Page 80 of The Stolen Crown

Before we settled on our mat, Mira suggested we touch in a small way.

“Might help to—I don’t know—grow accustomed to me?” Her cheeks flushed. “If you’d like, of course.”

I slipped my fingers through hers and adjusted so we faced each other. Heat coated my palm where we touched.

Upon the first brush of skin came a brief thought to flee. There was a weight pressing over my chest, anticipation for fetid waves that always rolled in my gut. I closed my eyes.

Mira’s thumb gently rubbed the top of my hand. She said nothing, merely remained still, patient, until my pulse slowed and heavy dread faded to an unfamiliar comfort. My shoulders slumped, and my breathing slowed.

For a time, reality seemed…simple. Unbidden, a breathless sort of laugh slipped over my lips.

I let my brow press against hers. There was a richness to her warmth, her nearness, like the comfort of a flame against the frosts. A crackling hearth in a storm. I could not recall a moment past or present when I felt like I could truly breathe.

Somewhere through the night, Mira’s leg draped over my hips, her head on my shoulder, my free palm beneath her chemise, dangerously high on the creamy skin of her thigh.

Shit. A rush of need throbbed between my legs. How long had it been since I’d craved such a thing?

Any desire I felt in the past always ended up tainted in my thoughts until rage took over. Reasons for my avoidance of pleasure still hung between us, an unspoken truth I did not know how to explain to Mira. I did not know how to even broach the notion of more without bringing up wretchedness of the past.

But for a moment, I could imagine more with her: the slow touches, the tangled breaths, the way I wanted Mira to moan beneath my hands. Not from pain, not from fear, not from some twisted control of which I was not part of, but from pleasure.

Because she wanted me.

Because I wanted her.

Memories skirted across my mind. Dark moments filled with fear and tears from a boy who had no voice. Gods, I was a fool, thinking I could be more. She deserved passion and pleasure, not a man who could hardly stomach the thought of flesh on flesh.

“Your thoughts are loud.” Mira’s sleep-roughened voice pulled me from thoughts.

Her fingers slowly traced the edges of the ink on my chest. Strange, I hadn’t even noticed she was doing it.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” I said. We had yet to pull apart.

She propped up on one elbow, using the heel of one hand to rub her eyes. “Did I toss against you? Roll on top of you? Was it too much?”

I smirked. “No.”

“Then why the contorted brow?” She rubbed her thumb against a crease on my forehead.

“Sleeping so close to someone is new, I suppose.”

“Good new?”

“Yes.” I held one palm to her cheek and counted every fleck of violet mingled in the brown and gold of her eyes. “Though I feel like a damn sod to be proud of such a simple thing—I slept beside a woman without vomiting.”

“No doubt it’s simpler to say than do, but you mustn’t be ashamed of it. Not with me.” She flashed one of her devious grins. “And I, for one, will celebrate for any reason. I certainly plan to sing your praises the whole of the day.”

“You should do that anyway.”

Mira snorted against my shoulder. “There you go again, being secretly witty.”

I sat up and stretched one arm across my chest. Somber clouds rolled over the distant horizon. “Seems like another storm may be coming?”

“Then we should work as much as we can before it strikes. Want anything for morning meal?”

I shook my head and set about rolling the mat of leaves we used as a bed, clearing space. Halfway through the morning, I delivered a severed yellowfin head into Mira’s palm.

“For your revenge.”