Chapter Sixteen
Ines
Iwake slowly.
The first thing I notice is warmth. Trunk’s massive body is wrapped around mine, one heavy arm draped across my waist, one of his thighs pinned between both of mine. His breath is steady against the back of my neck.
The second thing I notice is that every single part of my body hurts.
I open my eyes.
My thighs ache. Between my legs is a deep, bruised throbbing that tells me exactly what happened last night in detail I don’t need. My right hand is swollen, I can feel it without even looking, the way the knuckles are tight and hot. I cracked it on his jaw at some point during the fight. Worth it.
There’s a bruise on my shoulder where I think he bit me at one point. Another on my hip. Dried blood on my thigh that is not mine.
I am a disaster.
The clearing is entirely different in the morning. The two green moons are gone. Dappled green light filters down through the canopy of purple flowers. The stream is louder now in the quiet. Birdsong drifts through the jungle. Everything is damp and glistening from last night’s rain.
I’m lying naked on moss in a Timbur jungle clearing, covered in mud, dried sweat and my husband’s blood, wrapped around the enormous body of the Xylan miner who chased me down and claimed me last night, and I have never felt more okay in my life.
I shift carefully, trying not to wake him, and twist around in his grip so I can look at him.
Trunk asleep is an amazing sight. I study the ridges on his forehead I have memorized by now. The long bronze braids spilling over the moss beside him. The bite mark I left on his shoulder last night. The red scratches I raked down the ridges of his stomach. The split in his lower lip where I bit him during the kiss in the rain.
I left my marks all over this enormous warrior and he slept wearing them like a crown.
My throat goes tight.
Two weeks ago I arrived on Timbur to write a story. I was skeptical, exhausted, cynical, working alone the way I’ve always worked. And then I met this grumpy, stubborn, honorable male who scented me as incompatible and still couldn’t quite leave me alone.
And then someone tried to kill me. He saved me, and his family took me in, and his med lab healed something I didn’t know I’d given up on. And then last night his bare palm touched mine and everything changed.
I reach out carefully and trace the split in his lip with one fingertip.
His eyes open.
They’re dark at first, watchful, the way they always are. And then they land on my face and soften so completely I want to cry.
“Good morning, my Bride,” he rumbles.
“Good morning, husband.”
His claw comes up immediately, cupping my cheek, then moving to my hair, then settling possessively on my waist. Then he smiles. That slow, real, new smile. “You are magnificent, my Be’Ih.”
I chuckle. “I know.” And then I reach down and put my fingers around his throbbing erection. “And so are you.”
He hisses and then his lips are on mine. It’s different from every kiss last night. Not desperate, just slow. His mouth against mine, unhurried, reverent. His tongue sliding in to meet mine gently, like he has all the time in the world.
Because he does. We do.
His claw traces down my body, not with last night’s frenzy but with something careful and exploring. Down my neck, over my collarbone and along the curve of my breast. He pauses there, cupping me, his thumb brushing over my nipple until I gasp into his mouth.
“Texon.”
“Shhh.” He moves down. His mouth follows his hands, pressing soft kisses to my shoulder, the valley between my breasts. He licks one of my nipples slowly, then the other, and I am already squirming beneath him.
He kisses down my stomach. Presses his lips against the soft curve below my navel and lingers there for a long moment, his forehead resting against my skin. Like he’s listening.
