Page 30 of Zenith Tower

Her fingers moved lower. My breath changed, and she watched my face until she was satisfied it was not pain.

She gave me a look that was almost familiar enough to make the room feel ordinary. Then she bent and pressed her mouth to my chest, safely below the line.

I closed my eyes. The infirmary had taught me to expect the next touch before it came: fingers at my pulse, cold instruments, hands turning my arm to expose the Mark. Astra asked with every pause. I answered by drawing her closer, by opening her dress beneath my left hand, by letting her see when the effort made my breath catch.

“Pain?” she asked.

“No. Give me a moment.”

She waited without looking frightened. When my breathing eased, she kissed the hollow below my ear.

We undressed without grace. My right arm would not cooperate with the sleeve, and Astra nearly caught her hair in a fastening at her back. By the time we lay beneath the blanket, we were both laughing quietly.

“This is not how I pictured it,” I said.

“You pictured it?”

“Astra, I have known you for more than a month.”

She bit my lower lip in answer.

I rolled onto my left side and ran my hand along her waist. Her skin warmed beneath my palm. I took my time learning what made her move closer and what drew a low sound from her throat. She touched me with the same patience, though patience was not a word I had ever expected to associate with Astra Verita.

When I slipped my hand between her thighs, she caught my wrist.

“You don’t have to prove anything.”

“I’m not.”

“You’ve been out of the infirmary for less than an hour.”

“And you are still talking.”

She released me.

I touched her until her breath grew uneven, watching her face change in the silver light. She kept her eyes on mine until she could not keep them open.

She reached for me when she came, her forehead pressed to mine, my name quiet against my mouth.

For a while we lay still.

“Enough?” she asked.

I knew what she meant. I also knew she would stop if I asked her to.

“Not yet.”

She searched my face before she moved over me. I settled onto my back with my right arm supported by the pillow, and she lowered herself carefully, one hand guiding me into her. The first movement pulled a rough breath from both of us.

“Still all right?” she asked.

“Very much so.”

She set a slow rhythm. I kept my left hand at her hip and watched her above me: hair falling loose, mouth parted, the green-gold line at her wrist bright where it crossed the silver one. Mine answered beneath the skin of my shoulder. The light between us remained what it had been since the Hall, open and unfinished.

My shoulder tightened beneath the pillow, pulling a sharp breath from me. Astra stopped immediately.

“Pain?”