“Yes. She’s more than worth it, Folami, you’ll see.”
I hummed noncommittally, doubts swirling in my mind.
Sighing, I pushed to stand and dusted the back of my pants. Peytor mirrored the motion, clearly meaning to follow and have our own conversation.
“Oh, Folami?” Torin called as I opened the door. I turned slightly to look at him, and saw his eyes track to where Peytor gently rested his hand on my lower back. If he was surprised or intrigued, his face gave nothing away.
“Maybe you should talk to someone about your past,” Torin said quietly. “I know it’s . . . difficult, but, after today, it’s clear that you need to.” When I went to brush off his words with a caustic remark, he hit me in the gut. “If not for you, then foryour daughter. She needs you to be whole and healed, Folami. Otherwise, what’s the point of everything we’re doing?”
I sighed heavily, knowing that, ultimately, Torin was right.
“If not me, then . . . someone,” Torin mumbled, his eyes again tracing Peytor’s hand on my back.
I nodded mutely before shoving through the door.
Chapter 38
Folami
The door to Peytor’s room quietly clicked shut behind us, plunging the room into darkness. I could breathe then, let my mask fall for just a minute in the dark where no one could see. That was the thing about my position, my persona, I had to be Torin’s general at all moments of the day. Constantly “on” with no reprieve save when I was hidden in my room with my daughter or now, with Peytor.
I heard him shuffle behind me, toeing off his boots by the doorway, before his strong arms wound around my torso, pinning me to his broad chest. My breaths came in shallow pants, both from his touch and from the stress of today—from the blatant insults and faintly veiled threats.
I hate the north.
“I know you do, Fo, I know,” Peytor whispered in my ear, and I realized that I’d said that out loud. His calloused hands ran a soothing motion up and down my arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. I relaxed further into his hold, molding my body with his as he gently laid his head on my neck, subtly breathing in my scent.
“You washed your braids today?” he commented, and I nodded my head, the beads clicking and tinkling with the movement.
“It was time. Plus, you said you liked the smell of the soap I use . . .” I trailed off, suddenly embarrassed by the fact that I washed my hair because a man enjoyed its scent.
Who was I becoming?
I twisted my lips wryly and stiffened slightly in Peytor’s arms. He exhaled heavily against my neck before peppering kisses along the outside and down to my shoulder.
“Stop that,” he admonished lightly. “Stop thinking. It’s okay to want to do something because someone else likes it. It doesn’t make you any less feared. In fact, I think I may respect you even more for it. It means you’re taking others’ thoughts and opinions into account. There is nothing wrong with that,” he murmured against my neck, and I craned it slightly in the opposite direction so he had further access to my exposed skin.
I sighed, choosing to store my thoughts for a different time, and not when it was the last night I had with Peytor for the gods knew how long.
“Let me take care of you tonight, Folami,” Peytor said as his hands moved down past my arms until both of his hands gripped my waist. My abdomen inadvertently tightened at the contact, and he groaned in my ear. “Do you know how sexy it is that you’re this strong?”
I hummed softly. “Sexy” was not something I ever consciously tried to achieve—my body was strong because it needed to be. My mind was a fortress because I needed protection. I wore my hair in braids because it was a nod to my heritage and a “fuck you” to the Warlord.
Nothing I did was purposefully attractive.
But Peytor found it so, just the same. All parts of me.
“It’s true. That’s the beauty of bisexuality, I think,” he mused as his fingers lifted the hem of my tunic to expose my body to his ministrations. He traced idle, slow circles as he spoke, lighting my skin with an internal fire and causing desire to pool low in my belly. “I see the beauty in everything, everyone. There’s no discrimination, just attraction and desire.”
I wasn’t looking for love, or even a sexual partner, when we’d rescued Peytor from the mines. But there was something about him that just enthralled me. It started as a friendship almost immediately when we came back to Lishahl. There was a dead look in his sunken eyes that I felt compelled to erase. I helped nurse him back to health—brought him meals in his room when he didn’t want to leave, cleaned and cut his hair when he first arrived, and walked with him around Lishahl Manor to start rebuilding his stamina. Originally, we didn’t say much, just took comfort in each other’s company. I think the brokenness in me reached for the shattered pieces of Peytor, our grief and shared trauma acting as a bonding agent. Eventually, he started opening up about his horrific experiences in the mines, and I returned his stories with tales of my own trauma.
Itanya became curious about the man we’d rescued from the mines, and she began to accompany Peytor and me on our walks. I think he fell in love with her first. With her vibrancy and zest for life that you could only find in a five-year-old. She drew him pictures of rainbows and fairies, of flowers and forests. Then, one day, she drew a picture of the three of us together, like you would draw a family. And I saw his heart melt—tears sprang to his eyes as he said nothing, just knelt to give Itanya a fierce hug. One she returned with gusto.
That night was the first time we’d had sex. It was like the final piece of the puzzle clicked for me—seeing him with my daughter—and if she loved him, then maybe I could too. Or, at the very least, trust my body with someone else.
From then on, we acted like a family in private. I was still hesitant to show my relationship with Peytor to others simply because I didn’t want the inevitable scrutiny and whispers that followed me to attach to someone as good and giving as Peytor. But whatever this was between us was getting harder to ignore.
“I think you’re beautiful,” I mumbled a little breathlessly as his fingers swept beneath the band on my pants. Peytor chuckled into my neck at my words.
