Page 151 of Bound

Failed. Until he shrugged and chuckled at her. And then it was off entirely with much less effort than she could have imagined.

But then, his clothing had been purchased. Hers were fashioned from her mother’s recollections from her old world. Modified for a daughter she’d never quite expected.

She’d caught glimpses of him changing. Not that she was watching. Not exactly. But sometimes she could not quite help herself when she saw the flutter of fabric. The flash of skin that was suddenly just... there.

Which was only fair when he’d helped her bathe. She’d made no such claims on him, not even under the justification of fairness.

He reached out and touched her own wrap. “Is this to be reciprocal as well?” It was asked gently. With plenty of room that she might say no. She chewed at her lip and reached out a hand to touch the hard muscle of his upper arm. The softer flesh about his collarbones. She admired his strength. Admired more how he chose to use it. To help. Always that.

She shrugged, simply to tease him. “If you like.”

Her heart was racing in her chest. There had been no declarations of how far they might go. No careful tests she’d laid before him. It was freeing and a little frightening, and she thought her pulse might never calm again when he began working on her own layers.

She should have fetched their nightclothes. Would. In a moment.

But for now, she’d stay. Let him peel away her wrap. Then the overdress. Was a little gratified that he had to turn her about three times before he decided how best to approach its removal. They’d learn.

Which brought a fresh round of blushes to think this might someday be common.

Or not. Maybe she’d decided she did not care for it. That she’d insist they change in separate chambers and never see a hint of naked flesh ever again.

She skimmed her finger down his arm as he studied her in her shift and socks and thought that would be rather a shame.

There were fine scars dotted here and there. Some thicker and swollen where the flesh had mended poorly. Others silvery and fine.

A woodcutter, her mate. With all that required.

She’d ask him to take her. To show his trees and she would ask if there was anything she might do to help him. Not... not live there. Home would be here. With their porch and their room, and their trunks that looked rather well together.

But she’d be his help, as he was hers. She’d make sure of that.

He gave her a questioning look, and she quirked a brow in answer. She would not direct him. Did not want him to be afraid to touch her. Perhaps that was a better way of it. For him to trust that she would tell him what she did not like. For her to know that her refusals mattered.

He brought a hand to her shoulder. His hands were warm, and she wondered why when she felt such a nip in the air. Then they were at the straps of her shift. And this was a familiar dance, reserved before for the bath that was just a bath.

It was enough of a difference to set a burst of fluttering through her stomach as he pushed the straps over her shoulders. Followed as they skimmed down her arms. Where the opening of the neck caught at her breasts and held there, if only because her breath caught briefly.

“What would you like this to be?” Braum asked, his thumb catching the fabric. Holding it. Protecting what little modesty she’d like to pretend she possessed. “Just undressing?”

She should have a firm answer. Should know her own mind and heart.

But she felt a pleasant sort of glow. The one that came of a trip to the city that did not end with her feeling sheer relief to be free of it again.

She did not know what came over her. Did not know if it was fair when she could not promise that there would be more at all. But she wanted to feel something. Wanted to feel his hands on her. So she reached for one and brought it to her left breast and held it there. Still through the fabric of her shift, even so, she felt.

“I thought... maybe we could kiss for a while? If you are not too tired? And maybe... touch a little?” Her throat tightened, too afraid to offer the prospect of the rest when she wasn’t sure, wasn’t positive that she...

He groaned.

Pulled her to him.

Held her. His hand crushed between them, but she didn’t mind.

“A grand thought,” Braum approved.

Then shifted so his other hand was behind her head, bringing her mouth to his.

While his other delved. Pushed at her shift. Until it caught at her waist instead, leaving her exposed to even more of his touches. First a caress. As if he’d never felt anything quite like her softness. Which she supposed he hadn’t. Not exactly.

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