Page 101 of Sunder

Then startled, when his free hand was suddenly at her waist. Or... not quite. Her hip. No, her lower back.

Lower still. “What are you doing?” she asked when she could no longer pretend her back was involved at all.

“It’s dark,” Athan reminded her with far too much innocence in his voice for where his hand was currently located. But it crept back upward, to what might be considered a more respectable spot, and Orma was flustered, which she highly suspected had been his aim.

She would never do that, would she? Just... touch, simply because she could?

She swallowed. Considered.

Those were old thoughts. Sensibilities that were not necessarily hers. She could like what she liked, and do what she pleased, presuming Athan found it as agreeable as she did.

Did she like to be touched there? Like that he wanted to feel her curves for himself?

Her cheeks flushed and her breath grew shorter.

Maybe.

There was no hurrying on the stairs. Not when she was determined to take them on her own. She didn’t push Athan along, did not fuss when he kept pace with her. Although she could have, if he was going to respond as he did before, silencing objections with fervent kisses.

He occupied himself with memorising the lines of her back, the little dips of her spine. Fiddled with the soft, downy feathers he found where wing joined skin.

Which made her squirm all over because it tickled in the strangest way, and she hadn’t been tended to in such a manner since her last moult. There were still five steps to take, and this wasn’t the seductive walk she’d imagined. Or rather, he seemed intent on doing the seducing.

“All right,” she said at last, then leaned backward with full confidence he would catch her before her wings instinctively took over.

He made a strange sort of sound, evidently not expecting the sudden movement, but she was correct in her estimation and he plucked her up with great efficiency, chiding her about fairness and giving proper warning if she intended to do any such thing again, and what if he had dropped her? He never would forgive himself.

She hummed, her hip pleased with her choice, and her heart even more so, because it left her fingers free to trespass into the collar of his shirt and tease whatever skin she found there.

He swallowed thickly, and there were no more chastisements.

Which was fine with her. She did not want an argument. She wanted his kisses. His touch. Wanted to see what she liked for her own sake, without thought of proprieties.

Only the two of them would ever know.

It excited her. Made her nervous as he brought her through to the bedroom. It was dark even there, and old lectures about proper sleep and routines flittered through her mind. Even now, he’d tuck her in and curl up beside her, if that’s what she wanted. He would give no complaint. Just a wistful little sigh before he kissed her temple and promised her he wasn’t cross.

Did he plan on heading to the infirmary in the morning? Perhaps this was selfish.

He placed her on the bed, her arms about his neck.

Perhaps she wanted to be selfish.

She did not let him go. Held her to him and kissed him with as much enthusiasm as she might offer.

He lost his footing, which made for an awkward sort of tumble when he half-fell on top of her, his wings rustling as they tried to right him. His shoulder dropped once toward her collarbone, so she released a breathless sound as some of the air was knocked out of her. “Orma, I am so sorry,” Athan blurted, one hand on her side as he scrambled upward, face stricken as heset assessing eyes over her that weren’t heated and impassioned any longer, but looking for wounds, for hurts, and how he might mend them.

“Don’t you dare,” she chided, refusing to lose him to the healer’s side. Not when she was ready to claim him as her mate. She reached for his face, sitting up as he backed away, holding him to her. “I’m fine,” she insisted. Kissed him once. Then again, because he was looking at her in that dubious way, certain she was simply trying to appease him.

Impatient, she reached for his hand and brought it to her breast, holding it there. Why it should distract him, she couldn’t say, but there was no denying the hitch in his breath as his eyes flickered downward to watch her.

Boldness was new, but it did not feel like a stranger. It was just a part of her, buried away and conditioned into silence. Ready and willing now that she called for it.

“Am I lying?” she asked gently, tracing her fingers against the back of his hand, gratified when he swallowed thickly. “You can look.”

It wasn’t the invitation she’d meant. Not in the least. She’d meant for him to poke about the bond in search of bruises and unacknowledged pains.

Instead, he reached out with his free hand and woke the lamp, the flicker of firelight a sudden change to the dim room. She blinked, not expecting it in the least.

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