Page 36 of Moth to Her Flame

“You think that’s what this is?” Shock makes my tone sharper than intended. “After last night? After what you did to me during my radio show?”

His wings glint briefly brighter at the memory. “That was…” A shudder runs through him. “Perfect. But this is different. The bond needs… more, though what we shared was incredible. But Chelsea, you’re not ready.”

“You don’t get to decide that.” Standing, hands on hips, I glare down at him. “Stop being so damn noble about dying.”

“Chelsea… listen.” He reaches for me, and the way his hand shakes squeezes my heart.

“No. You listen.” I ease onto the bed, straddling his lap, which brings us eye to eye. “I’m not letting you fade away while I figure out my feelings. We’ll find a way to stabilize you in a manner we’re both comfortable with.”

His probe emerges to wet his lips again, and heat floods my core at the memory of watching him eat that peach. Of imagining that talented tongue doing other things…

“For now,” my voice is husky with passion, “just let me hold you. Please?”

His response is to wrap his wings around me, creating a cocoon of dim golden light. As he relaxes against me, his antennae droop with exhaustion.

We ease down onto the bed, my fingers tracing patterns on his chest, his breath evening out against my neck. Outside our private sanctuary, dangers circle and shadows deepen. But here, in this moment, I can at least give him this small comfort.

Even if it’s not enough. Even if nothing will be enough until I’m ready to give everything.

His wings dim, and I hold him tighter. We’ll figure this out. We have to.

Because watching him suffer like this? It’s becoming its own kind of torture.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chelsea

I wake with a start and grab my phone to see what time it is. Everyone else knows the time of day by the way the crystals pulse, but I haven’t gotten the hang of that yet.

Three in the morning. Instead of a live broadcast, I played re-runs of an old Flat Earth episode. If I were back in my cabin, I would be wrapping up my show right about now.

My mini-nap gave me energy, so much so that I want to get up and move, either pace or explore this cavernous mountain. I decide to do neither.

I know what Riven needs, and I know what I want. I can’t deny my attraction. It’s been pulsing between us since before I urged him to quit sleeping in the car and invited him to use my sofa.

If it didn’t mean forever, I might have sex with him. But this is too big of a decision to make on a whim. There are other things we can do, though. Things I’ve been fantasizing about. I can’t help but believe that what I have in mind will energize him.

He’s dead tired and weak. I hate to feel like I’m taking advantage, but perhaps if I ease him into it, he’ll agree to our next step. One thing is certain, I’m going to try.

I’d taken my bra off before I crashed, but I’m still wearing a t-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms. He’s shirtless, wearing nothing but jeans.

The male isn’t human. If nothing else proves that, his tendril-thin, dexterous tongue certainly does. I can’t help but wonder what he’s hiding in his pants.

I lie on my side, snuggle close, and simply look at him for a while. We’ve been in close quarters for weeks, but with him asleep, I have the opportunity to really take his measure.

As I look at him now, for the life of me, I don’t know why he icked me out so bad when we first met. His facial features are perfectly symmetrical with a square jaw, high cheekbones, and lush lips.

When we kissed, my fingertips explored the little feathers on his forehead and the longer ones that circle his neck and trail to aV on his chest. Now, though, I feel I have free rein to touch and inspect them. That’s not too pervy, right?

They’re soft, not wiry at all. I pet him for a moment, allowing my fingertips to explore the areas above his eyes and at his neck. I recall the noises he made as he braided my hair for the first time. I almost wondered if he was going to orgasm just from that.

Now I understand because I feel the same way. It’s so sensuous to touch and stroke. I allow the affection I’ve been tamping down for weeks to express itself. At first, it comes out in a trickle, then it explodes, starting at the tips of my fingers and flying at lightning speed to my heart.

I care for this male. He’s done everything in his power to keep me safe, nurture me, and support me. I have the strongest urge to do the same for him.

My gaze trails down his body, curious and eager. His chest is dusted with fine, golden hair that catches the soft luminescence of the crystals in the walls.

I straddle him, keeping the two thick quilts between us. Just as he has always made sure to have my consent, I want to offer the same thing to him. But surely, it wouldn’t be inappropriate for me to snuggle him, would it?

---