Page 100 of Sunder

She sat back, certainly not going to answer that question. She did not care he was a healer, did not care he was her mate. There were surely matters that one did not discuss—and something so personal as... as this would be one of them.

His hand cupped her cheek, and he smiled at her, and her insides felt as liquid as she leaned into his touch, the bond flaring. Soothing. Quieting the parts of her that were nervous, that were insistent, she stop her revelling and consider where this might be going.

She was supposed to care about such things, wasn’t she? Keep them apart, keep him away.

Don’t kiss too long, don’t let touches linger. Not when...

Because she couldn’t...

Why couldn’t she?

It hadn’t seemed fair before. When he didn’t know. When he could have gone into their... their intimacy thinking a child might come of it. He’d be angry and hurt, and she wouldn’t have blamed him for it, but that needn’t be a worry any longer.

“I want to kiss you,” she explained, warring with herself. With the parts of her that had been forged in her upbringing and the ones that were shiny and new. Glistening with promise. “I want to kiss you and not fret about stopping.”

His eyes glittered in the lamplight. “You may do whatever you like with me,” Athan urged her, offering one too-short kiss to seal his pronouncement.

Why was it so difficult to give him the same? To be confident in his restraint, in his care? It all seemed so silly with the bond lodged so firmly in her chest, reminding her that all her fears had come from others. That Athan had done nothing to earn her mistrust.

He’d gone to her home, hadn’t he? Retrieved the rest of her medical texts. Sat here in the dark and read them instead of waiting for them to discuss it together.

Orma took a breath.

She refused to harbour that. Refused to give any of that resentment hold. It was over and done, and she wasglad.He’d spared her the little particulars, kept her from having to endure those memories.

Orma moved closer to him, almost ready to continue their kiss. But she hesitated, drawing back with a small frown. “Not here,” she murmured. “Not with all of that.” She nodded toward the books and papers. Tamped down the urge to toss them into the kitchen fire.

He brought them, he could hide them away again.

She wanted something else.

He made to pick her up, but she shook her head, taking a step toward the kitchen doorway. She would go on her own. Not the invalid, but the woman. His mate. Who’d found her bed empty and cold, and gone to retrieve what was hers.

She looked down at the Brum and gave him a stern look. “Don’t go reading any of that. It’s private.” Orma glanced at Athan and saw the guilt there. “Just for us two,” she reiterated, squeezing his hand.

Brum thumped his tail against the kitchen floor, seemingly unbothered he was about to have the kitchen to himself.

It was a testament to Athan’s preoccupation that he did not think to turn down the lamp, and she clicked her tongue at him as she went back to tend to it herself. “Distracted?” Orma teased, coming back and taking his hand again. If the stove needed anything for morning, she didn’t know what it was. And her own thoughts were drifting upstairs, an anticipation building low in her belly.

“You are terribly distracting,” Athan agreed. “My work suffers terribly. And you’ve stolen my foot-warmer.” That was true. Brum had taken to sleeping beside her, and Athancomplained of it often—always with a glimmer that suggested his protestations were only partly genuine.

She wondered how long it might be before he threatened to get himself another creature, one whose loyalties could not be so easily purchased with a few breakfast crumbs.

“We’ll get you some very fine socks,” Orma countered. “As for your work, perhaps we might commission my aunt to paint a portrait. A very large one. You might hang it in your office and see my scowling that you haven’t finished your work.” Her hold on his hand tightened as they made it to the stairs. “Because if you had, you would be home again with me.”

Athan hummed.

Tugged at her hand until she leaned toward him and placed a kiss to his expectant lips. It was easy—he’d let her begin her trek up the stairs, and it was strange and satisfying to be at eye level with him. “What was that for?” Orma asked. It was dim in the stairway, and she didn’t like that she could not fully make out his expression.

“Because I like when you call this home,” Athan explained, his voice low. Warm. Which paired especially well with the feelings that flowed so freely through the bond. There were trickles of excitement, a great deal of anticipation, but most of all...

Love.

A great deal of it.

It made her smile, because it was pointless to pick apart who had more of it. It was simply... there. As real as the threads that wove between them, pulsing and flexing and catching what bits of light they could to sparkle pleasantly.

Orma hummed.

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