“Ah, see, that’s where you’re wrong, my dear elf,” he says, his eyes dancing with an unbothered, playful light. “Go back and check your memory files, Sy. I distinctly mentioned having plenty ofroom. As in square footage. Space. I never said a thing about multiple beds.”
I stare at him, completely flabbergasted. “That’s a ridiculous loophole, and you know it! Where is my sister supposed to sleep if she comes by? Where amIsupposed to sleep?”
“Well, Talia and Isolde are currently bunking together in Isolde’s large tent under the stars,” Raylen explains smoothly, taking a slow step toward me, entirely unbothered by my rising panic. “Which leaves this big, cozy bed right here. For us.”
My mouth opens, but only a small, strangled sound escapes. My mind rushes back to the gossip sheets, the crowded market, the intoxicating heat of his skin when our hands brushed. It replays all of today’s events until the reality of a single set of blankets settles over me.
He is doing this on purpose. I freaking know he is. And the absolute worst part is, looking at the enchanting, lavender-scented trap he has meticulously set for me, I’m entirely too charmed to run away.
Fuck me. I’m going to sleep in the same damn bed as the famous Raylen of Moonscliffe—willingly!
Despite my chaotic thoughts and bewildering epiphany, there’s something grounding about the way Raylen took care of me today.
Chapter six
Raylen
ThefirstthingIregister is the scent of the intoxicating sweet smell of the elf wrapped in my arms.
The second thing I register is the heat.
Sylar is pressed flush against my side, his long, thick frame molded perfectly to mine beneath the heavy weight of the patch quilts. Somewhere in the middle of the night, the wall of pillows, painstakingly built by the defensive, rigid man beside me, had completely dissolved.
Now, his head is tucked securely into the hollow of my neck, his soft, even breaths teasing my collarbone. One of his long, muscular arms is slung over my waist, pinning me to themattress, while his thigh is hooked possessively over mine. For someone who spends all his time in the library, he sure is built.
A low, heavy ache immediately pulses through my lower belly. I shift just a fraction, and the friction of his trousers against my bare leg sends a white-hot spike of arousal straight to my cock. I am rock hard, so fucking turned on, and hopelessly trapped by the biggest, most handsome—and most easily startled—elf in the entire market.
Goddess above, give me strength.
I close my eyes, forcing myself to take a slow, shallow breath. I want nothing more than to roll him onto his back, tangle my fingers in his long, obsidian hair, and kiss him until he’s begging for more. But if Sylar wakes up right now and feels exactly what he’s pressing against, he will panic, bolt out the door, and probably move into the stables just to escape me. Plus, consent is sexy as fuck.
Slowly, I begin the agonizing process of escaping the bed.
I reach down and gently take his wrist, lifting his arm off my waist. Sylar lets out a soft, tiny moan in his sleep. The sound is so sensual, I nearly lose all sense of self-control. He rolls tighter into my space, his face burying into the pillow where my shoulder had just been.
I slide my leg out from under his, biting the inside of my lip as my cock brushes his hip. With a final, agonizingly careful slide, I slip out from beneath the blankets and stand straight on the cold wooden floorboards. Cinder is curled up on her soft pet bed in the corner, her wings wrapped around her tiny foxly body.
The morning air hits my bare chest, causing my nipples to pebble. Rather than helping, it only makes me harder. I glance back at the bed. Sylar is completely sprawled across the center now, looking utterly peaceful, his sharp features softened by sleep and a faint, sleepy flush warming his cheeks.
I look away before I do something really fucking stupid.
Treading soundlessly across the uneven floor, I grab a clean tunic and slip through the narrow door into the washroom. The space is small and unmagical, featuring a heavy, old-fashioned copper tub.
I crank the iron handle and start a bath with the coldest water the cottage’s deep well can provide, before using a simple enchantment to heat it to just the right temperature. Stripping off my trousers, I give my cock a few simple strokes.
When the tub is half full, I slip into the hot water and lie back. I scrub a hand over my face, listening to the steadyrhythmof the water. It’s going to be a very long, very exhausting two weeks if every morning starts with me hiding my morning wood like a teenager, desperately trying not to lose my mind over my crush. Once I’m scrubbed clean, my fingers find my still-hard cock. I jerk off to the sexy image of Sy grinding against me and moaning that sexy little moan. It doesn’t take long for me to come.
But as the water washes away the proof of my arousal, a slow smile tugs at the corner of my lips anyway. He slept curled up against me. He felt safe. And for a grumpy scholar who values his walls, that is a victory I’ll gladly celebrate.
When I finally emerge from the washroom, damp-haired and fully dressed, the rustic air of the cottage has completelytransformed. The earthy scent of dried lavender is masked by the delicious scent of warm cinnamon, loose-leaf tea, and fresh, flaky breakfast pastries. Did Sylar bake something while I was in the bath?
Stars, how fucking long was I in there?
Sylar is standing by the small trestle table, setting down two mismatched ceramic plates. The morning light catches the violet shine of his black hair, making him look almost ethereal against the simple backdrop of the kitchen.
He made us breakfast.
A sudden, fierce wave of affection hits my chest, completely catching me off guard. “I had no idea you knew how to cook,” I say, stepping into the main room with a soft smile. I glance down at the spread of spiced pastries and perfectly steeped tea.
