Page 142 of Oathbreaker

I lean back against him, and his arms go around my waist.

“I want to do something,” he says suddenly. “I’ve been researching breathwork.”

I lift my eyebrows in slight surprise. I’ve studied somatics and breathwork extensively in my psychology classes, even though they’re woefully underfunded areas of study.

“I know you’re the expert here,” he says. “Wanna do some breathing with me?”

I smile slowly. “That sounds nice, H.”

He squeezes me gently.

“Wait, let me just—” I reach in front of me, bending over to rummage through the essential oil stash in front of us. When I find the bottles of clary sage and lavender, I jerk when his hands glide up the backs of my thighs.

I push back against him and frown when he removes his hand. I’m conscious that I’m naked under my robe—the scratch of the terrycloth material against my breasts amplifies my awareness.

Looking over my shoulder, I suck in a breath at his heated, focused expression.

“Put the oils in the diffuser, Sunbeam.” His voice is rough, so I don’t delay doing what he commands.

Settled back between his legs, I revel in the feeling of his heat radiating behind me.

This is what I need. This is what I missed. Everything is okay as long as Hunter is with me.

“Let’s do square breathing,” he says close to my ear. “Four counts to breathe in, hold for four, four counts to exhale.” He holds his hands palm up on each of his thighs.

“Let’s do it together,” he says.

I can’t speak, so I nod and place my hands on his, palm to palm.

Together, we inhale. It takes a few cycles before we’re in sync, but when we do, I feel like my body is so connected, so close to his, it’s like we’re two parts of the same soul.

I don’t know how many minutes pass as we sit in the most simple, perfect silence. The oils circle us, and the waning sunlight casts a warm glow across the hardwood floors.

I take Hunter’s hand and place it on my robe belt. He undoes it without saying a word, and it slips from my shoulders, pooling at my waist.

He doesn’t move again except for the slow, measured in and out of his breath behind me.

So I take his hand, putting both of them over my breasts. He lifts them, saving my sore tits from the pressure of gravity. I shiver. He kisses my exposed shoulder.

“Do you trust me?” he whispers. If it were in any other setting, I never would have heard his words.

I nod.

“I need the words, Winter,” he says. I lean into him.

“Yes,” I say on a breath. “I do trust you.”

His hands flex, squeezing my breasts. My resulting inhalation is sharp. He releases his grip a fraction, rubbing the sides of my flesh with his thumbs.

“Do you trust me to provide for you?” he says.

“Yes, I do.” He releases one breast, touching my stomach in soothing circles.

“Do you trust me to protect you?”

“Yes, H.” We rock slightly from side to side.

“Do you trust me to love you until I’m dead in the ground and beyond?”

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