Page 129 of Bound By Song

The stove is long forgotten.

My pulse isroaring.

I moan into his mouth, and Xar swears, pulling back just enough to murmur, “Later, love. I swear to fucking god, later.”

I nod, breathless, chest heaving. He brushes one last kiss to my lips before turning back to stir the pan like he didn’t just rock my world with a single kiss.

Dinner is a blur.

I barely taste it.

All I can think about is getting him in the nest, hands on my skin, mouth on my?—

But Xar has other plans.

“I’m running you a bath,” he announces after the plates are cleared. “You’re not dragging me into those blankets without letting me take care of you first.”

I blink, heart skipping. “I— Okay.”

“Trust me?” he asks.

I nod.

He smiles and it’ssoft, the kind of smile that makes something inside memelt.

“Good. Give me ten minutes and then come into the nest’s bathroom.”

The bathroom is already warm when I step inside. Xar’s scent is everywhere, curling through the air like an anchor. The tub is filled nearly to the brim, steam rising in lazy spirals, the surface shimmering with drops of essential oil. Soft music plays from his phone on the windowsill, something low and instrumental.

A fluffy towel waits on the radiator. So does he.

Xar turns when he hears me, leaning against the sink with the confidence of a man whoknowsexactly what he’s doing.

He doesn’t say a word as I step out of my clothes. Just watches, eyes roaming over me like a slow, steady burn. I should feel shy. But I don’t.

Not with him.

Not when he’s looking at me like I’m made of starlight and secrets.

Once I’m in the bath, I melt. The heat seeps into my muscles, softening every edge of tension I didn’t even realise I was holding. I close my eyes, head resting back, and breathe.

“Good?” Xar asks, voice low.

“Mmhmm.”

He sinks to sit behind me on the edge of the tub, his fingers dipping into the water to stroke gently along my shoulders. “Just relax. I’ve got you.”

And he does.

He washes my hair like it’s a sacred ritual – fingers massaging my scalp, rinsing with care. His touch is slow. Intentional. When he smooths conditioner through the strands, I sigh.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever done this for me, and here you are doing it twice,” I whisper.

“I’ll do it as many times as you want,” he replies. “Every day. Just say the word.”

By the time I step out, I’m boneless. He wraps me in a towel, drying me off carefully, and then carries me, bridal style, back into the nest. Naked but for the towel I’m cocooned in, but I’m too blissed out to care.

It’s been transformed.

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