Page 20 of Song of the Heart Scale (The Dragon’s Ballad #3)
For several moments we remained locked together with her forehead pressed against mine, our ragged breathing the only sound in the room. Slowly, the world came back into focus. I felt her trembling in my arms as aftershocks rippled through her body.
I brushed my lips against her temple, tasting salt on her skin. “Are you alright?”
She nodded, not yet trusting her voice.
“Verdict?” I asked hoarsely.
She smiled, her eyes heavy-lidded but clear. “There might be something monstrous about how good that felt,” she murmured.
I chuckled, the sound rumbling through my chest. “I'll take that as a compliment.”
Carefully, I lifted her from my lap and laid her back against the rumpled sheets. She winced slightly as her body settled into the mattress. I frowned, suddenly remembering her injuries. “I should've been more careful.” I inspected the scrape along her side, which now looked red and irritated.
“Don't you dare apologize,” she warned, reaching up to trace the line of my jaw. “That was exactly what I needed.”
I reached over to the basin on the nightstand, the water still warm enough for my purposes.
I wrung out a fresh cloth and the excess water trickled down my wrist as I turned back to her.
She lay sprawled across the bed, her body a landscape of shadows and moonlight, vulnerable in a way I'd never seen before.
I gestured for her to roll onto her back.
She complied without argument, watching me through half-lidded eyes as I approached with the damp cloth. I started with her face, wiping away the thin sheen of sweat from her brow, tracing the cloth along the curve of her cheekbone where the bruise still marred her skin.
“You don't have to do this,” she whispered, biting her lower lip, but she made no move to stop me.
“I know.”
I moved the cloth with deliberate gentleness down her neck, following the path my lips had taken earlier. Her pulse fluttered beneath her skin, still flushed from our exertions. When I reached the faint bruise blooming on her collarbone—my mark—I dabbed it with special care.
“Sorry about that,” I murmured, though I wasn't entirely apologetic.
A smile tugged at her lips. “No, you're not.”
“You're right,” I admitted, continuing my ministrations. “I'm not.”
The cloth traveled lower, across the swell of her breasts, cleaning away the evidence of our passion. She slightly shivered as the damp fabric circled each nipple, still sensitive from my earlier attentions. I took my time, mesmerized by the goosebumps that followed in the wake of the cloth.
When I reached her abdomen, I paused and dipped the cloth back into the basin to refresh it. The water rippled under my touch, catching fragments of moonlight as I wrung it out once more. Cat watched me, her expression unreadable in the half-light.
“Turn over,” I said softly.
She rolled onto her stomach, exposing the long scrape that ran along her side. I sucked in a breath—in the heat of our passion, I'd nearly forgotten how badly she'd been hurt. The angry red line stretched from just beneath her ribs almost to her hip, the skin around it bruised and tender.
“I should have been more careful,” I murmured, gently pressing the cloth to the wound.
She flinched slightly but then relaxed under my touch. “It doesn't hurt much anymore.”
“Liar,” I said, but there was no heat in my tone.
I lightly traced my fingers along the edges of the scrape, assessing the damage.
The skin wasn't broken deeply, but the area was tender and the bruising had spread in watercolor patterns across her ribs.
I dipped the cloth again, wringing it just enough that it wouldn't drip, and applied the lightest pressure I could manage.
“Tell me if I hurt you,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
She nodded, her face half-buried in the pillow.
Working methodically, I cleaned away the sweat and grime from our lovemaking, taking special care around the injured areas.
The moonlight revealed more bruises than I'd initially noticed—a constellation of them bloomed across her lower back and hip where she must have fallen during the fight.
“Thorne really did a number on you.” Anger flared at the thought of his hands on her.
“I did a number on him, too,” she reminded me, finally turning her head to meet my gaze. In the silvery light, pride flickered in her eyes.
I snorted. “Yes, you did,” I admitted. “Turn over again.” I dipped the cloth back in the basin and wrung it out before working the cloth in gentle circles across her abdomen and down between her thighs.
I carefully watched her face as I tended to the most intimate parts of her, where the evidence of our passion still lingered.
She tensed slightly at first, then relaxed, a soft sigh escaping her lips as I worked.
“I've never had anyone do this before,” she quietly admitted, her eyes following my movements.
“Clean you?” I asked, rinsing the cloth in the basin again.
“Care for me afterward,” she clarified. “Usually it's just... done and over with.”
Something in her tone made me pause. I looked up to find her watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read. Vulnerability, perhaps, or confusion. I resumed my task, gently lifting her arm to clean beneath it.
“Then you've been with the wrong people,” I said simply. Although truth be told, I’d never done this for anyone, either.
The intricate tattoo sleeve adorning her arm caught my attention as I moved the cloth over her skin.
In the moonlight, the detailed patterns seemed almost alive—writhing serpents and blooming flowers intertwined with symbols I didn't recognize, all rendered in colored ink that sharply contrasted with her golden skin.
“This is beautiful work,” I murmured, tracing the edge of a particularly intricate design with my fingertip. “Do they all have meanings?”
She watched me through lowered eyes and shrugged. “Some do. But some were just silly.”
I nodded, continuing my careful ministrations.
The cloth gently slid over the colorful sleeve, not to clean it but almost in reverence, following the lines of art that coiled from her wrist up to her shoulder.
Unlike the angry red marks from her fight with Thorne, this was intentional—a history she had chosen to wear on herskin.
“Done.” I set the cloth aside.
She turned toward me and studied my face in the moonlight. There was something different in her gaze now—not just desire, but a curiosity that made me want to look away.
“What?” I asked, uncomfortable under her scrutiny.
“I'm trying to reconcile the man who just fucked me senseless and then cared for me afterward with the shadow that terrifies half the empire.”
I snorted. “Perhaps they're one and the same.”
She nestled closer, her head finding the hollow of my shoulder. For a long moment, we lay in comfortable silence, our breathing gradually synchronizing. As the sweat on our bodies cooled in the night air, I pulled the blanket over us both.
“Do you think anyone heard us?” she suddenly asked, amusement threading through her voice.
“I think everyone in Uncle Bai’s mansion probably heard you ,” I replied dryly. “You're not exactly quiet.”
She lightly smacked my chest. “You weren't complaining a few minutes ago.”
“I'm not complaining now.” I caught her hand and brought her fingertips to my lips. “Just stating facts.”
Outside, an owl hooted, its call drifting through the partially open window. The rest of the world continued around us, oblivious to the shift that had occurred within this room. Tomorrow would bring its own complications, but for now, I basked in this moment of peace.