Chapter 37 #2
“You’ve been with someone before?” She met his gaze for only a second, expecting him to be disgusted. That’s what Tehvan made her expect, wasn’t it? But Rell only looked at her with concern. It wasn’t an accusation. “Did Tehvan know?”
“He umm… He didn’t know until after. There were no alarm bells for him to think anything was wrong.
No lust. No desire.” Her hands trembled in her lap, her thumb nail digging in her palm so hard, she thought she might dig right through her skin.
“I hardly even remember it. I wasn’t there. Like… mentally.”
Elora didn’t know what she expected—revulsion, pity, awkward silence. But not this. Not the way his gaze held her without a flicker of judgment. Like what she said didn’t change anything. Like it made her more real, not less.
Her heart twisted.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice barely audible.
“For what?” Rell asked gently.
She opened her mouth, then shut it. She wasn’t even sure. For telling him. For being broken. For wanting more.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. Her fingers clenched again in her lap, her pulse screaming beneath the press of her thumb.
And Rell saw it.
He reached out, and gently wrapped his hand around hers, lifting it from her palm, breaking the cycle.
“Stop hiding,” he murmured. “Just for a second. He’s not here.”
She didn’t look at him. Couldn’t.
Her hand lay limp in his, suspended between them. The pressure she’d been applying to her pulse had left an ache in her thumb.
Tehvan wasn’t here. But his ring still was.
He couldn’t see her now, couldn’t speak her name, couldn’t step between her and the storm of her own desires.
But he could feel it.
The flutter of her heartbeat, the way it stumbled and stuttered beneath her skin.
He would know something was up.
He always knew.
He’s not here.
Not in the trees, not by the fire, not in this moment that felt like it belonged to her and her alone.
She stared at their joined hands, her breathing uneven. Her thumb twitched—wanting to return to its place, to keep pretending. But instead her fingers curled slowly around his.
If Tehvan could feel the heat building beneath her skin, if he could sense the want slowly blooming in her chest—Let him.
He’d taught her that desire was dangerous. That control was love.
But Rell had taught her something else entirely.
He didn’t take. He didn’t push.
He waited.
This is what it feels like, she thought, her heart beating faster with every second. This is what it means to choose.
Elora turned toward him, slowly. Her breath caught in her throat as she lifted her eyes to his. They hovered there, so close—so close she could feel the warmth of his breath on her parted lips. Her gaze flickered between his mouth and eyes, a silent plea for what she wanted.
Her voice was the softest breath. “I want to know what it feels like… when it’s what I want.”
She kissed him.
It wasn’t perfect or practiced—her lips trembled, her whole body braced for rejection—but she kissed him anyway. Because she wanted to. Because she was choosing this.
He kissed her back, not with the forceful hunger she expected, but with a soft, careful reverence that took her breath away. Like she was something precious, not something just to be claimed and conquered.
His hand moved from her scalp to her jaw, anchoring her with a feather-light touch as he deepened the kiss.
Her pulse roared beneath her skin, and his lips—they were warm and slow, certain in a way that made her feel like she wouldn’t shatter if she gave in.
The way he kissed her, it was like he meant it, like this was something that mattered and not something that left you hollow.
Elora’s fingers clenched tighter around his, and she almost pulled back from the intensity of it, from the unguarded want that spilled from her chest. Almost. But gods, she couldn’t.
Not when he kissed her like this, like she was whole and wanted.
He followed when she leaned into him again, a desperate little noise catching in her throat, her body humming with unfamiliar need.
Elora’s heart beat in her throat, thunderous and erratic. If she were shifted now—if those instincts ruled her—she wouldn’t be able to stop herself.
Even now, without that primal heat in her blood, she felt it: the pull of him.
A deep, silent urge to be closer, so close she would become a part of him.
Touch him, taste him, know him in ways she barely knew herself.
Her body ached, ached with longing and overflowed with quiet need.
She wanted his hands on her again, tracing her skin like she was something to learn, something to remember.
Her fingers dug into his as if they could reach through and find his pulse.
She’d never known this before, this want that threatened to overtake her, that demanded to be felt in flesh and breath and heart.
Her body hummed with the need to give in, to collapse into whatever this was and let it smash through her barriers, but her mind screamed caution.
She couldn’t lose herself in this, in him, not entirely.
Not when she’d spent so long learning to guard her heart.
She wanted more—more of him, more of this, more of what it meant to have choices and make them.
Her desires were so strong, so urgent, but with them came the fear she wasn’t ready to face.
What if she was wrong? What if wanting like this was too dangerous, just like she’d been taught?
She wasn’t sure how to stop the tide of desire without drowning underneath it, didn’t how to let herself want without losing everything.
Her mind was full of questions spiking like shards of glass, each one sharper than the last. What did he see in her?
What did this mean? Did he think this was enough? Was she enough?
All those old lessons and fears roared up, choking her with their spectral grip.
She was afraid. Not of him. She knew she was safe here.
She knew Rell wasn’t going to take more than she was willing to give.
But that didn’t make the fear vanish. It didn’t stop her hands from shaking, didn’t stop the old ghosts from whispering.
The moment stretched taut, and the longing burned, and the doubt curled around them like smoke. It was too much. Too much to hold, too much to bear. So, she pulled back.
The silence crackled between them.
“Do you let all your clients kiss you?” she asked, trying to play off her sudden retreat.
Rell blinked, caught off guard, then let out a quiet laugh. It was warm, low, and deliciously close. “I have a strict rule against that, actually.”
She tilted her head, brows lifting. “Really?”
“Mm-hmm.” He grinned, leaning back just enough to meet her eyes. “Keeps things professional.”
“So why are you breaking the rule now?”
His smile gentled. “Because it’s my rule. And I can break it if I want.”
He leaned in again, not for another kiss, but just to rest his forehead against hers. His hand slid down to her waist, settling there without pressure. No demand. Just presence.
“What is it you want, Elora?” he asked softly.
She closed her eyes. Let the question sink into her chest.
What did she want?
She wanted his touch. His warmth. His lips on hers again. She wanted to feel desire without shame. To be close to someone without fear.
But she wasn’t ready.
Not yet.
She exhaled slowly. “I just want you to stay,” she whispered. “Here. With me. While we sleep.”
“Okay.”
Her eyes flicked open, searching his face. “Really?”
With a gentleness that made her ache, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, then lay back on his bedroll next to her. Not quite touching, but close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him.
Elora lowered herself beside him. When her hand rested on his arm under the blanket between them, he didn’t move away. He just let it stay there.
Not quite cuddling.
But safe.