Chapter 22 LUAN
LUAN
I'm the big spoon.
The realization settles over me slowly, my mind still hazy.
Lily's back is pressed against my chest, her body fitting against mine like she was made for this exact position.
My arm is draped over her waist, my hand resting on her stomach where I can feel the slow rise and fall of her breathing.
Our legs are tangled together under the sheets, her calf tucked between mine, her skin soft and warm.
I don't cuddle. Ever.
I fuck, and when it's over there's no lingering, no soft morning intimacy, no waking up with someone in my arms like this matters beyond the physical release. Sex is a transaction in my world. A need met and then discarded. Something that happens between bodies, not people.
But Lily is different in a way I can't explain, in a way that bothers me because I don't do different. Don't make exceptions. Don't let people in like this, don't allow them access to the parts of myself I keep locked down and controlled.
And yet here I am. Holding her. Not wanting to let go.
She stirs against me, her breathing changing as consciousness returns. I feel the shift in her body, the way she becomes aware of where she is, who she's with, what we did last night.
I press a kiss to her shoulder. Just because I can. Just because she's here and warm and mine in this moment.
She turns in my arms until we're facing each other, her hair spilling across the pillow, her blue eyes still heavy with sleep.
We kiss, lazy and slow, no urgency behind it.
Just tasting each other in the morning light that filters through the curtains.
Her mouth is soft under mine, her hands resting on my chest, her body relaxed and pliant.
This is wrong. I should be pulling away. Creating distance. Reasserting boundaries that got obliterated last night in the heat and need and desperate connection.
But I don't want it to stop.
I want to stay here. In this bed. With her. Let the world outside this room continue without me for once.
Except I can't.
"I would love nothing more than to stay in bed with you all day," I say against her mouth, meaning every word. "But unfortunately I have things to do."
She makes a small sound of protest, and I feel it like a physical pull in my chest. The desire to give her what she wants, to ignore responsibility and obligation and everything waiting for me outside this room.
I can't. But the fact that I want to is dangerous enough.
"I'm going to shower," I tell her, pulling back just enough to see the outline of her face. "And you're coming with me."
I take her hand, threading my fingers through hers. Lead her to the bathroom, navigating by memory and the growing light I can sense more than see.
The water is hot, steam filling the space immediately, fogging the mirrors and wrapping around us like a physical presence.
I soap her body slowly, my hands mapping every curve and hollow since my eyes can't give me the details I want.
The dip of her waist. The flare of her hips.
The soft weight of her breasts. The smooth plane of her stomach.
I memorize her through touch. Store every detail away like treasure.
Then I turn her around, press her front against the cool tiles, feel her gasp at the temperature contrast.
"I've never taken someone bare," I say against the back of her neck. The admission feels significant, vulnerable in a way I don't usually allow. "I'm clean."
"I'm okay too," she says, her voice soft and trusting in a way that makes my chest tighten. "I'm on birth control."
I enter her from behind, pin her hands flat against the tiles with my own, our fingers interlacing. The position is familiar from earlier, but different now. More intimate without the barrier between us. More real.
We move together, the water running over us, steam thick in my lungs, her body accepting mine with an ease that feels like recognition. Like we've done this a thousand times before instead of just once.
We both come after a while, slower than before, less desperate but somehow more intense. Her body tightens around me, pulling my own release from somewhere deep in my spine. I bite down on her shoulder to muffle the sound that wants to escape, tasting salt and water and her.
I finish showering quickly after that, the practical needs of the day reasserting themselves. Leave her under the spray, her face tilted up toward the water, her hair plastered to her shoulders.
"I'm going to start coffee," I say.
"Are you sure you can manage?" she asks, and there's genuine concern in her voice, not mockery.
"It's just pressing a button," I tell her. "I think I can manage."
I dry off, wrap the towel around my waist, navigate to the kitchen by memory and the brightening morning light I can sense more than see.
My vision is improving daily now, shapes becoming clearer, edges less blurred.
Soon I'll be able to see her face properly.
Soon I'll know what she looks like when she comes, what her eyes do when I touch her, how her mouth curves when she smiles.
Soon. But not yet.
I'm at the coffee machine, my hand hovering over the button, when I hear them.
Footsteps. Two sets. Familiar patterns I'd recognize anywhere.
Artan and Erion walk into the kitchen.
I sense their energy filling the space. They've been out all night. I can tell by the edge coming off them, wired and manic, the kind of tension that comes after violence and adrenaline.
"We have a present for you," Erion says, and there's satisfaction in his voice, pride threading through the words. "Something we know you've been looking for."
My pulse kicks up. I know exactly what he means.
Before I can respond, I hear different footsteps.
Lighter. Hesitant. Barefoot against tile.
Lily.
The kitchen goes completely silent.
I can feel the moment they realize. Can sense their awareness shifting, understanding what this means.
They know. They know exactly what happened last night.
The silence stretches, uncomfortable and heavy, thick with implications and questions no one is asking out loud.
I hear Lily fidget, a small sound of nervousness that makes my jaw tighten. She's uncomfortable. Self-conscious. Aware of being watched and judged.
I need to give her something. An out. A task that lets her focus on something other than their stares.
"I can't manage the coffee machine after all," I say, smooth and casual, "Can you help?"
"Of course," she says, her voice too bright, too forced, but grateful for the excuse. "Would either of you like coffee? Something to eat?"
Artan doesn't respond. I can feel his silence like a weight.
"Just coffee," Erion says, and there's something in his tone I can't quite read.
I take control. Direct the conversation back where it needs to be, away from Lily and what this all means.
"You said you had something for me," I say, my voice level and businesslike. "Is it something that can wait? Or does it need my attention right now?"
Artan finally speaks, his voice careful and controlled in a way that tells me he's furious and trying to hide it. "I don't think it can wait long. The transportation and handling left some complications."
I finish my coffee, set the cup down with deliberate precision. "I'll be ready to leave in ten minutes."