Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
The permission
nik
An owl called in the distance, its voice echoing softly through the stillness, carrying a ribbon of moonlight through my window. My eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling. Comfort wasn’t the issue—my mind simply refused to settle.
I rolled onto my side, staring out the glass as my thoughts drifted to Sapphire in the other room. Was she awake? Was she peacefully asleep? I hoped so. After seeing the king and learning that her mother was in Lucius, she could do with some rest.
No doubt that had been huge for her. I’d seen it in the way she’d clutched at herself, fighting for breath. And oh, but how I’d longed to take her into my arms at that moment—crush her against my chest, and tell her everything was going to be okay.
I wanted to find her mother, to tell her that Sapphire needed her more than ever. But I knew it wasn’t my place. If anything, it would undo all the trust that had been slowly building between us over the last few weeks.
With a sigh, I rolled onto my back and resumed staring at the ceiling. At this rate, I wouldn’t get any sleep.
Especially when all I could think about was how beautiful she was in that midnight blue gown. How she’d carried herself with such grace, even though she trembled underneath.
She was one of the strongest women I knew.
Her door creaked, and instinctively, my eyes snapped to my doorway. I’d stopped closing it the day I brought Sapphire here. It was my quiet way of saying she could come to me, no matter the hour.
I waited silently in my bed as her light footsteps sounded down the hall. Only when I heard the door to the washroom shut did I let myself breathe. She was awake. Perhaps she couldn’t sleep either.
Moments later, she returned, and I held my breath as she hovered in the doorway of my room. Did she need something? Should I ask her?
Her soft steps carried her across the floor and I quickly shut my eyes, feigning sleep. And when my mattress dipped ever so slightly, my heart shot to my throat. She slipped beneath the sheets and curled into my side.
It took all of my self-restraint not to pull her closer. Not yet. Not until she gave me something that told me she wanted that.
Jasmine wrapped around me as her hand slid over my bare chest, laying flat against my skin. That was all the sign I needed. I slid my arm around her waist and drew her closer. “Are you alright?” I whispered into her hair.
She tipped her head up to look at me, and even though the room held little light, I could still make out her eyes. She nodded. “I just needed to be held.”
Her words gutted me in the gentlest, cruellest way. She’d been held by men, but probably not in a way that made her feel seen, safe, or loved.
I swallowed, and though every part of me ached to close the last few inches between us, I didn’t.
“I’ve got you,” I murmured, letting my thumb trace the slowest arc along her spine.
Her breath hitched, barely. She pressed her forehead to my collarbone, and the warmth of her exhale spread across my skin. She breathed me in again, deeper this time. Like she needed the reminder that I was real. That I wasn’t leaving.
I shifted only enough to make room for her legs to tangle with mine. She didn’t pull away. If anything, she softened—her body losing that rigid hesitation she carried like armour.
She was shaking, just slightly. Not fear—no, I knew the difference by now. This was the aftershock of holding too much alone.
After a few quiet moments, her fingers began to move—tentative at first, then tracing idle patterns across my ribs and the line of muscle beside them.
Each pass sent a flash of heat straight through me.
I forced my breath steady, nails digging into the sheets instead of her waist. She had no idea what she was doing to me.
Or maybe she did, and this was her way of testing the safety of proximity.
“Does it help,” I asked softly, careful not to interrupt the movement of her hand, “being close like this?”
A question without an edge. A door she could open or leave closed.
She nodded against my chest, the slightest brush of her cheek sending a ripple through me. But she didn’t speak, and I didn’t push. I simply kept my arm where it was, curved loosely around her, letting her set the pace. Letting her take what she needed without fear of taking too much.
Her fingers stilled, and for a heartbeat, I thought she might finally be drifting off to sleep.
Then, in the quiet, she whispered, “Would you still want to hold me . . . if you knew all the things I’ve done?”
The words hit something in me that had nothing to do with desire.
This was the kind of wound folk hid in the dark, the kind they never expected to be forgiven for.
I shifted carefully, lifting my head just enough to look at her. In the dim light, her eyes found mine, and I saw the fear she was trying to swallow down. It tore through me, shredding my insides.
“Sapphire,” I murmured, making sure she could hear every inch of truth in it.
“Even if you told me every terrible thing you fear would make me leave, I’d still reach for you.
” My fingers brushed her jaw, feather-light.
“Maybe even more. I’ve seen many souls in my years, I’ve done things I’m not proud of.
There is no one in The Grey or Lucius that is perfect. ”
She exhaled shakily, like she’d been holding that question inside her chest for years and wasn’t sure she deserved the answer she got.
Tears glistened in the outer corner of her eyes where her lashes met. Before I could draw another breath, her fingers curled into the back of my neck, and dragged my mouth down to hers.
My heart rate soared as I tasted her lips. The kiss wasn’t careful. It wasn’t shy. It was need, sharp and sudden, like she’d been holding it back and finally let it break free.
I kissed her back with every ounce of restraint I had left, following her pace, letting her mouth tell me how close she wanted me. Her lips moved against mine with a fierceness that stole the air from my lungs . . . then just as abruptly, she pulled away.
The drum in my chest throbbed intently, but I didn’t chase her. I forced myself to stay still, to let her breathe, to let her choose.
“Tell me what you want . . .” I said, my forehead brushing hers. Not a demand, an offering. She needed to know that in this moment she held the reins.
Her breath wavered. “I want you.”
Before I could stop it, her words scraped a soft groan from deep in my chest. I slid my other arm around her and pulled her closer, her body coming flush against mine in a way that nearly undid me.
“Show me how you want me,” I whispered, voice rougher than I intended. “Lead me.”
Because she’d had enough of people taking from her, enough of being used, enough of being acted upon.
If she wanted me—truly wanted me—then I needed her to guide this.
To claim it.
To claim me.
I waited, heart pounding, every muscle locked in place, except the hand resting on the silk fabric nightgown draped over her waist.
She had only to move.
And wherever she moved . . . I would follow.
With gentle fingers, she gripped my shoulders, pulling me over her as she rolled onto her back, wings splayed beneath her in a mass of silken feathers. I was careful not to put all my weight on her, as her hands roamed up towards my jaw, fingers climbing higher to comb through my hair.
Her stormy blue eyes lingered on me, flicking between my gaze and my lips. “I want to feel your hands on me. I want to taste your lips. I want to know what it is like to be touched by you.”
A quiet bravery seeped out of her hands as they travelled back down my neck, to glide over my back, coming to rest on my chest. Her touch sent shivers through me, racing downward until my cock was hard and aching in my pants.
“If anything feels wrong, tell me. I’ll stop instantly,” I whispered.
“I know,” she said as she nodded, her hands exploring me with quiet purpose.
One settled against my jaw, thumb stroking along the stubble near my mouth.
The other flattened over my shoulder, fingers curling slightly, as if testing my solidity.
There was nothing hesitant in her touch now.
Every movement felt deliberate, like she was claiming small pieces of me one gentle inch at a time.
The way she was looking at me made something deep in my chest pull tight. “Sapphire,” I whispered.
Her eyes stayed open, locked on mine. There were no walls left in them—no flinch, no guardedness. “Nik,” she whispered back.
I lowered myself slowly, stopping just before our noses touched, then I claimed her mouth with mine. Her lips were warm, welcoming, parting for me to slip my tongue inside.
She whimpered as her hands threaded through my hair, drawing me closer. I’d kissed women, but none of them ever gave me the rush that Sapphire did. I wanted to consume her. To cover her with my body and never let another soul touch her.
I kissed her slowly but hungrily. Her tongue traced the seam of my lips, warm and filled with desire. I felt her fingers quiver where they traced over the sides of my neck, and I broke the kiss, trailing my lips along her jaw and down the pale column of her throat.
Under me, her body arched in a subtle, wordless invitation. A signal of trust. A signal that she wanted this, wanted me, and that she wasn’t afraid.
With slow, gentle hands, I pulled the hem of her gown up to her waist. “Is this alright?” I whispered into the night.
She nodded. “Yes.” Then she slipped her hand up to cup my cheek. “You can take it off if you like.”
Her thumb traced a line of my cheekbone, slow and tantalizing. I could feel her breath on my lips. She wasn’t offering herself the way she’d been forced in the past.
She was offering this moment to me, because she wanted to.
Her words lit the fire growing inside me. I swallowed hard and nodded. My hands found the hem of the gown again, and I lifted it carefully. She breathed in as I drew the fabric higher, my knuckles grazing her soft skin.