Page 88 of The Idol

“You doing okay?” he asked, his hand sliding up to rest at the back of my neck, his thumb brushing a faint arc over my skin.

“I don’t know,” I whispered. It was the truest thing I’d said all day. “But this helps.”

His hold tightened a fraction. “Good,” he murmured. “That’s what I’m here for.”

We stayed like that—quiet and breathing in sync—until the trembling in my hands finally stilled.

* * *

A few hours later, Jace slipped into my rooms as quietly as he always did, closing the door behind him without a sound. But the moment he crossed the threshold, something in me relaxed. I didn’t have to pretend with him. I didn’t have to hold myself perfectly still, perfectly pure, perfectly obedient.

I could just…breathe.

We ended up on my bed without really discussing it—just a wordless understanding, like we both needed closeness after the day we’d had. I lay on my side, and Jace stretched out behind me, his chest warm against my back, his arm resting loosely around my waist. We hadn’t been able to lie like this earlier, too worried about being caught, but now I was able to indulge in it.

His breath stirred the back of my neck, and I sank into him without hesitation.

I wasn’t fighting myself anymore.

For years, Father had preached that my body wasn’t my own, that touch was dangerous, that affection was a weakness that led to sin. Even when Father himself touched me, I felt that flicker of shame, like I shouldn’t enjoy it too much.

But now, with Jace’s arm draped around me and his fingers tracing quiet shapes along my hip, I didn’t feel sinful.

I felt… happy.

“I’m not crushing you, am I?” Jace asked softly, his lips close enough that his words brushed my skin.

“No,” I murmured. “You’re not.”

Truthfully, I wanted him even closer. I wanted his breath on my neck, his hand on my chest, his weight anchoring me to the bed so I wouldn’t float away the way my thoughts always tried to.

I curled back into him a little, testing my courage.

Jace gathered me in without question, pulling me tighter against him. His leg slid between mine, his arm around my waist firming, and I let out a breath.

“I like this,” I whispered.

Jace’s voice came lower now. “Yeah?”

I nodded, my cheek brushing the pillow. “I didn’t think I would. Before. I always thought touching someone would feel… wrong.”

“Does it?” he asked, his thumb stroking a small circle against my stomach through the thin fabric of my robe.

“No,” I said, and the truth felt almost dizzying. “It feels… safe.”

He pressed his forehead lightly to the back of my head, exhaling slowly. “Good,” he murmured. “How’s your back? I don’t want to accidentally hurt you.”

“It’s fine. It aches a little, but I don’t want you to go.”

I closed my eyes. I could still see flashes of the courtyard, Marin crying, Father’s hand gripping her hair.

His voice echoed in my skull.

Temptation.

Vanity.

Sin.