She felt his hand.It had moved—or was moving—fingers tracing up her thigh.He seemed to be exploring; perhaps her skin was that soothing to him.
His fingers found the edge of her sash.Paused there, as if even in sleep some part of him was asking.Her breath had gone shallow.His palm spread flat against her stomach through the fabric.It was warm, heavy and covering a truly embarrassing amount of territory, and she thought, distantly, that she had been cold for a very long time.
She turned her head slightly.
It was hard to fall back asleep with his hardness pressed against her.
She reached down.Covered his hand with hers.
His breathing deepened.She adjusted her thighs, easing her discomfort as it slipped through.His voice was rough against her ear.
He bucked his hips, a word leaving his lips.“Khatun…”
She bit her lips, feeling the friction between her thighs, his hand pressing down on her belly.She steadied her breathing, feeling her body warm to his actions.
“Must you torture me?”He whispered hoarsely.“I can feel it, how wet you are.”
Azul’s body stiffened, unsure of what to do."Sleep" was all she could say.
He was quiet for a moment but then he pulled her closer.
“If that is your wish, I will oblige.”
A sick man had no business acting on his body’s desires.
Ragnar woke to her absence.
The warmth that had been pressed against his side was gone; the furs beside him were cool enough that she had been absent for some time.His arm, which had been across her waist, lay empty against the bedding.
Ragnar opened his eyes slowly.His fever had broken.His head was clear.
His heart was not.
He stared at the ceiling.
He had dreamed of her before.Vividly.In enough detail that he'd developed a thorough and humiliating familiarity with the difference between memory and imagination.He knew the fever had been bad enough to blur the line entirely and he had learned, in the last month, not to trust the mornings.
She had been here.
He was almost certain she had been here.The pillow beside him still held a suggestion of weight, the furs still carried warmth in the shape of a woman, and he could have sworn he heard her voice.
He closed his eyes.
Ragnar.
He had dreamed that too.Her voice held his name.
He exhaled.
He was going to have to get up.Face Thane, the war council, the siege, and the logistics requiring his attention before the sun fully rose.
His ears picked up a sound.
It was soft and wandering.He knew that hum.
His eyes opened.
He did not move, for he was sure that any sudden movement might end this, and he was not prepared for it to end.
