Page 118 of Sunder

But she found herself willing the backdoor to open, instead. For Athan to come back, to pick her up, to tell her he’d missed her.

She did not expect for him to open the window up above her.

Did not expect for him to suddenly bethere,looming above her as her eyes opened and she was too surprised to sit up quickly enough.

“Do you know,” Athan asked, his voice low and not angry... not exactly. Frustrated, perhaps? Or... “How terribly distracting it is to complete an examination when my mate isbothered?”

Which was mortifying. Or might have been, except he was suddenly kneeling at her side, his hand coming to the back of her head to cradle it from the hard surface, but also to keep her still.

While he kissed her. Off-centre and askew from his awkward place beside her, but no less wonderful.

There was no keeping still. No placidly accepting his kiss while she lay quiet and receptive.

Her hand moved without thought, delving into his hair and holding him to her, unwilling to relinquish him now that he was hers again.

But breath eventually became a necessity. And when he pressed his face against her breast and she smiled in triumph, certain she should be sorry but utterly unable to conjure anything of the sort, she skimmed her fingers through his hair and was rewarded with his shudder. “Do you know what it’s like to have your mate doing important work and feelingbotheredjust at the memory of him? Of wanting him back so badly, but trying not to be selfish.” She nuzzled against the top of his head. “I want to be selfish,” she admitted. “I want to keep you all to myself. To use my good days to their fullest.”

He made a strange, choked sound and she pushed his head back so she might better assess what was wrong with him. Which evidently was unacceptable, because rather than let her look, he took her in his arms instead. “You have been bothering Brum,” he reminded her. And she could lie and say that hadn’t, but that would be foolish.

“I was lonely,” she said instead, because that was true.

“You could have visited you mother,” Athan suggested, somehow managing to open the door without her assistance. “She would have liked that.”

She’d considered it. Briefly.

But she’d be alone, and her mother would ask with that hopeful glint in her eye if they’d mated fully yet, and look over Orma with all the expectation that she was better. Truly better.

And Orma didn’t think she could handle that yet.

“Yes, well. I thought of that before my bath. Then I started imagining what it would be like to have a bathwithyou, and visiting became far less interesting.”

They passed through the kitchen, his steps hurried by the gentle movement of his wings, adding speed to each half-step. “We will tear down the washroom wall,” Athan explained, as if it was a serious suggestion. “Expand it so there will be room for the both of us.”

She laughed, except his eyes were serious. As if... as if it was of supreme importance they make that a possibility. “Athan, that’s absurd!”

He quirked a brow at her and pushed open their bedroom door. The shutters were open, the breeze pushing away the last remnants of her previous day. “Is it? Why?” He leaned down and ran his lips across her temple, and she shivered lightly. “I should like to have you in a bath. All warm and soft with oils.”

Orma swallowed thickly.

“Well... that would be... that might be...”

He placed her down on the bed and gave her no time to formulate her objections to the scheme. It would take time, and resources, and surely it would be intrusive to have someone come in and knock out a wall, even for something as appealing as a bath large enough for two...

Orma’s eyes widened because a sudden thought distracted her from the steady pulse of her blood. “You didn’t leave a patient up there, did you? Because if you abandoned one just because of me then we can’t possibly...” she was pushing at his shoulders, ready to shoo him back, but Athan held firm, kissing one cheek. Then the other.

“They left,” he promised her. “But I saw you out the window, and it seemed far too much effort to go around.”

“Oh,” Orma murmured, letting the urgency fade in favour of relaxing against the mattress, her arms soft as they twined about his neck. “All right, then.”

He chuckled at her. Kissed her deeply.

As if there was nothing else he would rather do than be there with her. To kiss her. To relish the moments when she was well, and love in different ways when she wasn’t.

There was no hurry. For all his bursting through windows and kissing her on benches, he did not push. Did not delve beneath her clothes or push between her legs. He wanted to be just like this, luxuriating and only when her grip on his hair tightened—when the bond flared and she whispered his name, did he allow his hands to travel.

Which she could have allowed. Let him play with the threads that coiled and tightened at his simplest touch. Even now, the merest whisper of his fingertips against her wrist was enough to make her breath catch in her throat. To fight the urge to squirm and pull him closer. She did not think she needed as long to be ready for him as she had before. Which meant if there would be fewer explorations, then they were going to be hers.

She reached for his shoulders. Pushed lightly, then a little more firmly when he merely gave her a quizzical look before he moved back with far too great a concern.

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