Page 112

The sight became too much to handle. I located his shirt on the floor and threw it over my head, the oversized sleeves drooping past my wrists. The material smelled like mornings and afternoons in the forest. I wrapped myself in it and crawled to the edge of the bed, tucking my knees to my chest and mashing a smile against them.

While I studied the dying flames, the mattress rolled.

A graceful, masculine sound took flight. Aire scooted behind me, his arms winging around my waist. He rested his chin on my shoulder, his voice like rustled sheets. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

I nestled into him. “You mean, you can’t sense it?”

“That fissure of delight? The aura of contentment? Yes, I sense that. However, there is more: an enclosure of sorts, a sentiment you keep well stored. I would know what it is. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

I love you.

The realization shook me from head to toe, like a cage bursting open, a hundred feathers beating in the breeze. I couldn’t catch this feeling. I couldn’t take it back, because it was out of reach, out of control.

I had no compartment to fit the emotion, no place to contain it. This skip in my heart, this clench, this shiver, this nausea.

I’d fallen in love with him.

No way could I tell him that. Not yet.

“I didn’t think it was possible to climax twice in one go,” I blurted.

He threw back his head and laughed. “I should have known.”

“What?” I defended, wiggling around and playfully slapping his hip. “Okay, so that wasn’t very romantic of me. But it was a compliment, you ass. The Power of the Climax is a momentous discovery, right up there with beer and bread!”

Aire gathered me close. “A lad cannot take you to such heights.” He pecked my nose. “A knightcan.”

“Cocky noble. Though, it was a good lesson to learn—”

I yelped as he twisted me down onto the bed. Hovering over me, his voice curled, turning impish. “Who said we were finished?”

27

Fantasy

I’d never been so slowly, softly, sweetly fucked in all my life.

Okay, so I didn’t have much experience to compare him to. A couple of tumbles didn’t make me an expert. But oh, heavenly Autumn. He had stamina.

I flopped over in the bed, smelling mist on the sheets, the aroma of Aire. Nestling into the scent, I stared at the dust motes and slants of sunlight. My fingers landed on my lips, concealing what had to be a goofy smile.

Last night happened. It happened with him.

The sole of my foot skidded up the opposite calf as I thought of us twisted in the blanket. Him above me, the grind of his abdomen, that stack of muscles rippling. I sank into the memory of exploring his body during our second bout, listening to his hums, my lips all over his chest, my hand sinking lower and making him arch with pleasure. And I remembered the third romp, resting on our sides and facing each other, the vigor of Aire’s thrusts damn near throwing me out of alignment.

I tingled thinking about it, about Aire wanting me, unleashing with me.

Where had he disappeared to?

Rising on my elbows, I blinked at his side of the bed, the imprint of his body still in the mattress. Based on the muted yellow beams, it was midmorning. How early had he risen?

Worry chipped at me as I touched the compartment in my bust. Would he have been curious? Would he have peeked?

Not him. Aire made no moves without consent.

From the corner of my eye, an object fluttered. On the nightstand rested a maple leaf, an elegant slope of handwriting across its surface.

You are profoundly beautiful when you sleep