Page 155 of Bound

Except there was another thought that niggled. Insistent and irritating while she burrowed under her covers and reminded herself that she’d chores in the morning. Bread to make. That sort of thing.

Why then did she want to reach over and see if Braum was awake too? To take advantage of the aloneness in their bed, to see about that kissing and... touching... they’d started before.

She flipped over a little more harshly than she should have now that she had a person for a bed-mate and not just Merryweather. Not that she was particularly gracious about being bothered in her sleep. But it was... different.

She should get up. Fetch some water. Maybe rock on the porch and wait until this heavy feeling low in her belly disappeared.

It would. Had to.

“You all right?” Braum asked, his voice low. Sleepy.

She was keeping him from his rest. He was going to the groves tomorrow. She’d thought of asking to go with him, but hadn’t. Would.

Which meant sleep was important or else he’d claim she was tired and shouldn’t make the trip.

“Yes,” Wren muttered. Felt the lie sour in her mouth. “No.”

He reached for her. Not to tug her to him—they were careful about those sorts of things. Perhaps too careful. But he put his hand on her arm. Held it there, present and distracting. “What is it?”

How was she supposed to explain such things to him? Wants that she barely understood herself? Ones that she was certain she could even fulfil without...

Her mouth pressed into a grim line.

She’d been robbed. Of innocence and trust, and she wanted it back. If they had to stop, they would. He would. He’d rather drown himself in her pond than ever, ever hurt her in that way.

So if she wanted to kiss him... wanted to indulge the warming of her blood and the urges to touch and to be touched...

She took his hand. Placed where she ached.

Her heart beat wildly at her boldness. For him to give the reasons they shouldn’t try.

He purred. His hand coming to her hip as he pressed her into him. They were on their sides—she could pull away whenever she wanted to.

But she didn’t.

She liked his fervour. Liked his hands, pressing and pulling. Like better still when he went to his back and brought her over him, his hands smoothing up her thighs. “Did you think I would object?” he asked as she leaned down to kiss him, fighting down the urge to squirm on top of him. The lights were low, the lamp extinguished for the sleep they were meant to be having.

But she could make out enough with the glow of the fire down below.

“No,” she confessed. “Just... worried if I got scared, or if I couldn’t...”

His hand was in her hair. The back of her head. Keeping her steady as they looked at one another in the dim. “You think I would keep going? Not care that you were unhappy?” She’d hurt him. Hadn’t meant to, but she had.

It hung between them, the memory of this other, and she hated it. Wanted him purged from her mind and her heart and the very home he’d pushed into. She’d scrubbed it all once he’d left. Until her hands were wrinkled and sore. Then she’d cleaned it all again—herself included.

Over and over.

Until she’d discovered it was better to box away the entire business. To stop thinking about it at all because it hadn’t happened didn’t matter. Couldn’t hurt her anymore if it just went away.

Lies, the whole of it.

She brushed her lips against his. Soothing. Promising. “No,” she assured him. “No, I don’t think that. You love me too much.”

She liked the hand in her hair. Like the one at her hip. Liked leaning and whispering and having the whole world fall away until it was just the two of them—if only for a little while.

“I do,” he swore to her. And it was a vow. She knew it all the way into her bones that he loved her. Cherished her. Would do anything in his power to make her happy, even if it meant building a small extra door just for Merryweather. A porch so they might enjoy the outside together even during the wetter months.

“That’s good,” Wren murmured, kissing his cheek. His brow. “It would be rather lonely otherwise. Loving you all on my own.”

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