Page 38 of The Hood and his Thief

Rhosyn pushed her head back into the pillow as he bound her wrist to the bedpost, as if the millimeters of distance it put between her nose and his sternum could stop her from seeing the thatch of hair dusted there and wondering if it would be soft to rub her face on. The little space the motion afforded her certainly did nothing to dampen the sweet and spicy smell of burnt sugar that clung to his skin. At this proximity, the scent permeating her senses, it struck Rhosyn as familiar—it was the aroma of toasted nuts and spun sugar at the circus. As if Ansel had spent so much time among the traveling performers, that the essence of Archer’s Circus had gotten under his skin.

Ansel paused in tying his knot, glancing down at Rhosyn’s face, attention ostensibly grabbed by her rigid posture.

Seeing her staring fixedly at the divot between his pecs, he chuckled, the noise rumbling from his chest so close that Rhosyn felt the vibrations.

“Sorry, I’ll be quick so as not to offend your ladylike sensibilities.”

Rhosyn held perfectly still as Ansel finished binding her wrist for the night. Then, he rolled back to his side and snuffed the single lamp on his side of the bed. The incomplete darkness of the lower city fell—the darkest it could get in the neighborhood where the streets never slept and the light of the tavern perpetually creeped under the door as patrons were served until the wee hours of the morning.

It was a soft sort of quiet, and the familiarity of it combined with the sugary spice still lingering on the back of Rhosyn’s tongue stirred something in her.

“I’m not a lady. Never was and never will be.” The words spilled out of her without permission. She paused, wondering if she should stop but finding that she didn’t want to. “I’m just like you.”

“A police officer like a gangster?” Ansel didn’t sound derisive, but instead curious. As if he were really trying to understand Rhosyn. For some reason it hurt her chest.

“I wasn’t always with the Royal Police. Before the…” Rhosyn hesitated but the words banged against her ribs, begging to be let out of where they were caged in her chest. In the quiet of the night, she was surprised Ansel couldn’t hear them, even though she hadn’t spoken yet. “During the Inquiries, I ran with the Lions. And not just that, I was one of their leaders.”

Ansel shifted slightly, the rustling of sheets loud as a gunshot in the pregnant silence.

“That’s quite a change of heart,” he eventually said, but his tone didn’t hold judgment.

“It didn’t feel like it at the time.” Rhosyn admitted—and it wasn’t a lie. The decision to help Chief Thorne, when he so desperately needed officers he could trust, was a familiar one. She turned her back on her criminal past in an instant, just as she had turned away from her hopes of a simpler future when she stayed with the Lions to help Nate and Kristoff. She had joined a gang to protect those with Talents when she had none herself, and she had given up the life she had built with the Lions to protect the city in the aftermath of the Inquiries.

“It hasn’t been hard…not until now,” Rhosyn murmured at the ceiling. “Not until I spent time among you and the Foxes.”

“And what is it now?” Ansel prompted, his voice a little more than a whisper.

“Like being homesick.”

The admission hung in the air, soft and palpable. It felt like a peace offering.

Fabric rustled again, and so lightly that Rhosyn might have imagined it if she hadn’t been conscious of every slight movement, knuckles brushed against the bare skin of Rhosyn’s thigh. The touch was both intimate and innocent, and Rhosyn allowed it. It seemed that Ansel had accepted her offering, but didn’t push for more, knowing this could only be a temporary truce. They may understand each other, but it didn’t change the truth of their situation.

Hair tickled Rhosyn’s nose, consciousness slowly filling her, just as air filled her lungs. But she was so comfortable, and she wasn’t ready to wake yet. Pushing away awareness, she instead burrowed deeper into the solid warmth beneath her, filling her lungs with another deep sigh that tasted of spicy sweetness.

As she nuzzled her nose further into the ticklish hair, she realized that for once it was not her own rebellious curls having fallen into her face at night, but much smoother and shorter. Her eyelashes fluttered, but she forced herself to keep them closed, as the realization that she cuddled into a decidedly masculine body took hold. She didn’t move as she took stock of the situation.

Somehow, she had ended up burrowed into the crook of Ansel’s neck, the hair at his nape stirring with her every breath. He lay on his back, one of her legs slung across his hips, her front molded tightly to his side.

What stole her attention more than the muscular press of his side into her chest, or the way her angle positioned one of his thighs between hers, was the heavy arm laid across her own shoulders. The hand belonging to the arm came to rest on her head, fingers burrowed into her hair at the crown of her head. In response to her small movements, the fingers began to move, infinitesimally massaging into her scalp.

A breath stuttered out of Rhosyn at the tingles the touch sent down her spine. Unconsciously, she arched back into the touch, and the fingers moved again, rubbing in the tiniest of circles and pulling lightly at the hair at the nape of her neck. Her lashes fluttered as her eyes rolled back in her head.

Having Ansel play with her hair shouldn’t feel absolutely sinful, but here she was one breath away from moaning.

A rustle of sheets broke the quiet of early morning as Ansel turned his head on the pillow, and a small part of Rhosyn cringed to know that he was awake and aware, not just unconsciously responding to her proximity. A much larger part of her reveled in the feel of his lips moving against the crown of her head as he murmured her name.

“Rhosyn.” His voice was rough from sleep, rumbling in his chest far more than his normal smooth tone. The word was both a question and a warning—and just as delicious as the fingers that hadn’t quite stopped moving in her hair.

Her only response was to nuzzle deeper into the crook of his neck. If she responded, she would have to face some semblance of reality, instead of enjoying the toe-curling feel of his nails now lightly raking against her scalp. The slight scratch sent warmth dripping down her spine to pool in her core.

She shifted her hips unconsciously at the sensation, and she discovered the delicious friction of Ansel’s thigh pressed between her own. Rhosyn shifted her hips again, more purposefully this time. Now, her core was pressed firmly to him, growing so warm that she was sure he could feel the heat of it through her long shirt.

Ansel let out a strangled grunt as she circled her hips infinitesimally once more. His fingers tightened in her hair, and the response drew attention to a growing hardness against her thigh.

She moved again, this time letting her thigh move as she ground against him.

“Rhosyn.” He only said the same single word as earlier, but this time it was a command—to stop or keep going, she couldn’t be sure.