She stayed awake as long as she could, until the night felt like a dream. Until she fell asleep in his strong arms, his heart beating against her own.
—
When Loren woke up in the morning, she found that she had slept better than she had in years. Perhaps even forever.
She cracked open her eyelids to see sunlight pouring into the room through the slats in the blinds. It washed the suite in gold, giving everything a hazy glow that reminded her of late-summer magic and desert sunsets.
The events of the previous night rushed into her mind, flushing her body with a warmth more intense than the sun streaming in through the windows.
Her body felt…different. Like it was hers but not. It was a strange feeling, but certainly not a bad one. She welcomed the difference, for it came with bonding with the person she loved in the closest way possible. There was a dull ache between her legs, but aside from that she felt good. Better than ever, in fact.
Darien was sprawled on his stomach beside her, his head turned the other way. The duvet and sheets were tucked down around his waist, leaving the ink on his muscled back visible for Loren to admire in all its glory.
And she did.
Slowly, Loren turned toward him, being careful not to shift the sheets. She reached up and traced her fingertips over the scars on his back, the ridges barely visible beneath the ink. She tried not to picture a beautiful black-haired boy with steel-blue eyes, struck repeatedly with a belt, those eyes going dark— not with the Sight, but with the art of blocking out the pain.
Still, try as she may, Loren found that her breathing hitched at the thought, her hatred for Randal grabbing her heart in a fist and squeezing tight.
Darien deserved so much better than the cards he’d been dealt. So much better.
She focused instead on the tattoo, brushing her fingers across the teeth of the hound of hell, over the ignited chains that bound it, over the flames encasing its muscled body. The fine details were so extraordinary, it was like a photograph.
“That feels amazing.” Darien’s voice made her jump, made her hand still on his back.
She pulled away as he rolled over to face her. He was exquisite, and it had very little to do with what he looked like. She sank into the pillow, a sudden bout of shyness sweeping through her.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said.
The corner of his lips tipped up into a smile, showing off that dimple she loved so much. “And I didn’t mean to make you stop.” He took her hand into his, pressing their palms flat together. He admired the sight of her hand flat against his for a moment, the two of them so different in size. And she admired him, before his eyes locked on hers, and he caught her staring.“Hi,” he whispered.
“Hi,” she whispered back.
He laced his fingers with hers and set their joined hands into the soft sheets. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m good,” she said. “I’m really good.”
Darien tilted a brow. “Sore?” When she hesitated, he said, “It’s normal, Loren. You’re not going to make me feel bad for telling the truth.” When she still didn’t answer, concern flitted across his features, that little smile curling into a frown. “What’s the matter?”
Loren fiddled with one of the rings he wore. “I didn’t want to say I’m sore in case I caused you to not want to do it again,” she admitted. Nerves clenched in her stomach, and her face heated up.
When she peeked up at Darien, she spotted a wicked glint in his eyes. “Even if you told me that you could barely walk, I still wouldn’t be able to leave you alone.”
Letting go of her hand, he rolled, and suddenly he was on top of her. Loren gasped in surprise, but he was hooking her legs around his waist before she could say anything.
He braced his hands on the wrought iron above her head. The space between her legs pulsed at the sight of him above her again so soon. “Tell me you want me,” Darien said.
“I want you.” Her voice was colored with urgency.
He was pushing into her before she’d finished saying the last word, and they moaned in unison.
He wasted no time before he began to move, and Loren winced a little, causing him to pause.
“Keep going,” she said, her voice breathy.
He did, but three thrusts later and he stopped.
It was her fault, wasn’t it? She’d hinted that she was feeling pain and he’d stopped.
