The lucky shit.
The extremely handsome and lucky shit.
Damn, he even looked good in the moonlight while he slept. Without his hands bound together, he’d curled up on his side and tucked one under his face, pillowing it. It made him look more youthful and innocent. Awake, there was always this aged kind of worldliness in his eyes as if he understood all the darkness in the world, even if he opted to focus on the light side. But here and now in his sleep, he looked damn-near pure and angelic.
A bit of remorse shifted through me. I came from the darkness, the cursed underbelly of the Outer Realms. I’d been raised by possibly the most heartless, unstable woman to roam this land, and here was this freaking beacon of hope and goodness who’d been stuck with me as his partner. It wasn’t fair. His love mark should’ve found him a woman more deserving, one just as wholesome and respectable as he was.
Reaching out before I knew quite what I was doing, I caught a piece of his hair and ran it between my fingers. It was as silky soft as it looked. So absorbed in watching my hand pet him, I didn’t realize his breathing had changed until I shifted my attention back to his face and found his eyes open.
I nearly yanked my hand away, guiltily, but he’d already seen me touching him, probably felt it too. So I kept on, even moved my fingers until I ran them over his eyebrows, smoothing one down, then the other. When I shifted my thumb over his cheekbone, he caught my wrist and kissed my palm.
“Can’t sleep?” he guessed.
I shook my head no and tugged my fingers away to tuck them back under my cheek. We watched each other about a full minute before he sucked in a startled breath and whispered, “You changed your mind.”
I frowned in confusion.
A slow smile spread across his lips as he added, “About us. You’ve changed your it’s-never-going-to-happen stance about us.”
Sniffing, I said, “No, I haven’t. Trust me.”
“Yes, you have,” he countered, still grinning like a fool. “I can feel it. There’s this warm acceptance where it used to be cool, brittle wariness.”
His explanation made me scowl even as I reluctantly admitted, “Maybe.”
“Definitely.”
With a roll of my eyes, I sighed.
He gave a low chuckle before growing serious and asking, “What made you change your mind, though?”
I could’ve gone on denying it, I guess. But he’d never denied anything to me. He’d always been open and honest about everything. It seemed like I should be the same. So I drew in a deep, bracing, brave breath and answered, “Today. Today changed my mind.”
Eyebrows quirking with confusion, he grew thoughtful before saying, “So Melaina was right? It’s just about sympathy? Because you feel responsible for Axel’s death? But you’re not, you know. Don’t ever feel like it was your fault—”
“That’s not why,” I cut in. When he grew quiet and just watched me, I took a second to collect my thoughts. Then I tried to explain it. “I guess I do feel responsible. But maybe not for what you’re thinking. It happened after he died when you grew so quiet and withdrawn. The way you were acting; it was all just wrong. You weren’t being you. And I felt like I should do something to at least try to help you return to yourself because you were my responsibility. I felt accountable for you. So I guess I—I don’t know—I guess I finally accepted the truth to myself that you’re mine. And we are soulmates, no matter what.”
“We are,” he affirmed quietly.
I glanced away, up toward the moonlight, because this felt so incredibly awkward and embarrassing for me to admit. “And…” I went on, my voice cracking. “I guess, if I was going to accept that fact, then I should start accepting other facts, like…”
Shit. I couldn’t say this.
“Like…” he drew out for me. “The fact that you like me, and you’re actually okay with me being yours and you being mine?”
I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth, then muttered, “Maybe.”
He released an audible breath. “I like you too,” he admitted. Then, with a much more teasing tone, he tried to coax, “So maybe you might also want to accept the fact that you want me as much as I want you, too, huh?”
Eyes flashing open, I glared. “Don’t push it, Moast.”
He chuckled. “Okay, fine. I won’t make you admit that one aloud. Even though we both know it’s true.” His eyebrows lifted as if daring me to deny it. When I didn’t, he blew out another long release of air, and rasped, “Oh, boy,” to himself.
I knew he could feel my rising arousal. So I just lay there, waiting for his reaction.
Sucking his bottom lip in between his teeth, he nodded to me. Then he glanced across the low glowing embers of the campfire toward Melaina’s bedroll, and after concluding that she was asleep, he turned back to me and lifted the front of his blanket.
“Come here. It’s late, and I know how to help you find rest, empress.”
I should’ve declined. The typical Quilla would. But for some reason, with the truth out in the open and my heart beating hard in my chest along with my hands trembling with anxious excitement, I climbed out of my bedroll and crawled over to his. He welcomed me warmly, tenderly tucking the blankets around me as I settled in against him.
He hadn’t put on a tunic after I’d kissed him and healed the wound in his side; I’d forgotten that. So when I pressed against warm flesh stretched over taut muscles, it was a surprise.
Not a bad one, though. I quite liked him being shirtless.
“Comfortable enough?” he whispered in my ear once he had me tucked up against him.
I nodded. “Mmm.”
“Good.” As his low voice vibrated through me, I sighed.
Why was I doing this?
I wasn’t sure, but cuddling felt good, anyway. And even though we were literally pressed against each other in order to fit into the bedroll, I wasn’t squished. He was just so warm and big and safe. And he smelled good. I wanted to be as close to him as was humanly possible.
I turned my nose toward his throat, where his smell lingered the strongest, and he kissed my cheek in return.
Then his hand moved up the outside of my arm, stroking flesh. When he reached my shoulder, he gave a soft squeeze, gently kneading muscle.
I shuddered, coming more awake and not at all getting sleepier as he had promised I would. But the massage felt so good I didn’t even care.
Releasing a breath, I began to breathe a little faster. Under my clothes, my body strained, my breasts tightened, and the insides of my thighs tingled.
“You like that?” he asked, his fingers working their way to the side of my throat before he cupped my jaw.
Groaning a little, I mumbled, “Yes.” And my eyes slid closed.
His lips pressed against my neck. “I’m going to give you a little massage with nothing but this one hand. And when I’m done, you’re going to sleep harder than you’ve ever slept before. Okay?”
My head bobbed in answer. “Okay.”
He kissed my neck again, a little higher this time, almost behind my ear. Toes curling as a heated current moved through me, I found myself arching toward him. My breathing could no longer resemble anything steady or regular now.