Page 77 of Veil of Ashes

The rooftop holds us, high and open, a sanctuary above the city’s endless burn, quiet like a prayer answered at last.

My fingers brush his cheek, rough with stubble, and he tilts his head into my touch, a quiet surrender. I lean in, lips meeting his, soft and careful, like I’m testing if he’s real.

He tastes of salt and smoke, his mouth yielding under mine, and I linger, letting the kiss breathe between us. His good hand lifts, resting light on my hip, fingers curling into my jacket. I press closer, deepening it, tongue tracing his lips, coaxing them apart, and he opens to me, a sigh escaping into my mouth.

“Sylvara,” he says against my lips, voice scraped raw from pain and something else, “you’re gonna undo me.”

I smile, small and real, brushing my nose against his. “Good. I want you undone.”

His laugh rumbles low, broken by a wince as his ribs shift, and I pull back, searching his face. “You’re hurt,” I say, hand hovering over his bandaged side, “we can stop.”

He shakes his head, eyes steady on mine. “Don’t you dare. I need this—need you.”

That cracks something open in me, and I kiss him again, slower now, pouring every unsaid word into it. My tongue slides against his, warm and searching, and he matches me, careful but eager, like he’s drinking me in. My hands slide to his chest, fingers spreading over his shirt, feeling his heartbeat stutter beneath my palms.

He groans, a soft sound that hums against my lips, and his hand tightens on my hip, pulling me flush against him. I ease his shirt up, inch by inch, mindful of the stitches, peeling it over his head. It drops to the gravel, baring his torso—bruises blooming purple over his ribs, a jagged cut sewn tight across his side, skin flushed with life despite the damage.

“You’re still here,” I whisper, pressing a kiss to the warm, unscarred patch above his heart, “that’s all I care about.”

He cups my face with his good hand, thumb brushing my cheek. “You’re the reason I’m still here, Sylvara.”

My throat catches, and I kiss him harder, hands roaming his shoulders, careful of the bandages. The wind sweeps over us, cool against my skin, but his heat keeps me anchored. I tug my jacket off, letting it fall, then lift my tank top over my head, the fabric whispering to the ground. My nipples pebble in the evening chill, and his gaze drops, hungry and unguarded.

“Damn,” he breathes, reaching for me, fingers grazing my collarbone, “you’re perfect.”

I guide his hand to my chest, letting him feel my pulse racing under his touch. His thumb brushes my nipple, tentative, then bolder, and I gasp, a spark igniting low in my belly. My knees nudge his hips as I step between his legs, leaning him back onto the ground, careful not to press his injuries.

“We’ll take it easy,” I say, kissing the corner of his mouth, then his throat, tasting the salt of his skin, “just us, no rush.”

He chuckles, a rough edge to it, hand sliding down my back, tracing my spine. “Easy with you is still a storm.”

I laugh, lips brushing his pulse, feeling it jump under my touch. My fingers dip to his jeans, unbuttoning them slow, denim rasping as I ease them down his thighs. He shifts, wincing, and I pause, meeting his eyes, but he nods, a flicker of heat urging me on.

“Tell me if it hurts,” I say, hands resting on his hips, “I mean it.”

“It’s worth it,” he replies, voice firm, pulling me closer with his good arm, “you’re worth it.”

I kiss him again, deep and messy, tongues tangling as the heat builds, steady and consuming. My fingers slip under his briefs, easing them down, his cock springing free—thick, flushed, veins tracing dark lines under the skin. I wrap my hand around him, stroking gentle, feeling him harden, a drop of precum beading at the tip.

He groans, head tipping back against the wall, gravel crunching under his boots. “Sylvara, you’re too much.”

“Not enough,” I whisper, kissing his throat, then his chest, “not yet.”

His hand slides to my jeans, fumbling with the button, and I help him, kicking them off, panties following quick. The rooftop’s chill bites my skin, but his gaze warms me, steady and fierce. I straddle him, thighs brushing his, careful of his ribs, and guide his hand between my legs, pressing his fingers where I’m already wet.

“Feel that?” I say, voice low, rocking into his touch, “that’s for you.”

He curses, fingers sliding over me, rubbing slow circles that make my breath catch. Pleasure coils, bright and sharp, and I moan, soft and open, leaning into his shoulder. The city fades below, lights smudging into the dusk, and it’s just us, tangled in this moment, alive and whole.

“I love you,” I say, the words spilling out raw, my forehead resting against his, “I thought I’d lose you, but you’re here, and I love you.”

His hand stills, eyes wide, searching mine. “Say it again.”

“I love you, Kieran,” I repeat, steady and sure, “through the blood, the fights, all of it—I love you.”

He exhales, a shaky breath, and pulls me into a kiss, soft and searing, like he’s etching it into me. “I love you too,” he says, lips brushing mine, “more than I can stand, Sylvara.”

The words sink deep, a peace settling over us, warm and unshakable. The wind carries the city’s noise, but it’s distant, irrelevant. His fingers move again, stroking me gentle, and I tremble, heat simmering beneath the tenderness, ready to flare into something wilder.

---