Chapter 18 #2
I worked my way down her arms, carefully pressing the cloth against her skin. When I reached her hands, I took extra care with her fingers, drying between each one, noticing the slight tremor that still lingered there, the aftershocks of adrenaline and emotion finally leaving her body.
Kneeling before her, I switched to a fresh cloth and started at her feet, lifting each one carefully to dry between her toes, along her arches, around her ankles. I moved upward along her calves and thighs, the cloth whispering against her skin.
"Doing okay?" I asked quietly, glancing up at her face.
She nodded, one hand coming to rest lightly on my shoulder for balance, her fingers curling slightly against my skin. A small gesture of connection that made my chest tighten.
I stood again, taking a third cloth for her hair, gathering the wet strands carefully and squeezing the excess water into the fabric.
I wrapped the cloth around her head like a turban, then cupped her face one more time, using a dry corner to dab away the water droplets still clinging to her cheeks, her jaw, the delicate shell of her ear.
"There," I said softly, running my thumb along her cheekbone. "All dry."
Her eyes finally opened, glassy with exhaustion but clearer now, more present. She looked at me with such profound trust, such vulnerability, that it stole my breath.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice hoarse from crying.
I pulled her close again, wrapping both of us in the remaining dry cloth, holding her against my chest where she fit perfectly. "Always, my mate. Always."
I lifted her in my arms, carrying her to the bed. It would take at least an hour for Numa to return with Lilibet. We had time, and I needed to hold my mate.
I settled us onto the mattress, holding her near, burying my face in her hair and breathing deep. No trace of Kwado stink, no remnants of violence, just Jolie. Just my mate, safe and whole in my arms.
I'd only meant to hold her, to allow us the rest we both desperately needed. But as her body pressed against mine, warm and pliant and alive, I found myself wanting her. Needing her. Needing the connection that would prove we had survived, together.
My hand traced the curve of her spine, a touch that started as comfort but deepened into something more.
She stirred against me, tilting her face up, and I saw the same need reflected in her eyes.
Not just desire, but something more, the instinctive urge to affirm life after coming so close to death.
"Diarvet," she whispered, her voice still raw but steadier. Her palm flattened against my chest, right over my heart where it thundered beneath her touch.
"I need you," I admitted, my voice rough. "Need to feel you, to know you're really here, really safe."
"Yes," she breathed. It was answer and plea and permission all at once.
I kissed her, slowly at first, tenderly, my lips moving against hers with reverent care. She'd been through so much, and I needed her to know this wasn't about taking but about sharing. About reconnecting after nearly losing everything.
Her mouth opened beneath mine, and the kiss deepened, grew more urgent, our tongues tangling and dancing together. Her fingers threaded through my hair, pulling me closer. I felt the shift in her, felt the way her body arched into mine, seeking more contact.
I rolled her onto her back, bracing myself above her, taking my time to look at her. Her blonde splayed across the pillow, still damp at the ends. Her brown eyes, luminous and trusting. The dark pink flush spreading across her cheeks and down her throat.
"Beautiful," I murmured, tracing the line of her collarbone with my fingertips. "My brave, beautiful mate."
She reached up, cupping my face, drawing me down for another kiss. This one was fiercer, edged with desperation and relief. I could taste the salt of her earlier tears, and felt the tremor that still ran through her body.
"Touch me," she whispered against my lips. "Please, Diarvet. I need you."
I obliged, sliding my hand down the side of her body, mapping every curve and hollow. Her breath hitched when my palm curved over her hip, fingers splaying possessively across her thigh. I took my time, caressing her slowly, watching her face for every reaction.
When I finally let my fingertips graze along the warm, wet flesh at the juncture of her thighs, she gasped, her back arching off the mattress. She was already dripping, already ready for me, and the knowledge sent a surge of heat through my entire body.
"That's it, zeihava," I murmured, working her with patient, deliberate strokes, feeling her desire coating my fingers. "Just feel. Just be here with me."
Her hands clutched at my shoulders, nails digging in slightly as pleasure began to replace the shadows of trauma. I watched her face, memorizing every expression, the way her lips parted, the flutter of her eyelashes, the small sounds of pleasure that escaped her throat.
"Please," she gasped, her hips rising to meet my touch. "I need you. All of you."
I positioned myself at her entrance, pausing to search her gaze one more time. "Tell me if it's too much. Tell me if you need me to stop."
"Don't stop," she said firmly, wrapping her legs around my waist. "Don't you dare stop."
I entered her slowly, carefully, giving her body time to adjust. She was tight and warm around me, perfect, and I had to grit my teeth against the overwhelming sensation. When I was fully seated, I paused, forehead pressed to hers, both of us breathing hard.
"Okay?" I managed.
"More than okay," she whispered, rolling her hips experimentally. The friction making us both groan.
I began to move then, thrusting slow and deep, each movement deliberate and measured, meant only to give her pleasure. Iet my hand slip between us, my finger coming to rest against her clit with steady taps.
Her hands roamed my back, my shoulders, clutching and releasing in time with my movements. I kissed her neck, her jaw, the sensitive spot behind her ear, her breasts, murmuring words of praise and devotion against her skin.
"So good," I rasped against her skin. "So perfect. Mine. You're mine, Jolie, and I will never let anything harm you again."
"Yours," she agreed breathlessly, her inner muscles beginning to flutter around me. "Always yours."
I could feel her climbing toward release, the way her breathing changed, the way her body tensed, her inner walls starting to flutter around me. I shifted my angle slightly, hitting that spot inside her that made her cry out, and increased my pace just enough to drive her higher.
"Let go," I urged. "I've got you. Let go for me."
She shattered screaming out my name, her body clenching around me in waves of pleasure that went on and on. The sight and feel of her coming undone pushed me over the edge, and I followed her into bliss, burying myself deep as my own release crashed through me.
We stayed locked together as the aftershocks faded, both of us trembling and gasping for breath. I carefully withdrew and rolled to the side, immediately pulling her against me, wrapping her in my arms where she belonged.
"I love you," I whispered into her hair, my heart still pounding hard enough that I was certain she could feel it.
She tilted her face up, and I saw tears again, but these were different. These were tears of relief, of joy, of the overwhelming emotion that came with surviving and finding yourself still capable of feeling pleasure, of feeling love.
"I love you too," she whispered back, her hand coming to rest over my heart. "Thank you for protecting me."
"Always," I promised, pressing a kiss on her forehead.
We lay there in comfortable silence for several minutes, her head on my chest, my fingers trailing lazy patterns on her shoulder. The world outside could wait. For now, there was only this—the two of us, together and whole.
Her breathing gradually slowed, each exhale warm and steady against my skin. I felt the precise moment her body fully relaxed as sleep began to claim her. Her hand, which had been tracing absent patterns across my ribs, stilled and came to rest over my heart.
"Sleep, zeihava," I murmured, pressing my lips to the crown of her head. "I've got you."
She made a small, contented sound—something between a hum and a sigh—and burrowed closer, her leg sliding between mine, her arm tightening around my waist. Even as consciousness slipped away, she sought closeness, sought connection.
I adjusted the thin blanket over us, making sure her shoulders were covered, then settled back against the pillow with her tucked against my side.
The treehouse was quiet around us, just the distant sounds of the Peecha working outside, the occasional creak of wood settling, the whisper of wind through the leaves.
My own eyes grew heavy as I watched her sleep. The lines of stress that had been etched around her eyes and mouth had smoothed away, leaving her face peaceful. Her lips were slightly parted, her lashes dark crescents against her cheeks. Beautiful. Always so beautiful.
I let my hand rest on the curve of her hip, my thumb stroking back and forth in a slow, unconscious rhythm.
The simple act of holding her like this filled me with bone-deep satisfaction that went beyond words.
This was what mattered. Not the violence we'd survived, not the battles still to come, but this.
Her heartbeat steady against mine. Her breath mixing with mine in the quiet space between us.
My eyelids grew heavier with each passing moment.
I fought it briefly, wanting to stay awake, to watch over her.
But my body had other ideas. The adrenaline that had sustained me through torture, through rage, through the desperate need to protect her burned away, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.
"My mate," I whispered, though I wasn't sure if I said it aloud or only thought it as sleep pulled me under.
I awoke a few hours later, Jolie’s soft warm weight nestled against me. Sounds of cleanup drifted from outside. Tark barking orders, Binwee organizing the surviving slaves, her curt tones carrying suggestions of how to handle the remaining Kwado rather bloodthirsty. I liked her already.
Distantly, another sound floated to my ears—laughter, bright and bubbly, unmistakably young. My heart squeezed tight in my chest, and I couldn't stop the grin that spread across my face.
Lilibet.
I shifted carefully, not wanting to startle Jolie but needing to wake her. "Zeihava," I murmured softly, brushing my lips against her temple. "Wake up, my mate."
She stirred against me, making a small protesting sound, her hand tightening reflexively on my chest as if trying to hold onto sleep a little longer.
"Jolie," I said again, more urgently this time, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Lilibet's back."
Her eyes flew open immediately, all traces of drowsiness vanishing in an instant. "Lilibet?" She breathed, pushing herself upright, the blanket falling away. "She's here?"
"I can hear her," I confirmed, sitting up beside her. The laughter came again, closer now, accompanied by the sound of approaching footsteps and Numa's deeper voice saying something I couldn't quite make out.
Jolie's face transformed with pure, radiant joy. "We have to…." She looked down at herself, then at me. "Clothes. We need clothes."
I was already moving, swinging my legs off the bed and crossing to the cabinet where we stored the clean garments. I grabbed a simple tunic and trousers for myself, the fabric rough-spun but clean, smelling faintly of the soap they'd been washed in.
For Jolie, I found a soft dress in a pale-yellow color, the kind she favored for comfort and ease of movement. I helped her slip it over her head as she ran her fingers through her hair, trying to corral the waves.
"Here, let me," I said, running my fingers through her hair to smooth it into some semblance of order. It had dried wavy and wild. I loved the way it looked, like her hair somehow reflected the brave, bold female underneath.
She grabbed my face between her hands and kissed me quickly, fiercely. "Thank you. For…." Her voice caught. "For keeping her safe."
"My honor,” I said gently, tugging my tunic over my head. "She's mine too, Jolie. Both of you are. I will always keep you safe."
Another peal of laughter drifted up from below, and Jolie's eyes went bright with unshed tears—the happy kind this time.
"Come on," she said, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the conveyance. "I need to hold our daughter."
We raced down together, barefoot and slightly disheveled, but neither of us cared. The only thing that mattered was the little girl waiting below.