His eyes narrow, lips quirking up. “Saoirse. Come here.”
“Stop that.”
My command lacks bite.
Faolan’s smile returns, ripe and infuriating across his face. “Stop what?” He leans against the pillows, draping the scarf over his chest. “I thought you vowed to obey, wife.”
It’s that word that draws me back across the room, flushed and furious as I reach for the scarf.
“Stop pretending like this is anything more than it is! I think—”Breathe.“I think you use that same growling tone to charm everywoman from every island. And I think you’re still delirious from fever, and—I just can’t do it, all right? For three days, I believed you were going to die, and— Let go of it, would you?”
I tug on the scarf, but his grip tightens. Before I can blink, he holds it high over his head in such a childish move that my panic all but vanishes, a candle blown out. “No. You said it’s mine.”
“I did not, I— Give it back, all right? This is so— Faolan!” I reach for it, but when he shifts away at the last second, my attempt turns into a mad swipe.
“It’s soft, and I like it. It’ll be a reminder of my wife’s affection to wear for all my days and—oi!”
I reach too far and tumble headfirst onto the bed.
“Feck. I’m sorry.” I try to pull back, but Faolan’s arm locks around my waist like it did during the storm. When he sits up this time, he takes me with him. My legs curl on either side of his thighs, hands tangled in needles and wool where he dangles it above our heads. His eyes lock on mine, and I swear I’m drowning in blue.
I’m not sure who lets go of the scarf first, but it drops to the bed with a soft clatter.
My hands spread across his chest as he cups my cheek, skin interrupted by leather where it wraps round his palm. It’s the one part of him that’s consistent—a barrier between himself and the world, one I couldn’t bring myself to remove when I bathed him. I part my lips to say his name—say anything that will make sense of the sudden stillness between us—when his gaze drops to them.
My mouth goes dry.
It’s not fear. I know that now.
But I should be afraid, seeing the way his eyes darken the longer he looks. Feeling the pulse of longing—of heat—slip past thetattoo’s guard on my back. I should want to shrink my body into itself rather than unfold, drenched in a warmth that feels like pure sunlight.
One kiss from her lips, and surely I’d die.
Just one kiss. Perhaps the only real one I’ll ever get.
His nose brushes mine, and my breath all but stops. I almost want it to. Would it be so bad to die in this moment and stay here, where I am finally wanted?
But no, it was just a brush—he’s not going to kiss me. He’s going to pull back and say something awful, and I’ll cry, and—
He nuzzles again, fingers sliding from my cheek to my jaw, and I understand in a dizzying rush that it’s not a rejection.
It’s a request.
Longing unfurls in my chest, as acute and urgent as the first night we met. One single, shaky nod is all that I can manage before Faolan gathers me close and presses his lips to mine.
It is achingly soft, Faolan’s kiss, seeping warmth into my bones as though I were drinking honey. He must sense this new sweetness, because his tongue slips free to trace over my bottom lip. I melt against him.
It’s not so soft now. His thumb strokes the frantic pulse at my throat, and I part my lips on instinct, tasting him just as he does me. His fingers slide into my hair, and when a whimper passes from my lips to his, those hands become fists.
I am made of pure sensation. Nails that skate across his shoulders, lips that part and press more willingly every second. A body that jerks hard against his when he bites down on my bottom lip. It’s overwhelming. Delicious. Even my wildest dreams could not paint such a picture asthis.
“Faolan, I—”
His hips roll in a singular wave with mine, and I cry out as a sweet, sharp ache settles directly between my thighs. But when my grip falls to his arms, he jerks back on a soft swear.
It’s as though someone’s doused me with cold water. “Oh gods. You’re still hurt. I’m sorry, I—”
“Saoirse, look at me.”