Page 19 of Into Orbit
I went back to sleep, smiling.
When I woke again, Elswyth was nestled next to me. My arm was thrown over her waist and my hand was cupping her breast; her pert ass pressed against my crotch. I gasped into her hair before I could stop myself, then took my hand away from where her nipple was hard against my palm.
Her hand came up immediately and held me in place. ‘Ilikeitthere,’ she said sleepily.
‘Um,’ I answered blankly.
She stretched, arching against me. My face was buried in her hair, and all I could smell was the sweet floral scent of her. She might not have been bonded before, but she was pressing every single one of my buttons as if she’d seduced a thousand partners.
‘Isleptsowell,’ she sighed, then froze. ‘You slept, too!’
‘Mmm,’ I managed. ‘I slept.’
I amveryawake now, though.
Every nerve ending in my body was singing, my skin tingling in every place we touched. It was overwhelming, and not something I’d felt before. It wasn’t just the warmth of arousal, but the warmth ofcomfort, and my body was loving it.
She turned in my arms, and I was confronted with her face, too close to my own, so close that her breath was fanning my cheek and I could see every perfect eyelash and the colour shift in her pupil-less irises – green to hazel, hazel to green. My arm was still around her waist, and my hand stroked her back without me telling it to.
‘Good morning, Maeve,’ she breathed.
‘Elswyth,’ I whispered.
She held my gaze and, very slowly, moved forward and brushed her lips over mine.
Heat shot through my body as my chest constricted.
My fake wife is kissing me.
When I didn’t move away, she pressed her lips down more firmly in a tentative, nuzzling caress.
My fake wife is kissing me – and I like it.
Her hand came up and cupped my cheek.
Don’t do it, Maeve, I thought, even as my fingers wound themselves through her hair.
Take a step back, McCarthy, I told myself, but my lips were moving and I was kissing her back, deeply.
She tasted sweet, so sweet I moaned, wanting more. I rolled so she was draped over me and her hair was curtaining my face. She gasped when I sucked gently at her bottom lip, her tongue darting out to touch my own, her fingers stroking my cheek before moving to trace the shell of my ear.
This is mad, Maeve.
‘Wait,’ I gasped. ‘Wait, Elswyth. We shouldn’t do this. You should wait. Wait for a Tirian. Wait for your … your family.’
She sat up, hooking her knee across my body, straddling me. The image of her like that – her thighs spread wide, her core pressed to my stomach, her hair glowing in the low light – was doing all kinds of delicious things to me. My hands found her hips of their own accord; my gaze lingered on her thorn-lined collarbone before sweeping up to meet her ever-changing eyes.
‘Why?’ she said fiercely. ‘Why should I wait for a family who might only want me because of myelya? Who might only want me to gain power, to put me and my heartree on their ship and make their Forest grow? Why should I wait for akariawho might want me only as something to hang from their arm like a trinket? Why should I wait to begratefulthat someone might want me, even if it’s not reallymethey want?’ She traced my cheek with a trembling finger. ‘At least I know that ifyouwant me, it’s forme. Not because I’m a Hamadryad. Not because of the power I can giveyou. Just … for me. Whatever happens, it’s real.’
I swallowed.
Wasn’t that what I’d always told Tessa? That she deserved love – worship, even – entirely for her own sake? That she deserved someone who saw – and whocraved– exactly what she was, without her trying to bend herself into the shape of what they thought they wanted? That she didn’t have to change a thing about herself to be worthy of that love, of that devotion?
‘I do want you,’ I said honestly, because Idid, and had done since that first glimpse of her at Advena. But it was more complicated now; I knew some of the details of her life, of what she wanted, of what shefelt. ‘But Elswyth … I’m here to find Tessa. And when I find her, I’m taking her home. I can’t promise you anything more than that. Hell’s bells, I can’t promise you anything at all.’
She smiled, her hair glowing as it fell in a sheen over her shoulders. Blossoms were growing along the bedhead above us, filling the air with their delicate perfume. ‘I don’t want promises. I want someone who seesme. Just once.’
Without thinking, I reached up and brushed her hair back, my fingers lingering in the silken strands before tracing over the thorns on her collarbone. I barely recognised myself in that soft touch; I didn’t touch like that, so gently, soreverently. Her thorns were hard beneath my fingertips, and sharp enough to pinch.
