“Sorry,” Verice shrugged. “I was...distracted.”
She pulled the shirt up. He cooperated, sliding the cloth over his head and easing his hair free. She laughed as she tugged it off his arms. She caught her breath as her gaze lingered on his chest.
He took the shirt from her hands, and threw it on the floor before drawing her in closer. She rested her hands on his bare chest.
“Are there any other surprises?” she inquired with an impish look as her fingers brushed his belt.
“There might be,” he whispered, nuzzling her ear. “Feel free to explore, if you wish.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
If she wished? She wished for nothing more, and yet…
Warna took a breath, hesitating, letting her fingers rest on the leather of the belt. She dared, but she also didn’t dare. She felt like she was trembling on the brink of something amazing and delightful, and terrifying all at the same time.
Verice stood, unmoving, like a rock. His chest rose and fell almost imperceptibly. His skin was dusted with silver hairs that trailed down his chest, narrowing as they reached his waist. She licked her dry lips. Her fingers seemed to take on a life of their own, loosening the belt, untying the laces, slipping her fingers around and back and down to slide the leather over his hips and—
Verice must have helped, because it seemed that he was suddenly, gloriously naked, stepping out of the trous as they fell to the floor with a grace she was certain no human could achieve.
“Do I please you?” he rumbled and she could forgive the lilt of arrogance in his voice. He was certainly entitled. She glanced up to see the glint of humor in his eye, with a touch of something else.
She wanted nothing more than to touch, to explore further, but instead she put her hands up to splay them over his chest, went up on tiptoe, and kissed him. He caught her mouth and returned the kiss.
She didn’t resist when he stepped back, following his lead as they kissed. She was slightly shocked when he sat abruptly on the edge of the huge bed, and pulled her down next to him. It was the logical next step of course, but she felt scandalous.
“You’re seducing me,” she whispered as she tingled with excited realization.
“If so, I’m not very good at it,” he chuffed. “I’m the one who’s naked.”
Warna laughed at that, for it was only the truth. She pushed him down, suddenly greedy to touch every inch of his skin, explore every aspect of his body. He offered no resistance, letting her hands trail down, drinking in the sight of all that he—
What caught her eye was the horrid scar that laced his thigh, running from the outside of his hip inwards at an angle.
“Verice,” she whispered, reaching to trace its length.
His leg twitched and he caught her fingers half-way along the scar. He grimaced an apology. “It’s still sensitive,” he said.
“From the Festival night,” she said. “You almost died.”
“I healed,” he said with a shrug. He kept her hand in his, turning it over palm-up. “It will fade, given time. Fifty years or so.”
Fifty years. As if it was nothing. As if it wasn’t a lifetime.
He seemed to sense the way her thoughts were tending, because he lifted her hand and kissed her palm, letting his tongue brush the skin. Keeping his eyes on hers, he breathed on the damp patch, sending shivers down her spine. “What matters is that I am here now, and healthy.” He took her hand and pressed it against his length. She blushed hotly as she felt him beneath her hand. “And I believe you wanted to explore.”
Warna couldn’t have made a sound if she’d tried. Her throat closed up, her mouth dry. It was what she wanted, and the thought brought a warmth to her body and loins that swept over her like a fire.
She just wasn’t sure where to start.
Verice moved then, keeping his hand over hers, and reached out to cup her neck, pulling her in for a kiss. Her hand tightened, and his body moved in response, and suddenly her reservations were gone.
He was a song, a perfect song, with endless lyrics she’d sing the rest of her life, and a melody she’d never be able to quantify.
And beautiful, so beautiful. Like a marble statue, made even more perfect by the fact that he lived and breathed and had calluses on his hands and scars on his body.
His long silver hair cascaded over her hands as she dared to trace the points of his ears, stroke his neck, place kisses along his collarbone. The silver hairs on his legs were coarse on his calves and thighs, but seemed to turn to silk as she neared his core. He didn’t resist, didn’t stop her explorations. Just stretched out before her and let her have her way. It was only the trembling of his body, the shortness of his breaths that made her think she’d erred somehow.
“Verice?” she whispered, sprawled next to him.
