19. Precious
SOUNDTRACK: Hush by Stevie Howie
~ GRACE ~
I couldn’t find the joy. Couldn’t find the balance. And it was killing me.
From the moment we’d had that conversation, even though we’d agreed, even though I believed he meant what he said about not rejecting me again, I couldn’t shake it. And neither, it seemed, could Voski.
He was tense. Jittery. His eyes remained dark, and he grew very still and quiet. And even though I couldn’t feel any anger through the bond, his stilted movements and tight, expressionless face reminded me of when he’d been holding himself in check, but wishing I was gone.
It weighed on me.
Then, after dinner, when we returned to the hut and would usually fall into each other’s arms, the reality that this was our last night hit me.
Instead of attempting to flirt with him, kiss him, or touch him, I began to collect the few things we’d brought, packing them, laying out the leathers I’d washed the day before so that I could return in something clean.
Then I started nervously circling the hut, ensuring there was nothing left that had been pressed into a dark corner, or rolled under a chair.
Through it all, my quiet, tense mate sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees, those strands of hair scattered over his midnight eyes.
Yet, I felt his gaze like a light shining on me in the dark.
Revealing. Shocking. Dazzling. It made my heart race, and my nerves flutter.
But I didn’t know how to cross this bridge—to put myself in his hands and beg him to distract me from the reality that these were our last hours alone.
Then, the third time I walked to the bed, to lean over it and examine the blankets, checking for any items that might have been slipped under a pillow, or lost between quilts, he watched me, silently, waiting for the moment I straightened and turned.
When I stepped back from the bed, his hand shot out and caught my wrist. And I froze, my heart hammering.
Even seated on the bed he was almost as tall as me.
I stared at him, my chest rising and falling with the force of my breath, that had ratcheted up when he caught me.
“What—”
“Stop,” he said firmly.
I blew out a breath and nodded, pushing my hair back with my free hand. I needed to braid it again. I’d washed it that afternoon and left it to dry. But it was tickling my neck, and if I slept with it loose it would tangle.
“You’re right,” I breathed, still nodding, and turning away, toward the bag I’d packed on the floor near the door. “Of course. There will be time in the morning. I just need to find a tie to braid my hair and—”
“Grace. Stop.” There was an edge in his tone that sent a trill of unease through me, but when I turned back because he hadn’t released my hand, he got to his feet and pulled me to him. His eyes remained locked on my face and he stared at me, shaking his head.
“Sorry,” I whispered. “I’m just nervous. About going back.”
He nodded. “Next time you feel that way, you come to me.”
I was confused. “But, I’m already with you. You’re right here?”
“No, Grace.” He leaned down, so close his breath fluttered over my lips. “You come to me. You feel the feeling, you recognize it, and you bring it to me. Let me carry it.”
I let my head fall back, frowning. “I am not a child who needs—”
“No, you most definitely are not,” he said. And then he smiled, that slow, wicked, promise of a smile that made my heart race even faster. “I’m not telling you to be weak, Grace. I’m telling you, I’ll make you stronger.”
“How?” I blurted.
His lips quirked, but the smile faltered quickly. He stared into my eyes and my breath stopped. The bond pulsed, flared, flickered, as if it fought against a barrier. And then, it surged—warmth and tension and need washing to me as something within him shifted.
My breath caught and I drew my head back. I wanted to ask him, but his gaze was so intense. “Voski, how, when we can’t even speak of—”
“I need to show you something.”
I would have thought he meant a teaching, but his face paled and his eyes were dark.
“Show me what?”
He swallowed. “Take off your clothes,” he said hoarsely.
I huffed a laugh and put a trembling hand on his chest. “Yes, that will definitely help, but—”
He caught that wrist again and shook his head, his chin dropping. “Grace… are you ready to learn a… a new thing?”
And in the same moment I inhaled sharply, a little piece of my heart sang. And soothed. “Yes,” I breathed.
“Then take off your clothes. I have something to show you.” He released my hand and stepped back, watching me.
It was a strange moment. On the outside he looked stern.
A little cold. I would have expected him to shut down the bond.
But inside I could sense him. In detail.
I still had trouble discerning details of him if we were separated by more than ten feet or so.
But he was right there. I felt all of him.
His insides roiled and snapped. And thrilled.
“Do you trust me, Grace?” he asked hesitantly, as if he was uncertain of my response. Which made me sad.
“I do.”
“Thank you.” He said the words bluntly. Frankly. Like I’d shocked him. Then he swallowed. “You remember the safe words?”
“Of course.” I hadn’t had to use them since that first day, though I’d come close once when he chased me.
“Good. Then please, trust me now. I want to show you something. Something very important to me. Something… something difficult.”
I swallowed hard and started on the button at my throat. But went slowly, waiting for him to remove his clothing as well.
Except, he didn’t.
His eyes stayed locked on mine, until I had the third button of the shirt open, then his gaze raked down, his lips parted, and his shoulders rose and fell faster.
I’d taken off my jacket when we entered the hut. I only wore the cotton shirt, and leather trousers and boots. So it was mere seconds before the last button was open.
I hesitated. Except to tilt his head a little to the side, he still hadn’t moved. His arms remained folded. And he still wore his jacket, though he’d removed his boots earlier.
“Aren’t you going to undress as well?” I asked breathlessly.
Relief flooded me as he unfolded his arms and slowly leaned toward me. But instead of unbuttoning his jacket, he reached for me, sliding a hand under my hair, to the back of my neck and pulling me to stand between his feet. Then he leaned down and dropped his head to murmur in my ear.
“Take. Off. Your clothes,” he growled. The ring of authority, and gravel of his deep voice, ragged as if he’d been shouting, tickled behind my navel.
I nodded quickly, but he didn’t straighten, he remained, cheek-to-cheek with me as I hurried, with fumbling fingers, to unbuckle my belt and tug the shirt out of the leather trousers.
A low rumble of approval vibrated in his chest when the shirt fell open. He brushed a kiss against my collarbone and rasped, “Good girl,” as he straightened to loom over me, his chin up, but eyes down and folded his arms again.
Yet that strange tangle inside him didn’t stop. The rise of his thrill and arousal only matched by the jangle of alarm.
I swallowed, but kept going. I couldn’t untangle the tumult of emotions in him—thrill, excitement and anticipation sparking right alongside nervous tension, uncertainty, and a little bit of fear.
He’d seen me naked and sprawled, open to his eyes. And I’d seen him the same.
So, why did standing there in front of him while he stared, eyes raking, fully-clothed, slowly baring myself, feel so horribly vulnerable?
There was a moment, when I got the buttons of my fly undone and grasped the waist band, ready to push them down, that I hesitated.
He stared at me avidly for a beat, then rasped. “What made you stop? What do you feel? Describe it.”
I swallowed to wet my throat. My breath was quick, but shallow. “I’m excited,” I said carefully.
“And?”
“And… I want you.”
“Never a bad thing. But that’s not the heart of it, Grace. Tell me.”
I blew out a breath. “I feel… fragile. A little bit scared.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re not naked. And you’re not touching me. It feels like I could be judged.”
He nodded, then leaned forward again until our noses almost touched, his eyes black and locked on mine. “You’re feeling the power I have over you. And it’s real. I want you to know I understand that. What a responsibility it is. Do you believe me?”
“Yes.”
He nodded again. “So, you have a choice. I’ve got something to show you. Are you ready, Grace?”
“For what?” My voice was thin. A wisp.
“To put yourself in my hands and trust me to choose what happens to you.”
And even though the fear in my chest didn’t ease, the thrill increased. “Yes.”
His smile curled up, but his jaw was tight. “Then, I’ll only say it once more: Undress. Now.”
Swallowing, I bent forward to push my trousers down.
The leather was thick enough that I had to balance on one foot to pull one leg off, then the other.
Usually, when we did this together, he helped me.
But Voski didn’t reach out to help me. I felt his eyes like a touch, covering every inch of my bare skin, though.
I wobbled as I got the second leg of my leathers off, and almost overbalanced. But it was only when I’d finally freed myself and was about to straighten, that I felt his hand on my hair, sliding from the top of my head to cup the back of my skull, squeezing—and stopping me from straightening.
I went still again, half-crouched, awkward, uncertain what he wanted.
“Throw them aside,” he rasped.
I tossed the leathers aside a little harder than was needed. They slapped on the wall then dropped to the floor, but neither of us looked.
His breath was growing heavier. Mine already came in puffs.
His fingers tightened in my hair. “Drop to your knees,” he croaked.
My heart leaped in my chest. I’d heard jokes the women of the court made about how much a man enjoyed a woman on her knees, and even though I gathered what was involved, I hadn’t tried that yet.