Page 42 of Crown of Storm and Silence
"Even if it complicates your brooding monster routine?"
"Especiallyif it complicates my brooding monster routine," he says with a self-deprecating smile. "I was getting far too comfortable wallowing in dramatic solitude."
The path curves away from the village now, following the river through stands of tall grass that sway in the afternoon breeze. The golden light filtering through the swaying stalks creates patterns that shift and dance, beautiful and hypnotic.
And achingly familiar.
I stumble slightly as recognition crashes over me. This place, this exact combination of light and shadow and swaying grass—I've been here before. Two nights ago, in the dream that felt too real to be mere fantasy. The dream where Kaan touched me with reverent hands and made me come apart with pleasure so intense it left physical marks on my skin.
"Are you all right?" Kaan asks immediately, his free hand moving to steady me.
"Yes, it's just..." I gesture vaguely at the landscape around us. "This place feels familiar somehow. Like I've dreamed about it."
A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, dark and knowing. "Dreams can be powerful things," he says with deliberate casualness. "Especially the kind that leave bite marks on tender skin. Very educational dreams, those."
Heat floods my cheeks as his meaning hits me. He knows. Of course, he knows—he was there, in that golden field of swaying grass, doing things to me that made me sob his name in ecstasy. The bite marks on my thigh throb with remembered pleasure, and I have to fight the urge to press my legs together.
"You—" I begin, but the words die in my throat as his smirk widens.
"I what?" he asks with mock innocence, though his dark eyes burn with satisfaction. "Gave you exactly what you needed?Made you come apart so beautifully, you glowed like starlight? Left my mark on you so you'd remember who you belong to?"
"That wasn't real," I whisper, though even as I say it, I know it's a lie.
"Wasn't it?" He steps closer, close enough that I can smell that intoxicating scent of shadows and something uniquely him. "Then explain the marks,hatun. Explain why you're standing here blushing like a virgin when we both know exactly how you taste."
I should be outraged. Should slap him again for his presumption, for the casual way he speaks of the most intimate violation imaginable. Instead, I find myself swaying toward him, drawn by the heat in his eyes and the memory of pleasure so intense it rewrote my understanding of my own body.
I need an excuse. Some reason to feel his touch without admitting how desperately I want it.
"Oh," I gasp suddenly, my free hand flying to my belly. "The baby—it's moving. Really active today."
Kaan's attention immediately shifts to my belly, his dark eyes lighting up with an intensity that takes my breath away. "May I?" he asks, his voice rough with emotion.
But I know this is a lie. The baby isn't kicking—not right now, anyway. But standing here in this swaying grass that feels like a dream made real, with the scent of his skin surrounding me and the warmth of his touch making me feel more alive than I have in months, I want nothing more than to feel his hands on me again.
It's the hormones,I tell myself desperately.It's just biology making me want things I shouldn't want.
But even as I try to rationalize it, I know it's more than that. There's something about him that calls to every part of me—mind, body, soul. Something that makes me want to surrender to whatever this is between us, consequences be damned.
"Please," I whisper, and watch his carefully controlled expression crack with naked hunger.
He drops to his knees in the soft grass, his hands settling against my belly with reverent care. The moment his palms connect with my body, I have to bite back a moan. Not because of the magical connection to our child—though that golden thread immediately blazes to life—but because of the purely physical sensation of his touch.
His hands are large and warm, mapping the swell of my pregnancy with a gentle touch. When he spreads his fingers wide, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin just below my breasts, I have to fight the urge to arch into the contact.
"I don't feel any movement," he says after a moment, confusion creeping into his voice. His hands shift slightly, seeking. "Is the baby?—"
He glances up at me, his features softening.
"You never have to lie," he says softly, his dark eyes finding mine. "If you want me to touch you, all you have to do is ask. I'll never refuse you anything,hatun. Never."
The gentle understanding in his voice, the way he sees right through my deception without judgment, breaks something open inside my chest. Before I can think, before I can second-guess myself or remember all the reasons this is a terrible idea, I'm leaning down and pressing my lips to his.
The kiss starts soft, tentative, but the moment our mouths connect, something ignites between us. Every bitter night of these five months crashes through me at once—the endless ache, the hollow fury, the raw need I buried beneath rage. His hands fist in the fabric of my dress as he kisses me back with desperate hunger, and I can taste the salt of tears—his or mine, I can't tell.
"Nesilhan," he breathes against my lips, my real name falling from his mouth like a prayer. "God, I've missed you. I've missed this."
I should pull away. Should remember that I don't know this man, don't remember loving him, don't understand what I'm inviting by kissing him in this hidden place where only the grass can witness our madness.
