Page 96 of Pocket Wife

“I know what happened to me today.” Her hand turns in mine, palm pressed to mine. “I also know what I need.”

“And what is that?”

“To feel something that is not fear.”

The bond answers before I can form a response. Her need reaches through it like light through water, not demanding, simply present. I could refuse. I should insist she rest.

Instead, I let her pull me closer.

My coat comes off first, a formal barrier falling to the wooden floor. Lucy’s jacket follows, then her shirt, and I stop to look at the marks the past days have left on her skin. Bruises darken her ribs, still healing. A new scrape marks her shoulder from the cistern field. Her eyes are shadowed with exhaustion.

“You are beautiful,” I say.

A sound escapes her that isn’t quite belief. “I am a mess.”

“You are alive. You are fierce. You are choosing me when you have every right to choose rest.”

She reaches for the fastening of my tunic. “Then stop talking and help me forget.”

I catch her hands. “I will not help you forget. I will help you feel.”

Something shifts in her expression. The sharp edge of desperation softens into something more vulnerable. She lets me undress her with slow care, each piece of fabric removed like a layer of armor she has worn too long.

“You are shaking,” I say.

“I am tired.”

“Then lie down.”

She lets me ease her onto the platform, and I stretch beside her, supporting myself on one elbow so I can look at her in the fading light. My hand traces the swell of her hip, the dip of her waist, the tender skin beneath her breast.

“Where do you want me?” I ask.

She closes her eyes. “Everywhere. I want you everywhere.”

I kiss her forehead, her temple, the bridge of her nose. She makes a sound of protest at the gentleness, and I smile against her skin.

“Tell me what you need,” I murmur.

“I need to feel something real.”

“You are alive.”

“I need to feel you.”

I lower my mouth to her throat, and her breath catches. My hand finds her breast, palming the weight of it, and she arches into my touch. The bond sings between us, warm and steady, carrying the shape of her wanting.

“I wish I could give you certainty,” I say. “I want to promise you Helix will never find another way to hurt you.”

She opens her eyes. “Then give me now instead.”

I kiss her then, deep and slow, and she melts into me. My hand traces lower, over her stomach, through the curls between her thighs, and she gasps against my mouth.

“Rethan—”

“Tell me how to touch you.”

“You. Inside me. Now.”