5. Let Me See
SOUNDTRACK: Avalanche by Steelfeather
~ VOSKI ~
As the rain outside became a storm, tree branches and leaves lashing in the rising wind, we were safe and warm in a cocoon of darkness and heat.
I made love to her again.
When sanity finally returned, night had fallen in truth. The interior of the treehouse was nearly unrelenting dark. I could make out the paleness of her skin, little more than a dim form in the midnight shadows. Could sense when she moved.
Usually, I would light a candle from the box on the shelf.
But most women preferred nakedness under the cloak of darkness, and given Grace’s lack of experience, I assumed she was the same.
Besides, there was something appealing about lying in the dark, unknown to anyone but the dragons.
And I didn’t want to leave her side. That hollow in my chest brimmed with light and warmth.
But there were moments it chilled, as if whatever contained it was momentarily breached.
I was languid, but not spent. Relaxed and weary, but not even slightly sleepy.
And Grace seemed equally awake, curious, and enthralled.
But then, as was becoming a pattern, she shocked me.
“Do you have a lantern? Can I see you?”
“Are you sure you want to?” I joked, even as I rolled over to stretch for the lidded box on the shelf where we put anything that needed to be kept dry.
Pushing up to sit with my back to the wall, I dug through it, finding the items I needed by feel, while Grace hugged my side, asking questions, that I answered with surprising patience.
Yes, we left these things out here.
No, we didn’t leave food—it attracted animals.
Yes, Gil knew about this place and had helped me build it.
No, the other brothers didn’t know its location. They only knew there was a place to which we both disappeared at times. Though I used it far more than Gil these days.
Then I found the flint and the candle.
When I struck the spark, Grace startled, then giggled at herself.
I lit the candle wick, then pressed it into the little holder next to the bed, dropping the flint back into the box, and slipping it back onto the shelf.
When I sat back again, it was to find Grace lying on her side, one hand under her temple on the pillow, her hair beautifully mussed, and cheeks pink. And her eyes…
Her eyes glowed.
My skin prickled as she stared at me, her gaze raking from my face, down the length of my body, to my thigh, my knee which was bent up, then down to my toes. A moment later she trailed that gaze all the way back up.
But when her eyes reached my hip, she reached out with one small hand, placed it flat at my waist, then drew her palm up to my chest, then my shoulder, and then back down.
“You keep doing that and there won’t be much talking,” I said gruffly, I loved the sensation of her touch. And, it was a peculiar joy to allow myself to simply sit there and soak it up.
Usually, with a woman, I was quick to find a reason for farewells. A benefit of being a Furyknight—there was rarely a question that my time was limited, and my responsibilities unavoidable.
Responsibilities.
Shit.
I was scheduled for patrol tomorrow afternoon.
“You’re beautiful,” Grace whispered. Her choice of words seemed odd, but Grace seemed to find beauty everywhere. I couldn’t help but smile when her hand drifted up to my shoulder again.
I finally allowed myself to turn and look at her—really look at her—in the golden light of the candle beside me.
God, she stole my breath.
Curled on her side, her knees bent, her body was a landscape of heights and valleys that I wanted nothing more than to explore, over and over.
The female form had always fascinated me—the ways a woman’s body curved and rolled, where ours were jagged and angular.
But something about Grace was so much more, as if every crease and curve hid a secret I had yet to uncover.
As if every new smile, or sound was a world of information I had yet to investigate.
And now, curled as she was, just at my side, her eyes sparkling and scanning my body, anticipation fizzed in my chest.
She must have felt it, because she smiled, and curled her fingers so her nails scraped on my skin. I twitched and spluttered when she ran fingers up the side of my ribs, and she giggled.
“You’re ticklish?”
“Not usually!” but I flinched and twitched until she moved her hand to my chest. Then I exhaled deeply.
“That was a heavy sigh.”
“It’s a relief to stop fighting the pull.” The words were true, and came without thought. But the moment they were out, I tensed. Would they remind her of how I’d hidden the truth?
Her stroking stopped briefly and I looked at her from the corner of my eye to measure her reaction—only to remember that I didn’t need to assess her expression. I could sense her. Feel her.
Swallowing, I turned my attention inward, to that space in my chest shaped just like her, prodding it gently.
Unease, but overwhelmed by delight. Curiosity. Some uncertainty. But all of it underlined with sheer, white light that glowed brighter when her eyes met mine.
I caught her hand when she began to pull it away. “Don’t stop. Please. I didn’t mean… I like your touch,” I admitted softly.
“Good,” she murmured. “Because I only want to sit up so I can see you properly.”
Relieved, I let go of her hand, but offered my arm to stabilize her as she pushed up to kneel on the bed next to me, then sat back on her heels.
Seated like that, she was so little, it was mildly unnerving.
But so beautiful, I couldn’t stop staring.
Her hair, loose around her shoulders, fell to cover most of her breasts.
Her waist nipped in under her ribs, then flared again to her hips and thighs, which were round and growing muscular.
Her thighs were so short compared to mine, it was hard to believe she wasn’t easily breakable.
Her eyes were avid and as she knelt there, staring, I found myself wondering how I appeared to her.
I wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing, and didn’t cover myself. She’d touched me and seemed thrilled by my body. But I knew most women were less excited by the sense of sight than—
“It’s much larger when you’re aroused,” she said tilting her head as she stared at my flaccid cock.
I wanted to bristle. Defend. But also, had to swallow laughter, because I didn’t think she understood the blow those words could be.
Please, God, could my brothers never learn that she’d said that out loud. She was making an observation. And I should answer it as such.
“Yes,” I said, clearing my throat. “Thank God, because it would get in the way, otherwise.”
She giggled. “I always wondered how men rode horses, with their dangles and their, um…” she waved a hand in the vicinity of my crotch and blushed.
“It’s not usually a problem unless we get thrown high and come down on the wrong angle,” I said with a chuckle.
To my delight, she grew thoughtful, and nodded, as if I’d answered her intelligently. Then she looked down again and her brows pinched into a V over her nose.
“Are they attached?” she asked.
I was confused and looked at myself, wondering what she saw. “I assure you, they’re all very firmly attached. Please don’t try to remove—”
“No, no. To each other, I mean.” She giggled again and shuffled a few inches closer, peering down at me. “Do you mind if I look?”
“Please, be my guest.” I was bemused, and thrilled when she tentatively took hold of my cock and lifted it, tilting her head to look underneath, while I told myself I was undisturbed at being examined like a horse.
“Not attached,” she declared. “Not quite. Interesting. My mother told me once that God gave men dangles so that we always had a grip by which to bring a man to his knees. But it seems like if we tried, we’d reach your handle first. Perhaps that’s why she called it that?”
“Handle? And dangles?”
She gave a sheepish grin. “The words my mother used when I was a child. And when the married women would speak to me, it seemed less embarrassing to use those words than… well, you know.”
I grinned. “I do. I’m curious, what did she call your, er, privates?”
Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson. “Sacred places,” she whispered.
God, it was hard not to laugh. Good thing I was trained to keep a straight face. But I’d forgotten she could feel my emotions.
“You’re laughing at me.”
I shook my head quickly, though my grin stretched. “No!” I coughed when she gave me a skeptical look. “It’s more that it’s a side of you I haven’t seen. You’re so bold. It’s fascinating to me that you’ll throw yourself off a dragon without hesitation, but using words makes you blush.”
She squirmed. “I was paddled as a child if I even whispered a bad word,” she said with a shrug. “It became a habit to keep my words clean.”
“Well, in that case, you better tell me what words you’re comfortable with me using,” I said quietly, taking her hand and pulling her to me.
“Oh, I like your swears,” she said. “Please don’t stop. Coarse words are thrilling.”
I shook my head, but leaned forward to pull her chin up and kiss her—only to have the bond swell in my chest, and my body respond. I’d barely taken her mouth when my breath grew short.
Grace leaned in eagerly when I slid a hand to her neck—then, just as I was about to pull her into my lap, she jerked her head back, her eyes wide.
“Will the squad expect me to speak about these things?” she squeaked. “I know men are far more open, but—”
“They will make jokes at times,” I said dryly. “But don’t worry. We’re used to having Bren around now. We’ve been instructed very clearly about the boundaries. No one else will ask you to talk about such things. You’ll hear plenty of innuendo when they want to get under your skin, though.”
“Oh, good. I thought when they learned about the bond, they might make jokes about the joining, and that would be mortifying.”
My mind conjured the image of my brothers, grinning and teasing… and something cold chittered in my chest.