I press a kiss against her head, my arm coming around to hold her in place against me. After a moment, she looks up, her chin resting on my chest, fingers drawing over the lines that stretch up and curve toward my neck. Her touch is familiar. Intimate. And it makes me pleased as hell.
When I stroke a finger down her cheek, her head leans into my touch ever so slightly. I’m not sure if she even realizes she does it, but even that is gratifying. I want her every reaction to sway toward me like branches in the wind, caught up by the force of our synchronicity.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks, her voice still rasping.
I smooth my hand down her spine, loving the way she shivers when my fingers caress over the base of where her ribbons grow from her back. “You,” I say simply, gaze roving over her like I want to drink her in. Her gleaming eyes, her pillowy mouth, and the arch of her brows—every feature is perfect because it’s her.
She shows me her gorgeous smile, and the shy charm in her eyes makes me want to kiss her all over again so I can taste her happy.
When she tries to shift away from me, I hold her in place, and amusement flashes in her face. “Are you going to let me up?”
“Not likely.”
She laughs. “You’re still inside of me.”
“Yep.”
Her smile turns impish, and I know I’m going to have my hands full when my temptress says, “Well, if you’re going to stay there, then can we do that again?”
I grip her chin, male satisfaction bleeding through my expression as I look at her, my cock already hardening again. “Oh Goldfinch, we’re just getting started.”
Chapter 32
AUREN
My ear is pressed against Slade’s chest as I look out at the glass doors of the balcony. The dying night is the stroke of an artist painting over the sky, lessening the black into shades of muted gray.
Beneath me, Slade sleeps, the tempo of his even breaths like the pull of a breeze. Yet I haven’t slept, not for a single minute.
I’ve soaked up every moment, relished in each touch, reveled in all of him. Right now, in the quiet of a coming dawn, my spirit is content in a way I’ve never experienced before.
It reminds me of the feeling I used to get when I read those beautiful books of poetry back in Highbell. That sense like I’m suddenly hearing life as a song, an entity with more depth than I could ever possibly fathom. Everything I’ve experienced or thought suddenly joins, makes sense, has bigger meaning.
That’s what it feels like as I lie here, draped over Slade’s body, our skin pressed together in shared warmth. As if the veil of life has peeled back, showing me the greater deepness, the vibrancy of a moment and my place in it all.
I want to stay here forever.
But of course, I can’t.
My fingertip traces over his rooting ropes of power, watching the thin lines as they sway beneath his pale skin. They’re slower now, sluggish, as if they too are sated and drowsing sleepily.
I give myself another moment of pure indulgence, enjoying the way our legs are tangled together and our bodies slanted, the feel of his arm wrapped around my back. It’s so achingly perfect that I’ve become melancholic, dropped in a dread of knowing that life won’t stay this way.
But I wish it would.
When the sky has well and truly blurred with the drab of impending daybreak, I finally force myself to get up. I need to do it slowly so I don’t wake him. Using my ribbons, I lift his arm enough to slip out from under him. I freeze when he makes a noise, but instead of waking, he shifts his legs. I use the opportunity to extricate myself the rest of the way.
With careful movements, I rise up from his broken bed and get to my feet, making my ribbons slip out just as gently. The fireplace is just a collection of smoldering coals by now, and the chill of the room raises bumps along my arms.
I start to pick up my discarded clothing around the room like birds to scattered breadcrumbs. My body is sore—deliciously so—and I’d really like to get back to my room and soak in a bath before the sun comes up.
I quickly pull on my gloves, dress, and stockings and then pluck up my boots, stuffing them beneath my arm. On tiptoes, I head for the door, hand grasping the handle and hoping that the hinges don’t squeak.
When I open it an inch and it doesn’t make a sound, I let out a little breath of relief, only for that breath to turn into a squeal as a hand slams the door shut again.
I whirl around finding a very naked, very awake Slade standing over me. “Going somewhere?”
“You scared me!” I admonish, pressing my hand against my racing heart.