40. Chapter Forty
Well, someone spitting hazelnut coffee into my mouth is a new one for me. It’s also probably one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen or experienced. With her on the counter, legs spread, hovering her mouth over mine … it’ll live in my memory forever.
And that kiss? Let’s just say that when I’m alone again, I’ll need a good couple of hours trying to calm my Fyre.
Kyrielle didn’t turn away from my suggestion to take things slow. Truthfully, I’m afraid once she knows everything, she’ll reject me. Staving off sex is a survival tactic, more than anything. Although, after that kiss, I might die if I never get to sink into her body ever again.
Logic says to do nothing until she verbally agrees to get rid of her rule around battle gym members. Really, we don’t have to interact there if she’s so concerned. I spent months orbiting her like a moon, and she was none the wiser. That doesn’t have to change.
After breakfast, it’s time to have a tough conversation. Contemplating the right words, I wash dishes. My stomach churns with anxiety, unsure of what she’s going to say. We’ve been living in this bubble, but like every bubble, this one needs to pop.
Scrubbing the pan used for eggs, I say, “Since you’re feeling better, it’s probably a good idea for me to head home; give you space. I’m sure you’re aching for some alone time.”
Sitting behind me, still on the counter, Kyrielle stays silent. Each wordless moment enhances the apprehension building inside me. Is it too soon to suggest leaving her alone? She’s so independent, there’s no way she wants me to stay.
“I mean,” she says slowly. “My arm gets pretty tired if I lift it for longer than a few seconds.”
Staring at the sudsy water, I suppressed a grin. Trying to act unaffected, I ask, “So you still need help washing your armpits?”
“It would be a shame to be stinky,” she agrees.
My heart beats at an aching, excited rhythm. She doesn’t want me to leave. We both know damn well that if she wanted to, she’d be able to wash herself. By this evening, the wing itself will be almost repaired.
But she wants me here.
Placing the clean pan in the dish rack, I turn the water off and face her, leaning against the counter. Kyrielle’s watching me, nibbling on a lip with apprehension.
Feeling lighter than I have in years, I keep my tone casual. “Well, I’d hate for you to be stinky.”
She nods slowly. “It could be good to get some fresh air, though.”
I eye her delightfully skimpy outfit. “You’ll probably need help getting dressed.”
“Definitely.”
Nerves flutter in my belly. We’re in such a precarious position here. I’m terrified of overstepping a boundary. “Can I point out the obvious?”
She arches an orange eyebrow. “As opposed to …?”
I throw the dishtowel at her; it hits her in the face. She giggles. Closing the distance between us, heart in my throat, I part her legs and scan her face for any hint of discomfort. There’s nothing but excitement in her expression.
Brushing a rogue strand of hair from her face, I say, “While it’s not my place to assume that a kiss means anything, it’s clearly going to change things. You don’t have to pretend to need help for me to stay, Kyrielle. I’ll be here as long as I’m welcome.”
“It was that obvious, huh?” she says with a wry twist of her lips.
“I’ll pretend to be blind to anything obvious if you want, Firefly,” I joke, absolutely meaning it. “But I’m also afraid of crossing boundaries or making you uncomfortable.”
“You’re the one sleeping on the floor,” she points out.
And don’t I know it. The crick in my neck won’t let me forget. “I don’t care about sleeping on the floor. It was a common occurrence growing up.”
Sadness flickers in her expression, but she doesn’t press. Instead, she says, “I wouldn’t mind an extra day of help.” She gives me a sly smile. “And for someone to cook for me. I hate cooking.”
I laugh, planting a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll cook for you every day if you want.”
“Promise?”
“I swear it.” I’d cook her three meals a day if it meant I could take care of her.
“Okay,” she says shyly. “Do you want to help me get dressed?”
Time to test the waters. “I’d much prefer to do the opposite.”
My lungs stall, terrified of how she’ll take the joke. We need to move past this awkward phase of limbo, and this is the only way I know how.
“Maybe later,” she says, grinning.
Exhaling in relief, I return the grin. Tapping her knee affectionately, I step back. “Come on, Firefly. Let’s get this day started.”
She hops off and we walk into the bedroom. She stands at the closet entrance, eyeing her clothes. When she finally decides on the outfit, she pulls the pieces off hangers and hands them over. My mouth goes dry when she turns around, offering me her back.
“Can you unhook this?”
I stare down at the bra. I spent almost three days completely separating what needed to be done from my attraction to her. Whenever she was naked, I truly didn’t objectify her in the slightest.
But now, after that kiss? I’m desperate to lick up her spine, starting at those adorable butt dimples.
I’ve hesitated for too long because she turns halfway to look at my face. “Trinte?”
“Y-yeah,” I clear my throat. “Sorry, I got a little distracted.”
The corner of her mouth tilts up. “You’ve removed bras before.”
Understatement. But this time’s different. With shaking fingers, I unhook the bra in one smooth movement. Her bare, muscular back taunts me with the gentle slope of her spine. Goddess, I want to lick it. Preferably while I’m—
“Trinte?”
Shaking away the inappropriate thoughts, I take the shirt out of her hand. You can do this, you sex crazed pervert. Careful to avoid looking at her breasts, I help her put the shirt around her wings. When that’s done, I take the pants and kneel in front of her.
“Put your hands on my shoulders.” Holding out the first pant leg, she dips a foot into it, and I shimmy it up halfway. Then she does the other. It’s a sad moment when her dark blue underwear disappears. Not that I was looking at it or anything.
She buttons the pants. “Thanks.”
“Of course.” My voice sounds winded from the strain of not hyperventilating with need.
Standing, I ask, “So where would you like to go?”
“I texted Luca, and he offered to meet us for drinks with his wife. We need to talk to him about Fynn’s proposal, and he probably wants to apologize another hundred times.”
I laugh, glancing at the time on my phone. “Drinks in the morning?”
She shrugs, grabbing her phone and keys. “Apparently, they’re big fans of brunch.”
***
The brunch location is called Itty Bitty Tiddy, which is apparently owned by a Tiddy Mun.
It’s intended to mimic a bog, with high glass ceilings and wooden tables on raised plots of ground.
Steam rises from the dark water, snaking through the tall grass.
If it weren’t for the lively atmosphere, it’d be creepy.
Luca and Reverie already sit at a table, standing when we’re close enough for hugs. Inwardly cringing at the niceties of touching others, I pull the chair out for Kyrielle. She needs help to situate her wing so it won’t be hit by a passerby.
“How are you?” Luca says anxiously, examining her mostly healed wing.
Kyrielle grins. “Give me a few days, and we’ll have that rematch.”
Luca looks decidedly unexcited at the prospect. “Maybe in a few weeks.”
Reverie laughs. “In other words, he’ll probably refuse.”
The Gargoyle’s face darkens with a deep blush. “I could’ve killed you.”
Kyrielle looks nonplussed. “But you didn’t.”
Interjecting, I say, “You know you won’t convince her, so don’t bother, Luca. Just be prepared for her to whoop your tail later.”
Kyrielle gives me a pleased expression. I return it, grateful to be sitting next to her.
Eyebrows raised, Reverie leans on an elbow. “So how long have the two of you been together?”
I sit up straighter, wiping away any emotion from my face. “Uh, we aren’t together. We’re …” I’m about to say just friends, but I’m not about to sound like my brother.
“Trinte is my manservant,” Kyrielle says, sounding incredibly serious. I crack a smile at the joke because she has no idea how true that could be. A manservant with benefits? Sign me up.
Reverie exchanges a look with Luca. “Oh, we know how that is.”
“Luca was your manservant?” I ask, half joking, half confused.
Luca chuckles, picking up the menu. “I’m always her manservant, but no, I’m fairly certain that is not what my wife means.”
“Such a handsome manservant,” Reverie purrs, then laughs. “When we met, I fought it tooth and nail. This one ghosted me for a year—”
“For good reason,” Luca shoots back, giving her a dirty look.
“For a reason,” Reverie corrects. “Then he reappears, begging on his knees for another chance.”
“The begging is real,” Luca smirks. “I would’ve begged every day of my life if she forced me.” He snatches her left hand. “Look what she let me do, eventually.”
As if Reverie’s hand isn’t attached to her arm, he shifts it so her wedding ring catches the light. She snatches it back and slaps his arm with the back of a hand.
“Knock it off.” Giving us a serious look, she says, “I don’t know what’s going on, but just …”
The pair exchange another glance, then Reverie says softly, “Just don’t waste time if you want to be together.”
Damn Fynn for ruining the phrase ‘just friends’ because I want to minimize this assumption in case it makes Kyrielle panic.
“Hello everyone.” The waitress, a dark purple Elf, stops at our table with a smile. Thank the goddesses. Holding a tablet, she asks, “What will everyone be having today?”
After we give our orders, the conversation shifts to Fynn’s plan for the proposal.
During the entire conversation, I watch the two of them interact.
It’s incredibly clear how in love Luca is with his wife.
When she speaks, he hangs on to every word.
When he speaks, she has a hand somewhere on his body, interjecting when necessary.
It’s an easy dynamic, not unlike Fynn and Orliana’s.
At times, I catch my focus drifting to the Fire Sprite next to me. I’ve had to shove my hands under my legs between bites of food because they desperately want to touch her. But since all we’ve done is kiss, I don’t want to push anything. Instead, I let my fingers go numb.
My whole life, I’ve wanted a partner who makes love look and feel easy. I want inside jokes and lazy mornings with coffee. Before Kyrielle, I began to think it was a pipe dream. After the speed dating night, I thought there wasn’t anyone out there for me.
But as I watch her speak enthusiastically with her hands, laughing at Luca’s jokes, I know without a doubt I’m willing to get on my knees to beg for a chance.
Even if it means I’m relegated to cooking and cleaning, with the occasional cuddle, I’d sign up in a heartbeat.
It’s either Kyrielle or no one. I’ve sampled enough of the outside world to know her joy is a rare treat.
When brunch is over, we mingle outside the restaurant, saying our goodbyes. My fingers are still regaining sensation as I shake Luca’s hand. “Thanks for meeting with us. We’re excited for Fynn and Orliana. When he said he was proposing, there was no doubt in his mind that you’d be hired.”
Luca smiles softly. “I remember Rhuth. She was lovely. I’m sure Orliana is as well.”
“I’m biased, but I agree,” Kyrielle jokes.
She and Reverie exchange hugs and numbers. Something tells me we’ll be seeing more of these two in the coming months.
We watch them walk away, side by side. Looking down at Kyrielle’s hand, I risk it — intertwining her fingers with mine, I wait for a rebuke. Instead, she gives me the sweetest smile.
“I’m pretty beat,” she admits. “Can we go home?”
Home. I’ll follow her anywhere, but instead, I say, “Do you want to come to my place tonight? We can go grab some of your things. Not to brag, but I do live in luxury with a couch and a spice rack.” I whisper into her ear, “I can season your dinner, baby.”
Kyrielle giggles, giving my cheek a kiss. “You don’t like sleeping next to a cast iron?”
“I’ll sleep anywhere,” I hope she can sense my earnestness. “But imagine this, Firefly: a seasoned dinner, a couch, a movie, and a foot rub.”
“You’ll rub my feet?” she says, looking hopeful.
“Of course not,” I fake my disgust. “You’re rubbing my feet.”
She laughs. “Well, how could a girl resist such a proposition?”
“Exactly. So is that a yes?”
She pretends to think, tapping a finger against her chin. “Okay, as long as I can get pancakes in the morning?”
Kissing the top of her head, I say, “Firefly, nothing would delight me more.”