him that she certainly knew how to say no. He could not both hunt her and simultaneously protect her from himself.
He walked into the shadowed bedroom, drew off his robe and laid it at the foot of the bed, and slid naked between the sheets. As the cool linen slid across his skin, an image came to him of Xanthe, spread underneath his body, her face tilted up in agonized pleasure, and as tired as he was, his penis stiffened again and throbbed with urgency.
He ignored it. Now was not the time to act. As disconcerted as Xanthe had shown herself to be over the attraction that grew between them, he suspected it was too soon for her. He did not want to initiate anything prematurely. They each deserved better.
A chair scraped across the floor. He called out, “Why don’t you leave it? There is more than enough room for you to sit on the bed.”
A pause, then she said, “Very well.”
He lit the lantern on the bedside table while she shut and bolted the cottage door. By the time she stepped into the room, he lay back on the pillows with the covers pulled up to his chest. He watched her from underneath lowered eyelids as she moved to the pile of books. Her long body moved with a grace that caught at his throat. He longed to touch her with reverence and tell her how much she was coming to mean to him.
“Which book would you like for me to read?” she asked.
“I don’t care,” he told her. “Why don’t you pick one that you’re interested in?”
“All right.” She hesitated then chose a Dark Fae story and settled on one corner of the bed, leaning back against the headboard with one leg bent and tucked underneath her.
He closed his eyes as she began to read. The liquid notes of her voice filled the room, shaping words that created a story, but he did not care about that. He merely listened to the sound of her voice, the intonation and inflection, and the cadence she gave to each sentence, as if he was listening to a solo musician. It was incredibly soothing.
She halted, faltering into silence, as he turned onto his side and nuzzled her thigh, resting one relaxed hand on her knee. He refused to pull away or regret the move, and after a pause she resumed the story, her voice much softer.
After a few moments more, a light, gentle weight came down on the back of his head. She rested her hand on him as she read.
Naida had not been affectionate. They had maintained separate bedrooms, coming together for sex but never sleeping in the same bed. He had accepted that about her. Some people simply weren’t.
He was affectionate.
He smiled and slipped into a doze.
Sometime later, he roused as the bed shifted and Xanthe began to ease away. Without really thinking about it, he tightened his hand on her knee, murmuring, “Stay.”
She drew in a quick breath, the slight sound seemed loud in the silence of the bedroom. She said softly, “I thought you had fallen asleep.”
“I did. You moved.” His voice was gravelly.
“I’m sorry I woke you.”
He yawned and rolled onto his back, then opened his eyes to look at her. She wore an uncertain, vulnerable expression that squeezed at his chest. She would never be one for the cynical dalliances that the nobility indulged in. He lifted his hand to her, she took it and he pressed her fingers.
He told her quietly, “The bed is large, and there is more than enough room for two. You could even sleep with the covers between us if you like. No matter what you may have been used to in the past, I would feel better knowing that you weren’t on the cold hard floor, but it is entirely up to you. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable in any way.”
She was silent for so long. As he waited, he urged her, do it. Choose to do what you really want.
At last she whispered, “I’ll stay.”
Tension had gathered in his limbs as he waited for her to decide. At her words it released, leaving a lingering lightness that felt like joy. He slid over as she shrugged out of her trousers,
He walked into the shadowed bedroom, drew off his robe and laid it at the foot of the bed, and slid naked between the sheets. As the cool linen slid across his skin, an image came to him of Xanthe, spread underneath his body, her face tilted up in agonized pleasure, and as tired as he was, his penis stiffened again and throbbed with urgency.
He ignored it. Now was not the time to act. As disconcerted as Xanthe had shown herself to be over the attraction that grew between them, he suspected it was too soon for her. He did not want to initiate anything prematurely. They each deserved better.
A chair scraped across the floor. He called out, “Why don’t you leave it? There is more than enough room for you to sit on the bed.”
A pause, then she said, “Very well.”
He lit the lantern on the bedside table while she shut and bolted the cottage door. By the time she stepped into the room, he lay back on the pillows with the covers pulled up to his chest. He watched her from underneath lowered eyelids as she moved to the pile of books. Her long body moved with a grace that caught at his throat. He longed to touch her with reverence and tell her how much she was coming to mean to him.
“Which book would you like for me to read?” she asked.
“I don’t care,” he told her. “Why don’t you pick one that you’re interested in?”
“All right.” She hesitated then chose a Dark Fae story and settled on one corner of the bed, leaning back against the headboard with one leg bent and tucked underneath her.
He closed his eyes as she began to read. The liquid notes of her voice filled the room, shaping words that created a story, but he did not care about that. He merely listened to the sound of her voice, the intonation and inflection, and the cadence she gave to each sentence, as if he was listening to a solo musician. It was incredibly soothing.
She halted, faltering into silence, as he turned onto his side and nuzzled her thigh, resting one relaxed hand on her knee. He refused to pull away or regret the move, and after a pause she resumed the story, her voice much softer.
After a few moments more, a light, gentle weight came down on the back of his head. She rested her hand on him as she read.
Naida had not been affectionate. They had maintained separate bedrooms, coming together for sex but never sleeping in the same bed. He had accepted that about her. Some people simply weren’t.
He was affectionate.
He smiled and slipped into a doze.
Sometime later, he roused as the bed shifted and Xanthe began to ease away. Without really thinking about it, he tightened his hand on her knee, murmuring, “Stay.”
She drew in a quick breath, the slight sound seemed loud in the silence of the bedroom. She said softly, “I thought you had fallen asleep.”
“I did. You moved.” His voice was gravelly.
“I’m sorry I woke you.”
He yawned and rolled onto his back, then opened his eyes to look at her. She wore an uncertain, vulnerable expression that squeezed at his chest. She would never be one for the cynical dalliances that the nobility indulged in. He lifted his hand to her, she took it and he pressed her fingers.
He told her quietly, “The bed is large, and there is more than enough room for two. You could even sleep with the covers between us if you like. No matter what you may have been used to in the past, I would feel better knowing that you weren’t on the cold hard floor, but it is entirely up to you. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable in any way.”
She was silent for so long. As he waited, he urged her, do it. Choose to do what you really want.
At last she whispered, “I’ll stay.”
Tension had gathered in his limbs as he waited for her to decide. At her words it released, leaving a lingering lightness that felt like joy. He slid over as she shrugged out of her trousers,
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