Page 83 of Skyshade
The dress had long sheer sleeves made up of intricate embroidery. The design told their story, whirling shadows meeting blooming flowers. The bodice was low and covered in petals, the design of vines and stems curling out of them, against her skin. The fabric was tight against her waist and stomach, and the silk below was smooth, all the way to the floor.
“Heart,” he said, blinking more than usual, as if trying to discern a dream from reality. “What—”
“I’m ready,” she said. She took a step forward. “I’m ready to try again. To be your wife. Truly.”
The look he gave her was so earnest, so disbelieving, she couldn’t imagine she had ever thought him heartless.
Slowly, his gaze never leaving hers, Grim went to his knees before her. He took her hands as gently as if they were made of glass and bowed his head. Tears swept down the sharp panes of his face. She had only seen him cry once before, and it was when her heart had stopped. It made her own eyes burn. “I won’t pretend I’ll ever be a good man,” he said. “But I’ll be good to you.” His words were a promise she could feel in the center of her chest, the bridge between them dark and gleaming. He smoothed his lips across her knuckles. “I will make us happy, heart. I swear it.”
She wanted that. With every part of her, she wanted this to be real. She wanted to pretend she could change her fate: that she could save them all, have a happy ending.
Grim rose to his full height, eyes still never leaving hers. She carefully wiped his tears with her thumb, and he shivered. “Our wedding night,” she said, slightly breathless. “You remember it?”
His eyes darkened, then. “Only every night.”
“Good,” she said. She stepped into him. His body was hard and cold against her. “Do it all again.”
Grim didn’t hesitate. One moment she was firmly on the ground, and the next, he had reached down and swept her off her feet.
He turned around and portaled them so smoothly that she didn’t even realize they were in their room until they were facing the bed.
She had anticipated he would want to do this here. Lynx was gone. Isla had already brought him to the stables. She’d had to leave him several pieces of dried meat and blankets to make up for it.
Ever so carefully, Grim set her down in front of the bed. She slowly slipped out of her shoes, shrinking slightly before him.
“May I?” he asked, motioning toward her dress, the words so soft she barely heard them.
She nodded and turned around. He gently moved her hair over her shoulder, and his featherlight touch made her shiver. Just like their wedding night, every sense seemed to be heightened, her skin as sensitive as if she had never been touched before. Her toes curled at his breath on her neck and his rough fingertips against her spine as he began to slowly undo the buttons. Every scrape of him against her skin had her burning. Restless.
There were too many damn buttons.
He laughed darkly. “Patience, Hearteater,” he said, and a thrill went through her as he used her old name. “We have all night.” She felt his breath against the shell of her ear, and it made her shoulders hike. “And I plan to enjoy every moment of it.”
She twisted to face him. “If I recall correctly, we didn’t leave this bed for days.”
Grim laughed again. “Greedy for more, when we haven’t even started, Hearteater?”
“Always,” she said, and felt the last button open. Her entire back was bare to him. Just as she got used to the cold air upon her skin, he swept his rough knuckles down her spine, and she arched, aching. The fabric fell off her shoulder, and he pressed his lips against it, making his way up her neck, across her jaw. She shivered at his touch, her want surprising her, rising just as forcefully as she had tried to bury it down.
The dress fell to the floor, and Grim made a noise that almost sounded pained. She had found the pieces of lace in her dresser too, the ones that barely covered anything.
“My memory is useless, when it comes to you,” he murmured. “You’re always so much more beautiful than I remember.”
“And you’re still fully dressed.” She was impatient, needy. She pressed her hands against his shirt and watched it turn to ash, revealing a chest so broad and muscled, he would have looked like a flawless statue, save for the scar next to his heart. The one she had given him. He had kept it, a vestige of her.
“Getting back at me for all the dresses?” he said, his voice dark and amused. The ones he had ruined, by ripping them off her.
“Exactly.”
His pants were next. Now, they were on equal footing. Before she could touch him again, he bent down and picked her up by the back of her thighs, lifting her onto the bed. Then, eyes never leaving hers, he knelt before her again.
She gasped as he hooked his fingers beneath her knees and dragged her to the edge of the sheets, right below him. His breath was hot against the center of her, and she groaned.
“You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined this,” he said. Her lace was gone with a single movement, and he didn’t waste a moment with teasing or games. No, he seemed to be as starved as she was. Her head fell back with the first press of him against her, toes curling, eyes squeezing closed.
Then, she arched off the bed. His hands gently pinned her hips down against the sheets, thumbs stroking her sensitive skin. He was slow, and gentle—until he wasn’t. She dug her heels against his back until she was moaning into her own shoulder and fisting the sheets. Then she was being dragged beneath an endless sea of pleasure, until her muscles tensed and she was shattering against him.
She sat up, dazed, limp, her skin feeling raw and covered in sparks.
