn’t recognize.
Because, whatever this was, it wasn’t like anything I’d had before.
I’d had plenty of lovers. Some fleeting, some that stayed a little longer than they should have.
Bodies that fit well enough together, nights that blurred into one another, touches that felt good and nothing more. I knew what that was.
This wasn’t that. This felt real. The kind of real that didn’t fade when the night ended. The kind that didn’t stay contained to a single room, a single moment. The kind that followed you and stayed with you.
And that should’ve been enough to make me pull away. Instead, I found myself looking at her. At the way her lashes fluttered as she blinked up at me, at the faint flush still lingering across her cheeks, at the softness in her expression that hadn’t faded since I kissed her.
But then her words came back to me.
I may as well try everything while I can.
Explore.
Have fun.
These phrases twisted in my chest.
Fun.
That’s what this was supposed to be, right?
Just an experience she collected along the way. Something she’d leave behind when she reached Norwich, when she stepped into that life she’d dreamed of, when she stood beside Garrick and smiled like he was everything she’d ever wanted.
My jaw tightened. I didn’t like that. Didn’t like it at all. The thought of her with him, of him touching her, of her looking at him the way she was looking at me now...
A dark and immediate protectiveness flared in my chest. My fingers curled against her skin, my grip tightening as I searched her face again, like I could find an answer there that would make this easier. I didn’t want this to be fun. I didn’t want this to be something she tried and forgot.
I didn’t want anyone else to have her.
“Yeah,” I murmured, though my voice had lost its earlier ease.
Different didn’t even begin to cover it.
My grip tightened on her for just a second longer. Then I pulled away, abrupt enough that the space between us felt like a shock. I turned from her, dragging a hand through my hair as I stepped back, putting distance there before I could do anything I wouldn’t take back.
“We should stop,” I muttered.
Behind me, I heard her shift.
“Ash…?” There was confusion in her voice.
Hurt.
I forced myself to turn back toward her.
She looked like I’d just taken something from her.
“Why?” she asked softly, taking a small step forward. “Didn’t you...” She hesitated, searching my face. “Didn’t you feel it, too?”
The question hit harder than it should have. Of course I did. That was the problem.
I scoffed, the sound harsher than I meant it to be.
“Yeah,” I said, lifting a hand dismissively, like I could brush it off. “I felt it.”
Her expression shifted—hope flickering there for a brief, fragile moment.
“But I’m not about to make a habit of kissing someone else’s betrothed.”
Claire froze. The color drained from her face just as quickly as it had come. Her lips parted, like she wanted to say something but no words came. For a second, neither of us moved.
“Oh.”
I saw it the way her expression folded in on itself, the softness gone, replaced by a wound she was trying too hard to hide.
“I see,” she said quickly, her voice tightening as she turned away from me. She didn’t look back. Didn’t give me the chance to take it back. The door opened faster than it should have, the wood creaking.
And then she was gone.
And I was left standing there, staring at the space where she’d been, with the taste of her still on my lips.