Page 43 of The Midnight Arrow
I turned in his arms and propped myself up on my elbow, quirking a brow down at him. “Oh yeah?”
“Yes,” he murmured, his eyes strayed down my naked front. My breath hitched when he reached forward to rub a calloused thumb over my pebbled nipple. “What would you entice me with?”
“I know exactly what you want,” I said, tone husky from sleep.
Lorik grinned.
“You want those scones I baked yesterday, don’t you? Fresh and hot with red riverberry jam spread on top.”
“Gods, yes,” Lorik groaned. “See? You know me so well already, my love. Let’s go.”
My laugh was cut off with a brisk kiss, and before I knew it, I was flung up from bed, completely naked. Lorik was up too before I could blink, rummaging through my tiny wardrobe, and I watched as he pulled out a thick sweater and soft green pants.
He had my head through the sweater as the material muffled my giggle.
“Been thinking of those damn scones all night,” he grumbled. “You’ve ruined me, Marion.”
He even stooped in front of me to help me put on my pants, sliding his hands up my legs in a thorough way that had me biting my lip. I finished threading my arms through the sleeves of the sweater just as he stood to lace up the pants.
“Now, get in that kitchen, my little witch,” he teased against my lips, nipping at the bottom one with his fang. “Or else it’sback in bed for you, and I promise you I’ll be hungry in other ways that have nothing to do with your scones.”
“Hmm, the kitchen or the bed for me? One would think we’re back in the Graydom era.”
He barked out a sharp laugh. “Believe me, I know how risky this is to tempt your wrath. I’ll make it up to you. But the scones are worth it.”
I shook my head, fighting my smile, and went into the kitchen. Behind me, I heard him dressing. One thing I’d learned about Lorik over the last two days was his charmingly voracious appetite for food and the shameless lengths he went to get it. At this rate, we’d have to go to the market to get more provisions because he’d already eaten through half of my underground cellar.
But I didn’t mind it. Not one bit. The cottage felt vibrant with him here. It felt brighter, despite the winter approaching.
A Kylorr-Allavari male, I realized, must need to eat a lot.
“Tea?” he murmured, coming up behind me as I stood at my small prep counter. He pressed a kiss to my temple, and my belly erupted in flutters.
“All right,” I responded, ducking my head when a huge grin threatened to erupt.
I wasn’t used to be taken care of. But Lorikhadtaken care of me the last couple days. In more ways than one. He helped me from the moment we woke until we closed our eyes to sleep. From small things like chores to making my tea in the mornings and evenings to helping in the garden. To larger things like completely fixing two of my back windows and clearing out a clogged pipe from the well.
And then at nights—or really anytime the mood struck—he took care of me in other, more satisfying ways. He was an unselfish lover. Last night, he’d murmured into my ear that it turned him onmorewatching me come apart with his touch.
It felt comfortable between us. Strangely so. Like we’d known each other for years, had lived together for years, had been making love to one another for years…
After Lorik got the kettle on over the hearth, the fire of which he’d stoked with the pile of wood he’d chopped yesterday, he returned to me, leaning against the prep counter, keeping his wings tucked so they didn’t get in my way as I mixed the dough.
He watched me. He was dressed in a soft linen tunic, with long sleeves that went to his wrists and dark brown pants, the leather soft and supple with time. He’d cheekily brought a small bag of spare clothes with him on his return. From where? I didn’t know. And as the days passed, it got both easier and harder to not ask questions. It was a strange tumultuous feeling bubbling up inside me.
But all I knew was that the inside of his wrist was smooth—no magical marking in sight, calling him away. I’d been checking it the last two nights, even in the middle of the night if I woke and Lorik was sleeping.
“What are you thinking about?” he wanted to know now.
“You,” I told him truthfully.
He smiled. He liked that. I could tell.
“I really like you, Marion,” he told me softly. I paused in mixing the dough when he reached forward to tuck back a strand of my hair. For a brief moment, I saw his lips pinch down. “One might even say too much.”
“Even though we barely know each other?” I asked quietly.
He nodded. He swallowed. Hard.