“Yes, Kitt,” she said, shivering as he began to unbutton them, one by one, in the dark. She felt the cool air wash over her as he slid her jumpsuit down, off her shoulders. The fabric gathered at her waist, and she waited. She waited for him to touch her, and he took his time, tracing the dip of her collarbone, the curve of her bare back, the straps of her bra. His hands came to rest on her ribs again. She was trembling with the anticipation.
“Is this all right, Iris?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, and she closed her eyes as his hands began to learn the shape of her.
No one had ever worshipped her like this. She felt his breath on her skin, his lips hovering above her heart. He kissed her once, twice, softly and then roughly, and she reached up, to remove the flowers, the pearls, and the braids from her hair. It fell free in long waves down her back, still damp and fragrant, and Roman’s fingers instantly wove within it.
“You’re beautiful, Iris,” he said.
She began to unfasten his jumpsuit, desperate to feel his skin against hers. One of the buttons tore loose, tumbling to the blankets at their knees.
Roman chuckled. “Careful. This is the only jumpsuit I have.”
“I’ll repair it tomorrow,” Iris promised, even though she didn’t know what would come at sunrise. She cast those worries aside, though, as she undressed Roman.
They were both anxious to be free of the garments that had held them through countless troubles. Once liberated, they tossed their raiment across the room with hushed laughter. And the world melted into something new and molten.
Iris couldn’t see him with her eyes, but she did with her hands. With her fingertips and her lips. She explored every dip and hollow of his body, claiming it as her own.
He is mine, she thought, the words a pleasant shock to her soul. I am his.
Iris laid him down beneath her, mindful of his leg, even if he swore his wounds weren’t hurting him. She didn’t know what to fully expect—nor did he—and it was awkward for a moment until Roman’s hands touched her—a warm reassurance on her hips—and she held her breath deep in her chest as she moved. The discomfort sharpened but soon dulled, blooming into something luminous as they fully came together, tangled in the sheets. As they found a rhythm between them, one that only they could know. She felt safe with him, skin to skin. She felt full and complete; she felt the wholeness in the dark, this weaving together of vows and body and choice.
“Iris,” he whispered when she had nearly reached the end of herself.
It was agony; it was bliss.
She could hardly breathe as she gave herself up to them both.
I am his, she thought as he suddenly sat forward to hold her close, their hearts aligned. She felt how he trembled in her arms.
“Roman.” She spoke his name like a promise, her fingers lost in his hair.
A sound broke from him. It could have been a sob or a gasp. She wanted to see his face, but there was no light between them save for the fire hiding in their skin.
“Roman,” she said again.
He kissed her, and she tasted salt on his lips. The wave began to ebb; the pleasure turned leaden, making their limbs heavy.
She held him as the warmth faded. Her thoughts were bright, illuminating the dark.
And he is mine.
* * *
They lay entwined for a long while afterward, his fingers tracing the wild waves of her hair. Iris had never loved a silence more. Her ear was pressed to his chest; she listened to the steady beat of his heart. An endless, faithful song.
His fingers eventually drifted down her arm to find her hand, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake.
“Tomorrow,” Roman said, lacing his fingers with hers, “I want your hand to be in mine, no matter what comes. Just like this. We have to stay together, Iris.”
“Don’t worry,” she said. Little did he know she had already planned this. To stay close to him. To be ready to support his weight all the way to the lorry if he needed her. To keep him alive.
She opened her eyes to the night and drolly said, “It’ll be quite hard to get rid of me now, Kitt.”
His laughter was beautiful in the dark.
{40}
To Wake in Another World
Iris woke to the faint wash of dawn, her cheek pressed to Roman’s chest. His arm was wrapped around her and his breaths rose and fell slowly in sleep. After she got over her shock at how good his body felt against hers, she realized her face and hands were like ice, even though the blankets were draped over them and Roman was hot as a furnace.
It was far too cold for late spring, Iris thought, carefully rising.
She walked to Roman’s window, moving the curtain to peer beyond the glass panes. She couldn’t see any of the soldiers who were supposed to be guarding this side of town. The world looked gray and withered and empty, as if a frost had fallen.
“Kitt?” Iris said, urgent. “Kitt, get up.”
He groaned, but she heard him sit forward. “Iris?”
“Something’s not right.” No sooner had the words left her mouth than she heard distant shouting outside. She couldn’t see what was inspiring the commotion from this vantage point and she turned to face him. “We need to get dressed and go downstairs. See if Marisol knows anything. Did you hear me, Kitt?”
Roman was staring at her as if he were in a daze. She stood naked before him, wearing nothing but morning light on her skin.
“We need to get dressed!” she repeated, rushing to gather their garments, which were strewn all over the room.
He continued to sit in their bed, watching her every move. He seemed frozen, as if she had cast a spell on him, and Iris brought his belt and jumpsuit to him. She drew him up to his feet, the blankets falling away from his waist.
He was perfect, she thought with a sharp inhale. Roman watched her study his body, his cheeks flushed. And when her gaze finally returned to his, he whispered, “Do we have time?”
“I don’t know, Kitt.”
He nodded his disappointment, reaching for his jumpsuit. She helped him step into it, her fingers swiftly buttoning up the front, cinching the belt. She wished they had more time. She wished they could have woken up slowly, and her hands shook as she struggled to hook her bra. Roman stepped forward to help her, his fingers warm against her back. He was fastening the buttons of her jumpsuit when a knock sounded on the door.
“Iris? Roman?” Attie called. “Marisol is asking us to come down to the kitchen. Don’t touch any of the curtains. Eithrals have been spotted, heading to town.”
“Yes, we’ll be right down,” Iris said, her blood going cold.
There had been no siren. And then she remembered that Clover Hill was gone. A shudder passed through her as Roman finished buttoning her clothes and buckling her belt. They quickly laced their boots.
“Let’s go,” he said, and he sounded so calm that it eased Iris’s fears.
He wove his fingers with hers and led her down the stairs. She could tell his leg was still bothering him, even as he tried to hide it. There was a slight limp in his gait as they walked into the kitchen. Iris was beginning to wonder if he’d be able to run through the streets and climb over the barricades, but she chased those thoughts away as they joined Attie by the table.
“Good morning,” she said, Lilac purring in her arms. “I hope the two of you lovebirds had a good night’s rest.”