Page 25 of Fate

She held his face much as he had done to her in the street, and she was gratified when his expression became startled instead.

And then she kissed him. Perhaps it was a bit desperate. Perhaps it was born of wanting to make a point rather than simple desire. But that was all right, wasn’t it? Because he was hers. And she was his, even... even if he still had reservations on that score.

It hurt.

She wished it didn’t, but it did.

But it was easier to ignore as the bond flared and his hands went to her waist, and then she did not have to think about wriggling or shifting because he was the one pulling her over top of him. To allow her to settle against him while she kept control of their kiss. Because itwastheirs. Because his lips moved in turn, sometimes forceful, other times gentle. Allowing her to lead, to conquer.

Until she was breathless and sore because her lips were not accustomed to being used so, and her blood pulsed with needs that were just as new. And far, far too strong to simply ignore.

“Someday,” Firen murmured, kissing his cheek because she could. “We will be able to talk to one another without arguing afterward.”

Lucian grunted, but his hand smoothed up her back, and Firen had to suppress the urge to chase some of those sensations brewing beneath the surface of her skin.

“You are so certain of that.” He no longer sounded so weary, but it was not amused enough to be counted as a tease.

He doubted her, then. Which was all right. She held enough determination for the both of them. “I am. Because we have been paired for a reason. And I do not believe that it is to make us unhappy, no matter what you might think.”

He grimaced, as she knew he would. “Firen...” he began, and she liked the way her named sounded on his lips.

But she shook her head, trying to keep away his argument. The beginnings were there, in the tightening of his jaw, the way his eyes shifted toward the door. She didn’t like it. Not one bit.

But her only solution was to kiss him again. To smooth away all the parts of them that didn’t quite fit with the ones that most... assuredly...

His fingers were at the ties on her shoulders. Not undoing the knots that held her shift in place, but near enough that she shivered, wondering if he would be so bold. She might have taken advantage of his lack of proper sleeping attire, but that wasn’t the same thing as undressing him. Which she could do. If she wanted. If... if he wanted.

She hated the doubt that cooled some of her ardour. Hated that she had to wonder at her welcome, if they ought to wait—although for what, she couldn’t say. There were no lessons in such matters. Mama had brusquely covered the subject but insisting she would know what to do when the time came and she shouldn’t pester about it. Then came the book with the diagrams when Firen had taken her queries to the market and Mama had overheard her being laughed at by Old Mag. “At least find a mated friend to ask, silly girl! What do you expect any of these unpaired to know about anything?”

And Firen had been mortified and so had her friends, and it had taken two full markers before any of them could look at one another again.

Firen swallowed, looking down at Lucian and wishing...

No, not that he was a different man. That was wrong. But that she could be sure of him. Of herself.

Which was ridiculous, as she was not this careful creature, too afraid of doing wrong that she was paralysed into inaction. She hoped, and she did her best, and this far all had come out well enough.

“Lucian,” she murmured, uncertain of herself. “Tell me this is all right.”

His hand stilled by her shoulder.

“Which part?” he asked tightly, and Firen suppressed a sigh.

“I should like to keep kissing you,” she explained, because it felt right to express herself, even when it was difficult. “And I should like to be with you.”

His eyes flashed just once. Not in that hard way that spoke of anger and resentment. But as if her plain speech excited him.

Buoyed, Firen smoothed her hands down his chest, and she allowed herself to move downward. Just a bit. To where... if he was amiable... they might divest him of his trousers, and her of her shift, and they might make a very fine pairing indeed.

“I’ve imagined it so many times.” And maybe that was too near to talking. Which would lead to quarrelling. Which seemed a terrible thing when this was so very pleasant. “What that first night might be with my mate.” She shivered, and the rest of the evening took on a distant sort of quality. Everything, really. Everything that wasn’t the feel of his hands coming to her waist. The soft squeeze as his breath hitched at her words, the pulse that flared in time with the bond settled so neatly in her chest.

“We would kiss, of course. For so long that my jaw would ache.” And it did. Her lips too. And yet... it seemed a terrible waste not to keep going. Not until she had kissed him all over.

She leaned down so she could place one more upon his lips, just because she could.

“And then?” he asked, his voice low and almost a rasp as it settled across her skin.

“Well. I confess I wasn’t sure how it would go after that.” She ducked her head, but it wasn’t shyness. Not exactly. Just a momentary startling at her own boldness and how... reasonable it all felt. To be close. To share thoughts and, yes, the actions that would follow. “But I knew I wouldn’t be wearing this.” Her handsgestured over her shift, bunched and creased now by her place overtop him. “And you wouldn’t be wearing those.”

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