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Their room in the inn smells like sweat and smoke and clean linens and, increasingly, Elide’s arousal. 

Lorcan had tried not to notice. All night, he’d trailed after her through the bustling Eyllwe market town, trying to ignore the flush on her cheeks, her rapid breaths, the way she avoided his eyes. It felt inappropriate to notice her arousal, much less to leer , when he doubted she fully understood what was happening to her body. 

He’d assumed, before he came to really know Elide, that she’d probably had her fair share of tumbles between her time in the tower and when he came across her in the forest. If he’d ever given her history any thought, he’d have realized how unlikely that was, but with her confidence, her intelligence, her body it seemed impossible that no one had had her. That she had had no one. 

But over the month they’ve traveled together across the continent in search of her damned bitch queen and the Wyrdkey, he’s noticed her hesitance with all things physical. Lorcan has watched her shy away when he takes off his shirt, seen her eyes catch on his biceps when she thinks he’s not watching, heard her voice tremble whenever a handsome man flirts with her on the road. Her shyness is mixed with just enough fear and doubt to mark her inexperience, and Lorcan isn’t quite sure what to do with the feelings that brings up within him.

Part of him mourns the life that was robbed from her; she should have fallen in love with some stable hand and lost herself with him in a warm hayloft one night. Should have giggled with her friends afterward, smiled alone in bed about how in love she was. It should have been sweet and simple and loving.

Another part of him fantasizes about being the one to give her all of her firsts, to watch her face when she comes on his fingers, to make her beg for him, to pull her close afterward and kiss her on the temple. 

And part of him knows it’s none of his business what she has or hasn’t done with her body. 

Most of the time, he manages to ignore her flustered clumsiness when he takes his shirt off to sleep, can force away the scent of her arousal through some strenuous self-discipline, sneaks away to the woods every morning to take care of himself without disturbing her. 

But tonight was different. 

Unbeknownst to Lorcan until they walked, exhausted, into the crowded town, today is a holiday celebrating Temis, the goddess of wild things. They’d celebrated the day in his land, too – the more pious left offerings in the forest or fed stray, wild dogs – but here in Eyllwe, it’s something different entirely. 

Instead of honoring the goddess in a chapel, the townspeople took to the streets to celebrate; men and women both walked the dirt roads shirtless, carrying and juggling torches, passing out candies and kisses. The firelight caught on the oil dripping down their bare skin, illuminating every muscle, every curve – miles and miles of flesh laid bare for the town to admire, to yearn for, to worship. 

It had been surprisingly easy for Lorcan to keep himself reigned in with the feast of flesh parading down the main street – either by centuries worth of desensitizing or a newfound obsession with the curve of Elide’s waist – but one glance at Elide had told him she was not faring as well. 

A man, his muscles moving gracefully under his brown skin, winked at her as he danced past and Elide had scoffed under her breath, sounding more affronted than flattered. Lorcan had looked at her then, already grinning in preparation for some sly joke off her lips – and instead found her face as red as a rose, her eyes wide and embarrassed and, for some reason, a little angry. 

“Want me to slip away?” Lorcan had muttered in her ear, enjoying the way she shivered as his breath brushed her neck. 

“Why?” she gasped back, slightly breathless, her dark brows knitting together in confusion. 

“Don’t you want to catch yourself a man?” he asked, nodding toward the performers twirling through the market. “Seems like some of them want to catch you .”

He’d pressed his shoulder into hers, jokingly, the way they’ve done countless times before. He had expected her to press back or try to push him over like she usually does; instead, she danced a step away from him, avoiding his eye. 

“Lorcan,” she said, in that low, teasing way of hers. “Is this just your ruse to catch yourself a woman?”

He had looked away from her then. It’s too difficult to look in her eyes and pretend that he had lusted for anyone other than her since they met. 

They’d watched the festivities for an hour afterwards, Elide growing more and more aroused beside him as he grew more and more conflicted. With any other woman, he’d have led her into an alley, dropped to his knees, and finally found out what was under those skirts of her hers. 

But it was Elide. Sweet, fiery, loyal, previous, clever, lovely Elide. 

So he stood beside her and watched as she fidgeted with her hands and tried to seem like she wasn’t looking at the bodies of the men who danced past her. They ate dinner at the inn, and he pretended not to notice as she crossed and uncrossed her legs, embarrassingly conspicuous in her need. 

He led her upstairs to their room, grateful to find two beds, side by side, which are a blessed relief even if they do make the room terribly cramped.

They’ve shared rooms before, on the fortunate nights that they find an inn, and Lorcan has always found ways to manage the close quarters. 

Sometimes he’ll keep watch all night, promising Elide he’ll wake her halfway through and letting her sleep the whole night through. Other times, if there’s a chair or a chaise, one of them will take it and accept a day’s worth of neck pain. 

Though they’ll sleep bare inches apart on the road, close enough that sometimes Elide grabs his arm in her sleep or presses her forehead against his bicep, it seems too intimate in a real bed. Lorcan had breathed a sigh of relief when he opened the door and saw two beds in the room. He’d never do anything to Elide that she didn’t wholeheartedly ask for, but lying in a bed with her, the scent of her arousal still clear in his mind…

“Are you going to bed, Lorcan?” she asks, snapping him back to the present. 

Lorcan glances over his shoulder to look at her. It takes all of his willpower to keep his eyes focused on her face and not dip down to her breasts, peaked beneath her white chemise.

He nods, hoping he looks normal. Hoping he looks like he can’t smell the slickness between her thighs. 

“Which bed do you want?” she asks. 

“Lady’s choice,” he says, turning his attention back to the singular, tiny window. 

He hears her bare feet padding across the floor, the sheets rustling against each other as she pulls them back. His gaze is concentrated on the street below them, searching for threats, but her breathy sigh as she gets into bed ruins any remaining shred of his concentration. 

“See any Valg?” she asks teasingly. “Or just getting a last look at those dancers?”

He glares at her over her shoulder, but his attempt at looking menacing only makes her laugh into her pillow. 

“If I remember correctly,” he says, drawing the curtains closed and turning to face her, “You were more enamored with them than I was.”

She scoffs easily, doing a good job of appearing unaffected. Lorcan suspects that anyone with senses less keen than his would miss the small signs of her deception: the quick glance away before she manages to meet his eyes, her fingers tightening around the bed sheets, her shoulders stiffening ever so slightly. 

“I’m just not as used to naked men as you seem to be,” she says off-handedly. 

It’s his turn to scoff now, rolling his eyes at her as he makes his way around the room, blowing out the candles and checking the locks. Once he’s certain it’s secure, and the room is sufficiently dark enough to be sure that she can’t see him, he quietly takes off his shirt and slips into the empty bed. 

“I think you’ve misinterpreted my stories of the Cadre,” he says. 

She laughs softly, rolling onto her side to face him. With the curtains closed, he’s not sure if she can see him with her human eyesight, but he can see her – her raven hair spread out on the pillow, her skin pale and beautiful in the night, her eyes half-lidded and warm as she smiles at his joke. In that moment, he wants nothing more than to reach across the space between their beds and touch her cheek. Just once. Just to know if her skin is as soft as he dreams it is. 

Then , he tells himself, I’d be satisfied. I could be done with this fixation and be satisfied. 

“I don’t think you’d recognize homoeroticism if it hit you in the face,” she says.

He laughs, softly, trying not to disturb the hushed atmosphere that’s fallen over the room. “Where the hell did you learn the word homoeroticism ?” 

She shrugs, grinning at him in the dark. “It’s not my fault you talk in your sleep.”

“Shut up and go to bed, Elide,” he says, trying to hide his laugh with a gruff tone. Judging by the smile she flashes, it’s not working. 

She scoffs, but obediently rolls onto her other side. “Sleep well,” she says. “Sweet dreams.”

He lays his head back on his pillow, forcing himself not to think about what dreams she’ll be having tonight. Which of those dancers caught her eye? When she sleeps tonight, will he visit her? Will he touch her, whisper to her, taste her? Will she wake and be unable to look Lorcan in the eye, wishing he was someone else?

Stop it , he tells himself, forcing his eyes closed. She’s not yours. She’s allowed to want someone else. 

Five centuries of being a warrior has bred a certain amount of self-discipline in Lorcan, and he needs all of it to keep his eyes closed, his mind empty, and his hands clenched against his chest as he tries to sleep. Usually, it’s not difficult for him to fall asleep, especially after the hard travel they’ve been doing the past month – but he usually isn’t listening to Elide toss and turn and sigh in frustration. Not a moment goes by that isn’t interrupted by minute rustling beneath the sheets – Lorcan can’t be sure, but he thinks she’s crossing and uncrossing her legs, just like she did at dinner – and the heady scent of her arousal grows thick in the air, though maybe that’s just because Lorcan can’t bring himself to think about anything else. 

He first knew he was attracted to Elide back in the caravan, when she wore that ridiculous fortune-teller costume. That hadn’t bothered him. He’d lusted after women all over the world; Elide was just one more. 

But then she’d killed that Valg with his own axe, as brave and steady as a heroine from a legend, and when she’d looked up at him with a smile on her blood-covered face, his stomach had sunk just as his heart began to soar. 

He’s known ever since then that this… thing …he feels for Elide is much more complicated than simple lust. With lovers in his past, he never cared too much if they smiled or frowned, if they had eaten enough that day, if they slept well. He never asked about the dreams they had or what their favorite kind of bird was. He certainly never laughed at their jokes so much that sometimes he replayed them in his head afterward, chuckling to himself when he was alone. 

But it’s much easier to put aside all of that , all of the emotions and feelings, and just focus on the physical aspect. On the lust. 

At least he knows how to deal with that. 

At least Elide makes it easy for him to deal with that. 

By virtue of their lifestyle now, her wardrobe consists of two dresses that she switches between and neither are what you would call form-fitting. The necklines are high and skirts long and if he occasionally gets excited by the curve of her neck or the brief flash of a calf, then that’s his problem and his alone. There are, of course, nights that test his resolve, nights like these – stuck in an inn room that’s too cramped and warm for her to sleep in anything but her chemise. Her too-small, white, thin fucking chemise.

But not even that damned, blessed dress has tested his resolve quite like this .

As her friend, he feels terrible for her. He remembers what it was like to be a young male, lusty and energetic and trapped in the barracks of Doranelle with no one to help him work his arousal out. 

If she were a member of the Cadre, or really anyone else in the world, he’d tell her to go outside, find someone to fuck, and get it out of her system. 

But it’s Elide, so he’d rather lie here and listen to her silently burn than send her into the arms of someone else. He knows it’s selfish, and he doesn’t give a fuck. He can keep himself from touching Elide, but he can’t watch anyone else do it in his place.

Lorcan cycles through these thoughts for another hour, alternating between elaborate fantasies of slipping into her bed and giving her some relief, chastising himself for breaching her trust, resolving to go to sleep until an image of her hand pressing between her legs blooms in his mind and the cycle starts all over again. 

By the time she flops onto her back with a frustrated, desperate sigh an hour later, he’s half-hard and completely frustrated. Lorcan lies still and pretends to sleep as she presses her hands against her face. He tenses, his heart swelling with pity and concern and so much damn fondness, as the slightest scent of saltiness pervades the room. Tears. 

Lorcan knows he should leave her alone.      

Knows that nothing can happen between the two of them. That they can flirt and tease and test each other all they want but at the end of their journey, they will go separate ways; there will be no place for him at her side when she joins that Bitch Queen Aelin, and he stills belongs, body and soul, to Maeve. 

Knows that he should let her deal with this alone. Should let her learn how to satiate her body like all young people do. Should let her discover herself without his interference. 

But he hears her take a stuttering breath, and the knowledge that she’s hurting, that she needs him, overrides everything else. 

“Elide,” he says, quietly, opening his eyes. 

“Oh,” she whispers back, sounding dejected. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” he says. He risks a glance over to her as the sheets rustle, to find her putting her back to him. She seems smaller than usual, all alone in that bed. He can’t stop thinking about how much better she’d look with him curled up behind her. “Can’t sleep?”

There’s a beat of silence before she says, “No.”

“Elide,” he says, searching for words to say. He’s never been good at talking, especially to women – he’s sent enough lovers into a fit of rage over a thoughtless comment to know that – and he wants to get this right. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she says, her voice unnaturally tight. “Just…restless.” 

The scent of her tears is still in the air, barely noticeable over her arousal. He knows her well enough to guess that these are tears of frustration, not sadness. She hates anything that she can’t conquer, and this…challenge…is difficult for anyone, but particularly her. 

“Do you need – need anything?” 

“I’m fine, Lorcan,” she says, almost sharply. From Elide, usually so even-toned, that’s basically a scolding. “You can’t help me.”

There’s something desperate in the way she says it – desperately sad, desperately angry. Like she’s exasperated about something, though he knows the frustration must run deeper than that. 

She’s a pretty young woman whose most fundamental years were spent in a tower, whose body was starved and beaten and mocked, whose mind was molded by her cruel uncle, her elderly nursemaid, the guards who laughed at her through her door. He can only imagine what twisted ideas she’s developed about sex, about attraction, about herself . 

There’s a multitude of things he wants to do to Elide, but first among them is help her.

A few minutes pass of silence, in which she burrows into her blankets with a frustrated, tearful sigh, and Lorcan’s heart breaks just a little bit more. 

“Elide,” he says again. Her name is somehow grounding for him, an anchor when he’s lost at sea. She says nothing, but he sees her shoulders tense in the dark, waiting to hear what he has to say. “You know…You know that you’re allowed to – to be attracted to people, don’t you?”  

“Lorcan!” she hisses, raising her head to glare in his general direction over her shoulder. 

She sounds simultaneously angry and humiliated, and bitterness twists in Lorcan’s stomach that he’s the one to make her sound like that. To make her feel like that. 

Part of him wishes he’d just left well enough alone, but he can’t go back now. 

With a deep breath, he says, “You’re allowed to feel desire, Elide. You’re allowed to want people. It’s normal. It’s natural.”

“I – it’s – this is – ” she splutters, her voice rising higher and higher. “Lorcan, what are you talking about?”

“All I mean is…” he says, closing his eyes, wishing he had the skill with words of Gavriel or even Fenrys. “I know it must have been difficult for you, growing up so isolated. There’s things you should have learned, people you should have experimented with. It must be confusing, being thrust into this world and having to deal with desire on top of everything else.”

There’s a long silence in which he can only hear her ragged breaths. She keeps her back turned to him, and he wishes sharply that he could see her face. 

“You think I can’t sleep because I saw a shirtless man?” she asks finally, her voice brittle and bitter. He’s heard this tone before, usually when she’s talking badly of herself. “You think I’m just so undone by the sight of a man’s bare chest that I can’t – that I can’t – ”

She cuts herself off with a gasping, little sob. 

“Elide…” he says, helpless. He clenches his hands into fists, forcing himself to resist the urge to reach over to her. 

“You’re right,” she says in that same sour voice. “When I’m around someone that I’m – that I find attractive, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do with all these – these feelings . I don’t know where to put them. I’m – I’m fucking stunted. There’s so much wrong – ” 

“No,” he says, harshly. “There’s nothing wrong with you. Something wrong, something terribly wrong, was done to you, but there’s nothing wrong with you. Do you understand?”

After a moment’s silence, she says, “Yes.”

“Good,” he says, nodding to himself. “Elide, it’s normal to be confused about these things. Desire, lust, sex…” He clears his throat, feeling his own cheeks heat at his bold talk. “These things, they’re difficult for everyone to deal with. It’s only natural that you’re confused after everything you’ve gone through.”

“But I’m a grown woman,” she says helplessly. “I should be able to deal with…with this . But I can’t – I can’t put it away. I can’t…” She rolls onto her back, her hands covering her face. “Lorcan, it’s like I’m burning, and I don’t know how to stop.”

It feels like Lorcan’s standing on the edge of a precipice, about to take a plunge. He takes a deep breath, summons up every ounce of courage his five centuries have earned him, and says, “Elide, you know…you know there’s a solution to that, don’t you? You know what you can do? You know that…that you can touch yourself?”

Elide screws her eyes closed. This night has really gotten away from her. 

She actually thought she’d been doing a pretty good job of hiding just how… worked up those dancers had gotten her. Though she supposes she ought to have known that she couldn’t hide something like that, not from a male like Lorcan. 

She casts her mind back to the countless times she’s had to force herself to keep her knees pressed together, pretending to be focused on tending the fire when Lorcan stripped off his shirt in front of her, all of those golden muscles rippling under his skin, just begging to be touched…

She won’t let herself consider the possibility that all of those times she thought she was being sly about her attraction, he was fully aware of what was happening underneath her skirts. It’s too mortifying to even consider. 

She hadn’t meant to end up talking about… this with Lorcan Salvaterre. And, to be fair, she had tried to laugh him off at first, but when he uses that tone – that gentle, earnest, insistent tone – she can do nothing to resist him. There’s just something so…lovely, so freeing about telling her worries to Lorcan that she can’t stop herself, even when her cheeks are hot to the touch, her heart roaring loudly in her chest. 

“Oh, just when I thought I couldn’t get any more pathetic, I get a lecture on masturbation from Lorcan Salvaterre!” she says, laughing bitterly. 

“I’m not lecturing you,” he responds in that even way of his. “I just think it’s important that you know that it’s completely normal. It’s natural, Elide.”

She turns her head over on the pillow, trying to catch a look of his expression in the dark. Moonlight shining through the curtain catches on the sharp angle of his jaw, the high line of his cheek, his long, noble nose. His hair is as black and spilled ink across his pillow and his black eyes glitter at her, so steady, so lovely. Her heart swells with longing for him. Sometimes she thinks if she could just touch his skin, even something as simple as his cheek, she could be satisfied. 

“It’s…wrong, though,” she says hesitantly. “I don’t want to be…you know, a – a loose woman.”

“Who told you that?” he says sharply. Even in the velvety dark of the inn room, she can see him tense. 

“I – I…” She considers trying to back out of this, tell him to go to bed, to ignore what she’s said. But that low, insistent burn is still bright and steady between her legs, her body begging her for something she doesn’t know how to give. So she goes on. “My nursemaid, Finnula. You know, she was the only one my uncle allowed in the tower with me and one night she – she caught me…”

Elide trails off. She’s grateful for the dark, because she can only imagine how Lorcan would tease her if he could see her blush, which must be crimson by now.

She had tried her best to repress that memory.

There was only one window in the tower, and Elide entertained herself best she could by watching the bustle of Perranth through the glass. She had a perfect view of a blacksmith’s shop and would spend countless guilty hours watching the owner work in his yard, shirtless and muscled and sweaty. She’d been fourteen and confused and burning up from within when she first slipped her hand between her legs, desperate to rid herself of the confusing feeling coursing through her. She’d felt the first wave of tentative pleasure when Finnula walked in, her ancient, loving face transformed into a terrible mask of anger and disappointment. Elide had sobbed as Finnula lectured her on what happens to loose women and all the things they’re inviting men to do to them by touching themselves. Now, she can’t think of that blacksmith without remembering Finnula’s scathing words or her twisted, bitter face. 

She realizes she’s been quiet for a long moment, lost to her memories, but Lorcan is still listening. 

“She gave me a lecture about how women shouldn’t touch themselves. That it’s a sin and dirty and will make men not want them. And I knew she was from a different time, that it probably wasn’t true, but…but anytime I’ve…you know, tried , all I can hear is her telling me how dirty I am.”

“ Elide ,” Lorcan says, forceful and pleading and angry all at once. He pauses for a moment, the way he does when he’s collecting himself, putting his thoughts in order. “Hear me when I say: you are not dirty. Nothing about you is dirty or wrong or sinful. It’s completely natural to touch yourself. It’s healthy, even – a good way to figure out what you like without getting in bed with a stranger. A good way to find your pleasure without having to bother with anyone else.”

“I didn’t know you were such a strong supporter of masturbation,” she says. Her voice wavers, but she’s smiling. 

“Apparently, I am,” he says, putting a grumble in his voice that she knows is supposed to make her laugh – and it does. Then, carefully, “It’s not wrong to try, Elide. Don’t let yourself believe her, all right?”

His face, hidden in the dark, is as steady as she’s ever seen it. He’s always been like that – at first, steadily infuriating, then steadily annoying, then steadily hesitant, and now steadily protective, steadily fond. Steadily Lorcan. 

Maybe that’s what gives her the courage to go on – to close her eyes and whisper into the quiet warmth of the room, “I do try. But I – I don’t know how.”

Every failed attempt flashes through her mind. 

Every time she slid trembling fingers between her legs in her tower, terrified of Finnula finding her again, terrified of one of her guards stepping inside. 

The times in the caravan that she dared to draw hesitant touches over herself in their shared tent when Lorcan would slip out at night, her mind full of heady, blurred images of muscles dripping with oil, of long hair, of dark eyes. 

The moments that she’s slipped into the forest while they’ve been on the road, desperate with an acute, focused longing; the memories that drive her fingers to her center are no longer blurred, but painfully focused. 

Instead of dark eyes, they are Lorcan’s eyes, with that tiny, delicate scar by his right eye, the lines that crinkle at the edges when he smiles. 

Instead of a muscled back, it is Lorcan’s back – his shoulder blades moving beneath his flesh like a mountain cat’s, freckles smattered along the small of his back, so tiny, so pretty, she’s desperate to touch them. To taste them. 

Instead of a faceless, nameless body touching hers, it is Lorcan pressing into her, his hands painfully gentle on her skin, his lips warm against her neck, his voice kind and tender and comforting in her ear. 

But no matter how hard she tried, no matter how desperate she was for relief, nothing ever came from her light, hurried touches. Her fingers simply felt like her fingers, pressing a strange, uncomfortable pressure against her skin. 

It feels strangely vulnerable to admit this, though. Worse than letting Lorcan massage her ankle when the pain becomes too much. 

“What do you mean?” Lorcan says, his voice steady but tinged with something she doesn’t recognize.

“I mean, it doesn’t work ,” she sighs, frustrated and close to tears. “It doesn’t feel good . I just feel…”

“Dirty?” he offers.

She nods, a tiny whimper leaving her throat at the sound of that word on his voice. 

“I want to be normal,” she whispers, her eyes screwed shut. “I want to be healthy. I want to be able to want a man without…without having to run to you for help. I’m sorry, Lorcan. I’m sorry I’m so pathet-”

“Don’t, Elide.” For the first time tonight, he sounds sharp. “Don’t you dare. You’re all right. You’re perfect. You understand? You’re fucking perfect, Elide.”

She sniffles, tears pricking suddenly and forcefully behind her eyelids. She thinks she’d prefer his forceful, insistent compliments over any gentle caress. 

Then, in that deep, rasping voice that she loves so well, he says, “Do you want me to help you, Elide?”

For a moment, she’s sure her heart has stopped beating. Surely, she must be in heaven. Or a dream, at least. Because this – Lorcan Salvaterre, offering to help her touch herself –  is too good to happen in the same life that has made her suffer so much. 

“What?” she gasps, turning her head rapidly to face him. 

“Do you want me to help you?” he repeats. She hadn’t recognized the hesitation in his voice the first time he offered until she hears the strength in his second offer, as if he’s made a decision. “Do you want me to help you find some…relief?”

“I – you don’t want to…” she trails off, pulling her sheets up to her neck – despite how badly she wants to fling them off and pull him against her. “Lorcan…”

She’s mortified by the strangled whine that leaves her; she can’t tell if she’s begging him to continue or stop.  Parts of her want to do both at the same time. 

“I don’t have to touch you,” he says, his voice low, the words coming uncharacteristically quickly. “Not if you don’t want me to. But I can help you. I can…talk you through it.”

“You don’t want to do that,” she says tightly, finally opening her eyes to risk a glance at him. He’s tense where he lies, his face and body shifted toward her. His fists are clenched tightly in his sheets. 

“You have no idea the things I want, Elide,” he rasps. “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to. This is what friends do, Elide. Help each other.”

 “And that’s what we are?” she scoffs. “Friends?”

She knows that’s what they are, knows that somewhere on the road that his tolerance of her became something like fondness. 

But still. She’s surprised when he says, softly, achingly, “Of course, Elide.” Then, after a moment, almost hesitantly, almost daringly, “If that’s what you’d like.”

She turns her head to look at him, squinting in the darkness. She wishes she could see the face he’s making – does he look willing? Or disgusted? Happy or hesitant?

She wonders, too, what she looks like. Her cheeks are hot, her lips parted, her hands clutching at her sheets. And still, through all of the nervousness and hesitation and wonder that’s coursing through her there’s still that pulsing heat between her legs, that electric sensitivity coating all of her skin. 

Looking across the dark at him, she thinks suddenly and strangely of her tower. Of all of the years she spent on her tiptoes, straining for a look out of her window at the people below. Of the years she spent later, curled up on the windowsill, crying silently against the windowpane as she prayed for a life. A real life with adventure and experiences and, above all else, love. And comfort. And softness. 

I prayed for this , she realizes. Because even if Lorcan doesn’t love her the way she’s afraid she loves him, he’s still gentle. And soft. And comforting. 

Maybe that’s what compels her lips to part and whisper, “Yes.”

“What?” he responds, his voice hushed. 

“Yes,” she says. She raises her voice, but it still trembles. “Help me, Lorcan.”

The words come out like a challenge, and she latches onto it. She’s used to challenging Lorcan; she knows how to do that much easier than asking him to help her masturbate. Elide rolls onto her back and puts her hands on her chest, over the sheets. It feels like a dare. 

“Are you sure?” he asks after a moment. 

“Yes,” she says, forcing her voice not to shake anymore. 

“All right.” There’s a thread of steel in his voice, now; it sends a shiver down Elide’s body. Then the rustle of sheets as he adjusts himself in bed, and just the thought of that - Lorcan in bed - is enough to make her breathing unsteady. “Are you relaxed, Elide?”

His voice is low, gravelly. Her fingers spasm where they clutch at her sheets. 

“Yes,” she says, stiffly. 

He chuckles under his breath. Her eyes are drilled on the ceiling, but she can see him turn to look at her out of the corner of her eye. 

“That doesn’t sound convincing,” he says. She can hear the smile in his voice. “Relax.”

“How?”

“Close your eyes,” he rasps. She resists, clinging onto her familiar stubbornness, until Lorcan says, lowly, “Elide. Close your eyes.”

She obeys immediately; something about that deep tone of his makes obedience thrilling. She hopes, perversely, that he’ll give her more demands. 

“Good girl,” he says. Elide thinks her heart will stop right there. “Now let your body…soften. Sink into the mattress, into the pillow. Don’t resist comfort, Elide.”

Her eyes closed, the only sound in the room Lorcan’s rasping orders, she is increasingly aware of her own body. She feels warmer than she should, her body heavier than normal, and she feels like she’s actually sinking into the mattress, like it’s enveloping her in an embrace. 

“Are you comfortable?” he asks after a moment. 

“Mmhm,” she says, letting her head press deeper into her pillow. 

“Are you warm?”

“Mmhm.”

“Are you safe?”

The question catches her off guard. So much of her life has been sent in such stark danger that this – complete safety – should feel foreign. 

But it’s not. As long as she’s been at Lorcan’s side, she’s known that she’s safe. That as long as he’s with her, nothing can touch her. Somehow, miraculously, she’s grown used to that feeling. 

So she cracks open the eye nearest Lorcan, makes eye contact with him, and nods. 

Yes, I’m safe , she means to say. Because of you. 

She closes her eye again. He pauses for a long moment, before releasing a deep breath and saying, “Think of whatever first…aroused you.”

A warrior gazing at her from across a creek, his dark eyes boring into her, his powerful shoulders moving like those of a predator. 

“Think of the dancer that first caught your eye.”

A man on a stage shedding his shirt and revealing glistening muscles, throwing and catching knives with the raw elegance and grace of a dancer. His black eyes unerringly finding hers through a crowd.

“Think of his skin.”

Brown and perfect and begging for her touch. 

“Think of his body.”

Tall and imposing, broad shoulders and a back rippling with muscles. His arms that have held her, comforted her, protected her. His chest that she has rested against when they share a horse – his chest that she wants to kiss and touch. 

“Can you see him, Elide?” His voice is low, rasping, his breath uneven. Her hands have clenched into fists and it’s a struggle to keep her breathing measured. 

“Yes,” she whispers, nodding.

His voice is strained as he says, “Imagine what it would feel like if he touched you.”

She lets out a breathless, little laugh. As if she hasn’t been spending the last two months imagining exactly that. 

“Imagine what it would feel like to touch his skin, to touch his body,” he says. “Can you feel it, Elide?”

“ Ye-es ,” she whispers, her fingers clenched so tightly on the sheets that she’s sure her knuckles are white. 

“What do you want him to do to you, Elide?”

Everything .

“I – I don’t…I don’t know…”

“You don’t have to say,” Lorcan says, his voice tender. “Just imagine it, Elide. Imagine his hands on you. Imagine him touching you – softly, firmly, however you want.”

She nods, her body unbearably stiff. If she lets herself give in to everything she wants to do – buck her hips and touch her breasts and jump out of bed and into Lorcan’s – she won’t be able to stop. 

But his words won’t give her any rest – images of his hands on her flood her mind and her body and every fucking nerve ending she has. 

“How do you feel?”

“Um…warm,” she says, trying not to fidget. Trying not to let herself move a single muscle. “Sort of…restless. Jittery. But…in a good way.”

“Good,” he says. The word leaves him almost as a sigh. “Good. Now, Elide, I want you to touch yourself. Can you do that for me? Can you touch yourself?”

“I – I…” She squeezes her eyes even further closed. The thought of looking at him right now, with her shame and desire laid bare for him to see, is abhorrent. She’d never recover. But curiosity calls to her, wondering desperately if he’s watching her. What his expression is if he is. “Where?”

“Where do you want to touch?” he asks, his voice low and rasping. “Where would feel good , Elide?” 

Am I really going to do this? She thinks. Am I really going to masturbate just because Lorcan tells me to?

“Go on, Elide,” he says, his voice lined with that iron command that she’s heard countless times on the road. It’s the tone he uses when he’s telling her what to do, telling her there’s no time for her to question him, to just do as he says . Usually, that would make her bristle with indignation as she’d swallow her argument for later and give him a thorough tongue-lasing later; right now, however, laying in her warm bed, her body desperate and electric and pliant, Lorcan giving her commands is somehow appealing. Very appealing. 

She takes a deep, trembling breath and slips her hand beneath the blanket, brushing against the soft fabric covering her stomach to rest between her legs. 

Lorcan makes a sound – a soft, breathy sound that if it had come from anyone else, Elide would have suspected was a gasp. 

But Lorcan Salvaterre doesn’t gasp . Especially not because of her . 

She’s too afraid to open her eyes now, even if she wanted to. She knows that Lorcan must be able to see her hand moving beneath the blanket, rucking up her chemise, pressing tentative fingers against her exposed folds. If there was ever any hope of hiding the full extent of her own shamefulness, this has crushed it. 

“Elide?” he says. “How do you feel?”

“It doesn’t…It doesn’t feel good,” she says, her face falling. “It doesn’t really feel like anything at all.”

It feels like it always has. Strange and foreign and wrong . Nothing magical, nothing pleasurable, just unsure fingers on wet, warm flesh. Any vague pleasure that she felt from the initial touch is washed away by the overwhelming discomfort that follows. All her life, she was told not to let anyone touch her there – breaking that rule just feels wrong. 

“Don’t say that, not yet,” says Lorcan quickly, insistently. She latches on to the demand in his voice, clings to it. Even if she doesn’t know what to do herself, she can trust that Lorcan does. “Slow down, Elide. Calm down. Listen to your body, all right?”

She scoffs. She hears nothing from her body but distant pain from her ankle, shame in her chest, warmth between her legs. 

“Slow down, Elide,” he says again, his voice low and calming. “There’s no rush.”

She sighs, but obeys him. She slows the circles she’s drawing against herself, letting her finger drag up and down her slit before pressing hesitantly against the bundle of nerves above. It feels like nothing but pressure. There’s a spike of feeling as she circles the sensitive flesh, but it’s more simple awareness than actual pleasure.

“Tell me, Elide,” he says, “Are you wet?”

“Mmhm,” she says, embarrassed by the keen in her voice as she answers him. She hopes he can’t see the blood rising to her cheeks. 

“Hmm,” he says, his voice low. Almost a groan. “All right. Stop.”

“Wha-What?” she gasps, almost opening her eyes to look at him, but she quickly stops herself. A part of her believes that if she opens her eyes now, he’ll laugh at her and the joke will be over. Or she’ll open her eyes to find she’s back in her tower, that every moment with him was just a good – no, the best dream.

“Listen to your body, Elide,” he says again. “Where do you want to touch? Where do you need to touch?”

“I don’t – I don’t know.”

But she does. She just can’t admit to Lorcan that her nipples are hard as stone, brushing almost painfully against the fabric of her dress. 

She’s done this before – touched her breasts when the pressure between her legs gets to be too much. Elide’s never been able to – to finish by touching her breasts but it lessens the pressure, makes her desire easier to deal with. 

Slowly, she drags her hands back up her body – even touching the tops of her thighs, her stomach sends little bursts of awareness through her skin – to lay a hand on either breast. Her nipples are hard against her hands, and she gasps before she can stop herself as one brushes against a callous on her palm. 

There’s a moment’s pause, the rustle of some sheets. “Are your nipples hard, Elide?” he asks. His voice is almost strained. 

She wonders, absently, why he keeps saying her name, but it calms her, so she doesn’t question it too much. 

“Yes,” she says, and before the word is even fully out of her mouth, Lorcan says, “Touch them.”

Elide obeys a little too eagerly, touching the hardened peaks through the fabric of her chemise with her fingers. “How…” she says, brushing the tips of her fingers across the sensitive skin. “How should I …”

She may have done this before, but she’s filled with a sudden, sharp need to know exactly what Lorcan wants her to do. Surely five hundred years has taught him better technique than her rare fumblings after dark. 

“Circles,” he says. There’s the rustle of sheets. “With the flat of your thumb. See how it feels. Do you like it, Elide?”

The fabric of the dress is thin, gauzy, and her thumbs send a spike of pleasure through her. 

“Imagine that’s – him touching you,” Lorcan says, faltering as though he wanted to say something else. “Imagine those are his fingers on you. Touching you, worshipping you, making you feel so good. Pinch them between your fingers, Elide.”

She’s never done that before; she’s always been too sensitive to do anything but knead her breasts. “Won’t it hurt?” she asks, even as she moves to obey him. She tentatively pinches her nipples between her fingers and feels nothing but a breath of pain.

“No, Elide,” he rasps. “Just hard enough to feel it.”

She does, applying more and more pressure until a spike of pleasure, mixed with a bolt of pain, shoots through her. 

“ Oh ,” she gasps before she can stop herself.

She presses her eyes closed, afraid of the possibility that Lorcan might be watching as she kneads her own breasts desperately, wantonly, her hips moving slightly under her blanket. When she’d touched herself before, she’d rarely felt anything but a clinical sort of pressure, but now she aches for it. She knows, somehow, that it’ll feel different this time. 

“Keep going, Elide,” he urges. She knows he’s across the room, safe in his other bed, but she imagines his voice coming directly against her ear, imagines his breath in her hair, his lips on her neck. “Think of who you want. Think of what you want him to do. Think of his hands on your breasts, his fingers pinching your nipples. Doesn’t it feel good, Elide?”

Elide presses her head back against her pillow, pinching one nipple as she rubs the other, and imagines Lorcan’s body lowering onto hers. Would his shoulders feel hard beneath her hands? Would his arms? His chest? She pictures his face, painted with desire and exhilaration and that serious, serious look in his eye that he sometimes gets when he catches her staring at him. 

“I need…Lorcan, I need…” she says, too caught up in the heat that’s scorching her skin to be embarrassed by begging. 

“You need to touch yourself, Elide?” he asks, something almost teasing in his voice. She’s used to being teased by Lorcan, just not like this. The familiarity and fondness in his voice still makes something in her stomach tighten, but the smugness, the casual arrogance of his tone spends a spark of desire right where she needs touch most desperately. “You need my permission?”

“ Lorcan ,” she says, pinching down on the hard buds of her nipples. “ Please .”

“Go on, darling,” he says, and she’s so caught up in her own desperation that she barely notices the pet name. “Touch yourself. For me, Elide. Touch yourself for me.”

Letting loose an embarrassing sigh of relief, she releases her breast with one hand and lets it drift down to the crux of her legs. Just like before, she hesitates – the feeling, after all, is so painfully foreign that she hardly knows where to start – but her desperation overrides her fear and clumsily presses through her slick, slick curls to her entrance. 

He was right – this feels measures better than before. Every swipe of her fingers over her core feels somehow exhilarating, even though she’s too scared to press into herself. She’s wetter than she’s ever been – even wetter than she had been that night Lorcan had ventured into a rainstorm to get them supper and returned to her with his white shirt clinging to his chest, his pants so tight against him that he’d practically been naked and Elide had had to sneak into the forest after he’d gone to sleep to wipe the slick from her thighs. 

“Does that feel good, love?” he says. 

She notices, distantly, that he’s a bit breathless. It’s so unlike Lorcan, who can run for miles without breaking a sweat, that it manages to lift her out of her haze. 

“Lorcan?” she says, her voice breaking on a moan. 

Her cheeks heat immediately, and the shame of what she’s doing comes crashing down upon her suddenly and wholly. 

She can just imagine what Finnula would call her; it’s what she called the servant girls who were caught with their lovers, or the noble ladies who got with child before marriage: whore, slut, tramp. Worthless.

Elide’s just about to open her eyes, her fingers stilled over her entrance, when Lorcan groans, “ Fuck , Elide, the way you say my name …”

“Lorcan,” she says again, letting her fingers dip the barest amount into herself at the sound of her name on his lips, in that tone. Almost as though he’s hurt. Almost as though he’s begging . Either way, it gives her the courage to say, “Are you – Are you hard?”

The word tumble off her tongue clumsily, but somehow the humiliation only fans the flames of her pleasure. The heel of her hand brushes against something sensitive and exquisite above her entrance and she fails to bite back the moan it brings. 

“Yes,” he answers in a rasp. “Elide, I’m sorry, I – ”

“Are you going to touch yourself, too?”

Elide might as well sew her eyes closed, because she’s pretty sure she’ll never be able to look at Lorcan again after asking something like that . 

He doesn’t answer for a moment, and the silence in the room is oppressively heavy, except for the rustle of both of their sheets. She grimaces as the wet sound of the tip of her middle finger dipping into the heat of her entrance breaks the silence.

“Do you want me to?” he asks, his voice quiet. Dangerously quiet.

“Do you ?” she asks. Her voice hitches in the middle of her sentence as her palm brushes that spot again. 

“I think you know the answer to that,” he answers. His tone is so darkly joking, so wholly familiar that Elide is overwhelmed by a sudden wave of fondness for him, for her warrior. 

“Do it,” she says quickly, before she can lose her nerve. “I want to do this with you. Together.”

“Fuck, Elide,” he says, his words followed quickly by the sound of cloth against sheets, then skin against skin. The sound sends a shiver up her skin and she quickens the rate of her fingers against herself, her finger dipping a bit farther into herself every time. “The noises you make when… fuck .”

She laughs breathlessly to herself, wishing she had the state of mind to say something about how she’s managed to frustrate him even here, in bed, when he moans .

The sound is better than music. Sweeter than honey in her tea. Richer than Vernon could ever dream to be. 

She moans, too, instinctually, plunging her middle finger deep within her core. She cries out at the new sensation, her voice hoarse and rough and thoroughly embarrassing – that is, if she was able to process emotions like embarrassment with lightning bolts of pleasure shooting through her. 

But this isn’t what she imagined pleasure or sex to feel like. She’s growing towards something, almost like she’s running a race, though she has no idea what the finish is or how to get there. All she knows is that it feels too good to stop any time soon. 

“Are you still thinking of him, Elide?” Lorcan asks in a growl “Your man?”

The sound of his hand on himself is unmistakable, now. He’s not even trying to hide it , she thinks, and the realization drives her wild. 

She squeezes her eyes shut and the images come in flashes: Lorcan’s dark curtain of hair hanging above her, his hands gripping her waist, his fingers on her nipples, his fingers on her, his fingers in her.  That wickedly clever mouth pressed against hers, that sharp tongue pushing past her lips to taste her. His voice – his sweet, deep, lovely voice – whispering in her ear, telling her to touch herself, telling her to come. 

“Ye-es,” she moans, just as the tip of her finger brushes against a spongy section of flesh on her wall that sends shockwaves through her. Her own muscles clenched around her finger. 

“What’s he doing to you, love?” he asks, his voice coming in sharp, breathless bursts now. “What’s he look like?”

“ Lorcan ,” she moans, too deep in her pleasure to recognize shame. All she knows is the heat growing beneath her skin, her fingers pressing against her soft, warm flesh, the pleasure shooting up and down her body. 

“Tell me, Elide,” he demands, his voice low and rough. She clenches her teeth, biting back a moan at the mere sound of his voice. 

“You!” she gasps. “You, Lorcan, it’s – it’s you!”

He groans, deep in his throat, and Elide wants more than anything to open her eyes, to see what he’s doing – to see his hand moving over himself, to watch him buck up into his palm – but she’s almost afraid that if she does, the spell will end. Whatever strange magic that has helped her into this situation will come crashing down around her, leaving her ashamed and burning and humiliated. 

Her free hand alternates between pinching and rubbing one of her nipples, her other pulsing out an uneven rhythm against her heat. 

She’s desperate – reaching for something just out of range, begging for something she doesn’t know how to ask for. She’d told Lorcan before that she’d been burning – now she feels aflame, fire licking at her breast, at her center. 

“Lorcan,” she keens, distantly aware that she’s bucking up into her hand. Every touch of her palm against that spot above her entrance has her gasping. “Lorcan, I – I…”

“What do you need, Elide?” he asks, his voice hard and insistent and breathless. She can hear the rhythm of his hand against his cock and it makes her skin heat. “Tell me, Elide. Tell me what you need.”

She wonders if his eyes are open, if he can see her. If he’s watching her fuck her hand, writhing in her sheets as she chases a pleasure she doesn’t know how to reach. Does he hear the sound of her finger thrusting in and out of her own arousal? What does he think of her red cheeks, her sweat-soaked skin, her hair spread out on the pillow beneath her? 

“I need to – I need…” She pinches the bud of her nipple with her free hand, twisting it in her desperation. “Lorcan, I need you, please. Please .”

She wasn’t aware that’s what she was going to say until she said it, but now the words are hanging in the air and she can’t take them back and she’s so, so close to – to something and she just needs to reach it. 

“Are you – are you sure?” he asks. It sounds like he might be speaking through gritted teeth. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” she whimpers, the words flying from her lips before she can stop to decide whether this is a good idea at all. “Please, Lorcan, please help me. Please touch me. I – I need you.”

There’s a moment’s pause; he’s stopped touching himself. She can’t even hear him breathing. She falters, her finger deep within herself, and wonders if she’s finally pushed him too far when – 

“All right, Elide, I’m coming,” he rasps. Then there’s the sound of sheets flying off his bed, his feet on the floor, and her heart is beating so hard she’s afraid it’s going to do lasting damage to her ribs because the mattress dips beside her and she can smell him – that lovely leather and amber and male scent – and he’s running a finger up her arm and oh gods, oh gods she’s made such a mistake, he’ll never think about her the same, she’s ruined every – 

“Elide.” His voice is soft, low. Comforting. “I need you to open your eyes.”

“I can’t – you don’t…” She whimpers, afraid of seeing derision or disgust or laughter on his face. “Please, just – just touch me, Lorcan, please – ”

“I will,” he promises. “I swear to fucking Hellas I will, Elide, but first, I need you to look at me. Can you do that? Open your eyes for me?”

And, because she can deny Lorcan nothing, she opens her eyes for the first time since this whole ordeal started. 

She half-expected to find disgust on his face, or at least apathetic concern. 

She did not expect to open her eyes to find Lorcan staring at her, his cheeks red, his eyes wide, his breath coming in uneven gasps. 

“I need to make sure you know what you’re asking,” he rasps. He lets his hand run up and down her arm. She’s never known him to be so comforting, and would be touched by it if she weren’t burning for him. 

“I – I know,” she says. Her finger is still buried deep in her core and her hips buck upwards, desperate for friction. 

“You want my fingers, Elide?” he says in that same coaxing tone, his grin half-taunting and half-beseeching. “You want my fingers in your cunt?”

She gasps at his word choice, torn between wanting to scold him and asking him to say it again, and nods. 

“Good girl,” he says again, gazing down at her with a fire in his eyes she’s only ever seen while he’s fighting. “Such a good, perfect girl for me.”

She whines despite herself at his words and he chuckles. His hand on her arm trails lower and lower – past her hand, onto her hip, then beneath the sheets to her lower abdomen. Elide quickly pulls her finger out of her heat, surreptitiously wiping the wetness on her sheets; she’s not really sure what the etiquette is surrounding sex and bodily fluids but she doesn’t want Lorcan to think she’s gross. 

Lorcan, however, doesn’t seem to mind. His gaze is intense on her face as he drags his finger along the entirety of her slit up to the burning spot above it. She keens automatically; somehow the feel of his calloused skin feels dozens – no, hundreds – times better than her own.

“So wet,” he breathes, sounding awed. “So ready for me, aren’t you, darling? Have you been lying here all night, desperate for my touch?”

She nods, biting her lip so she doesn’t do something stupid like scream. 

Elide knows she ought to be doing something for him – his erection is pressed against her hip, she knows how hard he is – but he groans like she already is when he slips a finger into her heat. 

“ Fuck , Elide,” he murmurs, letting his forehead rest on her shoulder as he slowly drags himself in and out, in and out. His pace is excruciating slow. Almost like she’s exploring her, exploring her limits. 

All sense of pride long gone, Elide bucks her hips at his rhythm, trying to capture this finger when he pulls it out of her, clenching around it when he plunges back in. 

“Needy girl,” he whispers. He noses the fabric of the chemise off her shoulder until a large portion of her chest is exposed and begins to plant kisses on her skin. “Do you like having my fingers inside of you, Elide? You like fucking my fingers?”

“Yes, please, yes,” she says, her hands clutching uselessly at his bicep, his back, his hair. Trying to hold him against her, though he shows no sign of trying to pull away. If anything, he leans more of his weight on top of her. He bends his head to kiss along her collarbone, inadvertently presenting her with a glorious expanse of his neck. 

She moves without thinking. The skin of his neck is warm beneath her lips and she’s licking him before he even adjusts from the surprise of having her kiss him – she’s aware that he’s stopped moving, but she doesn’t care. She needs, desperately, to know if he tastes as good as he smells. 

He does. 

“Fuck, Elide,” he says again, almost laughing. “Fuck, darling.”

“Yes, please,” she whispers against his neck as he presses kisses along the expanse of her shoulder. “Please, call me that again.”

“Darling?” he says, raising his head to look in her eyes. His grin is small and wicked as he presses his finger against that most sensitive part of her cunt, his thumb circling her clit at the same time. She moans low in her throat, clenching against him. “You like it when I call you darling?”

“Mmmmhm,” she keens. 

“You are,” he says lowly, kissing her collarbone again. “You are my darling. Aren’t you, Elide? Aren’t you mine?”

“Yes, yes,” she says as he leaves a trail of slow, careful kisses up her neck. “I’m yours, Lorcan. All yours.”

She’s never meant anything more. 

He pauses, his face pressed against the crook of her neck, and she feels a shudder go through him. But he continues before she can stop to question it, and she’s not interested in doing anything that might make him stop what he’s doing to her. 

As he terrorizes a sensitive spot beneath her ear, he ratchets up the rhythm of his finger in her cunt. The sound it makes is obscene – wet and rapid and utterly sinful – but Elide can’t help but throw her head back on her pillow and try to stifle a groan. 

“Such a good girl,” he mutters. “So ready, so wet. ‘S That feel good, Elide? You need more?”

“More,” she says. She hadn’t fully grasped that more was an option, but she’ll take whatever he wants to give her. “More, more, please.”

“All right,” he says, laughing under his breath. Then, cruelly, he withdraws his finger from her completely. Her cunt clenches against nothing and she whines into his hair, clawing at his arm, his back. 

Then she feels the tip of his finger return to her entrance – with another. 

“T-Two?” she asks. 

“You said you needed more,” he says teasingly, raising his head to look at her. He dips them into her slowly, pressing through her folds until he’s a knuckle deep. The stretch is almost uncomfortable, but any pain fades almost immediately as he presses a whisper-soft touch to the flesh within. She bucks involuntarily into his hand. “Think you can take two, Elide?”

“Yes,” she groans. “Give it to me, Lorcan. I can take it. I can take it.”

He moans something unintelligible before pressing those two, long fingers into her cunt. She can’t help the cry that leaves her. Any thought of preserving her dignity with the neighbors leaves her mind as Lorcan’s fingers begin to fuck her in earnest, dragging in and out at the perfect speed. Just fast enough to keep her pleasure building, but slow enough that she doesn’t get overwhelmed with it. Every movement has his knuckles rubbing against that spot inside of her, the one that felt so good when she was touching herself. 

She knows the noises she’s making are animalistic, knows that she’s begging when she can manage to find words, but she can’t make herself care, not with Lorcan whispering things like, “Yes, just like that” and “C’mon, Elide, ride my hand, just like that”, and “Yes, my perfect girl, my perfect darling” in her ear. 

Elide has no idea how long she lays like that, burning under his touch, but eventually it becomes too much. She’s almost sobbing as she says, “Please, Lorcan, please I need to – I need to – ”

“What do you need?” he asks steadily. “Tell me, and I’ll give it to you. Anything.”

“Please, touch my – touch my…”

Her own hands are pinching and twisting her nipples, desperate to reach down and touch the sensitive spot that aches so desperately, but she knows that Lorcan has been avoiding it for a reason. Probably for this very moment. 

“Use your words, Elide,” he says, teasingly. “You know what it’s called.”

“Fuck you,” she whispers, tears of frustration and pleasure gathering in the corners of her eyes. 

“You are,” he answers, grinning down at her. “Come on, darling, tell me. Tell me where to touch you.”

“Please, Lorcan, touch my clit,” she begs, her voice breaking with desperation. “Please, please, just touch my clit.”

“Of course, darling,” he says, pressing a kiss to the hollow between her collarbones. “You just had to ask.”

Then, raising his head to look at her, he presses his thumb firmly against her clit, rubbing a tight circle directly against it. 

Suddenly, everything she’s been feeling seems to make sense as her body stiffens, her back arching and pressing herself closer to him. She throws her head back as a wave of pleasure like she’s never known envelops her. She clenches around his fingers, buried deep inside her; the rest of the muscles in her body clench, too, like she’s trying to keep that pleasure in her body for as long as possible. Elide holds onto Lorcan like a raft out at sea, clutching at his arm like she’ll be lost and afloat if she lets go. 

She groans, the sound desperate and animalistic, as she rides out the last shockwaves of pleasure, bucking against his fingers a few last times before she falls back against the bed, limp and utterly exhausted. 

That’s when she becomes aware of Lorcan – and the things he’s been whispering. 

“Oh, good girl,” he mutters, letting his fingers move within her a few last times. “Oh, my good girl. So beautiful. So fucking pretty, Elide.”

“Was that – did I…” She finally opens her eyes to find his gaze glued to her face. She blushes anew, realizing that he was watching her as she bucked and writhed and wept. “Did I come?”

He nods. His voice is tender as he says, “You’re beautiful when you come.”

She turns her head away, his gaze too intense. “No, I…Lorcan, I…”

Elide looks back at him and sees his dark eyes roving over her face, like he’s trying to memorize how she looks in this moment. She can’t imagine she looks at all worth remembering – her face is sweaty and red and her hair must be a mess – but the awe in his eyes is touching. And overwhelming. 

“I understand what all the fuss is about now,” she says quietly, trying to break the heady tension between them. 

He laughs, finally looking away from her. He eases his weight off of her and, with a slick sound, eases his finger out of her. Lorcan kneels before her, one knee between her legs, one near her hip, and looks down at her. 

“What?” she asks, blushing. She’d thought all of the staring was over. “I’m sure I look a mess.”

He shakes his head, opening his mouth to respond when she catches sight of something glistening on his fingers. The look of horror on her face makes him follow her gaze to her own pleasure coating his skin. 

“Oh, Lorcan,” she says, her stomach reeling with self-disgust. “I’m – I’m so sorry. I – ”

Lorcan gives her a strange, crooked little smile – before putting those two fingers in his mouth. She gapes at him, her own mouth wide open, as he hollows his cheeks around his fingers. 

He removes them with a grin and says, “I’ve been wanting to taste you for so long, Elide.”

She stammers at him, her cheeks heating with both shame and desire. 

Never in her wildest dreams would she have dared to think that anyone could ever want her like this – much less someone as beautiful as Lorcan Salvaterre. 

“And?” she says after a moment. 

“And what?” he says, cocking his head. There’s something purely predatory in that movement that makes some of her post-coital exhaustion disappear. 

“Do I taste as good as you hoped?”

If she’s surprised by her own boldness, it’s nothing compared to the look of shock that crosses his face – which quickly morphs into a sharp grin. “Better,” he says lowly. “So much better, Elide.”

She throws her head back on her pillow, bringing her hands up to cover her face. “I can’t believe – I can’t believe we did that!”

A shocked, exuberant giggle leaves her. She feels the mattress dip as Lorcan lays down beside her. He shifts onto his side to accommodate them both on the small bed, and she feels his own deep laughter reverberate through his chest to her arm. 

“Are you all right?” he asks, after she’s calmed down. He traces a finger up and down the arm closest to him, leaving goosebumps in his wake. “I know that was…a lot.”

“I’m all right,” she says, letting her fingers fall from her face and rest on her chest. She wants to touch him, too, but is afraid of crossing some invisible boundary. She’s not really sure if having been fucked by him means she can touch him casually. Hopefully he’ll tell her. “Thank you. For – helping.”

“My pleasure,” he says, his voice low. He’s watching his fingers trace over her skin, dipping into the hollow of her elbow, all the way up to the soft curve of her shoulder. His fingertips linger over the freckles there. She thinks he might be counting them. “You can always come to me,” he continues, cutting his eyes up to look at her. “If you need…anything.”

She glances away, flustered by the offer. She’d assumed this was a one-time deal, an offer made between friends coming off the high of a rowdy, fun night, never to be discussed again. Elide is just about to ask about that – whether this is going to be a secret – when she shifts and feels something hard press against her hip.

“Lorcan!” she says, propping herself up on her elbows. “You didn’t – you didn’t get to…”

Cursing under his breath, he attempts to steal a bit of the blanket from her to cover the bulge in his pants, but she refuses to give him any. 

“Elide, it’s not about me,” he says, sitting up to face her. “All of that – that was for you. This…” He waves generally towards his hips. “Will go away in time. You don’t need to worry about it.”

“But, Lorcan – ”

“Why don’t I get you some water? You should lay back and rest, all right?” 

He smoothes a hand over her hair, his touch lingering near her temple like he’s unwilling to let go. There’s something wistful in his eyes as he looks down at her, something soft in the corner of his smile. 

She realizes then, with stunning clarity, that he thinks this was a one-time error in her judgement. That he thinks when he gets up from this bed that she will not let him back in. 

How can you not know , she thinks, looking up at his beautiful, beautiful face, how much I want you, too?

He starts to stand, but she grabs his hand with both of hers, pulling him back down onto the mattress. He goes willingly, though she knows he could rip out of her grasp like a wolf pulling out of a rabbit snare. 

“But – I want you to feel like that, too,” she says softly, embarrassment still keeping her from looking him directly in the eye, so she focuses on his hand instead. She turns it in her grasp until she can see his palm, and runs her fingers up and down its many lines and calluses. “You made me feel so good, Lorcan, and I want to do that to you.”

“Elide,” he says, his voice strained. “It’s not like that.”

“What isn’t?”

“Sex,” he says. “It’s not – not a trade. Just because I got you off doesn’t mean you have to do the same for me. Actually, it means you probably shouldn’t. I – I already took advantage of your…mood…after the dancers, and I won’t take advantage of your fucking generosity – ”

His tone is familiarly bitter and self-loathing and she can’t stand it. She tightens her grip on his hand, as much for her own comfort as for his, and forces herself to look up into his face. 

“You didn’t take advantage of me, Lorcan,” she says firmly, giving his hand a squeeze in emphasis. “I – I’ve wanted you for almost as long as I’ve known you.”

He gives a shaky breath, running his other hand over his face. He looks across the room for a moment, his gaze distant,  before looking back at her. “I was an ass for most of the time you’ve known me.”

“Even then,” she says with a nod. “I just – never knew how to say it. And I never, ever dreamed that someone like you could ever feel that way about me , so...” She shrugs, some of her confidence leaving her. “I mean, I assume that you – that you want me, too, but – ”

“No, no,” he says quickly, grabbing her chin with his other hand and tipping it up, forcing her to look at him. “Elide Lochan, I want you. I’ve wanted you since I saw you in Oakwald, and I’ve…I’ve cared about you since you beheaded those Valg. This, tonight, was out of…out of care, all right? Out of...friendship. This was no quick fuck, not for me. I need you to tell me you understand that.”

“I understand that,” she says, smiling despite herself. Lorcan Salvaterre wants her . Lorcan Salvaterre cares about her - even if it’s only as a friend, she’ll take it. She’d take anything he offered her.  “And I’ll still understand that even if you get to come, too.”

He scoffs, but she continues. 

“Lorcan, I know you’re not doing this for your own pleasure,” she says, scooting closer to him. “But I don’t see why that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t get any pleasure at all…”

She lets one hand drift across the sheets to rest on his knee, still covered by the dark fabric of his pants. Elide keeps her eyes on Lorcan’s face, searching for any sign of discomfort; he swallows as her hand slowly moves up his knee to rest on his thigh, but says nothing. 

“I want to see you,” she says. “I – I might not be any good at touching you, but I want to try. Please, Lorcan, let me try? Let me touch you?”

“ Fuck ,” he groans, dropping his forehead forward to rest on her shoulder. “You’re going to be the death of me, Elide Lochan.”

“Please?” she says into his ear. “Show me how?”

He’s still for a long moment, and there’s nothing in the world but his hand in hers, the heat of his thigh against her palm, his hot breath on her chest. Then, suddenly, he sits up. She can tell in the look that he gives her that he’s made a decision – a decision to trust her with not just his body, but himself. 

Because she already knows, even as his shaking fingers begin undoing the buttons to his pants, that this is no longer a matter of sex, but of something deeper. Lorcan does nothing in half-measures; if he says he cares about her, she knows he’d died for her. And she knows she’d do the same for him. 

She smiles to herself, reaching out to trace her fingers over his cheekbones. He pauses, glancing up at her with a curious smile. 

This is the beginning of something new, she thinks. 

What, exactly, that newness will turn out to be, Elide isn’t sure; sex is nothing new or important to Lorcan, not the way it is to Elide. If he wants to continue as friends who fuck or something more, Elide doesn’t know.

And she can’t make herself care, not as Lorcan cautiously pulls himself from his pants. 

Elide has seen a couple of dicks in her life – watched drunkards piss in the street from her window, found a couple of servants fucking in a broom closet in Morath, even caught a glimpse of one tonight as Lorcan hurried her past the open door to a brothel – and none of them had ever stirred any sort of desire within her. Actually, they’d made her wonder if she was even interested in men; what would she want with some worm-like, pink thing in her hands?

But now, looking at Lorcan, she understands. She understands completely. 

“You’re making me nervous, Elide,” he says. “Are you going to say anything, or just stare?” His words are insecure but his voice is steady. The doubt that she sees in his eyes must be because he thinks she’s going to back out, not because he’s worried about his cock size. It’s too impressive to leave room for doubt. 

“I’ve seen…cocks before,” she says carefully, her voice small. 

The humor instantly vanishes from Lorcan’s face. “What?” he says, his voice sharp. “Whose?”

“Don’t worry,” she says, laughing. “They were never meant for me. But none of them…none of them looked like you, Lorcan.”

She moves closer to him, both of them kneeling on the narrow bed. He has his fist clenched at the base of it, but she can tell his dick is bigger than she ever thought one could be. 

“Is that so?” he says. She can feel his gaze on her face, but she can’t quite force herself to look away from him . 

“You’re so beautiful,” she says, quietly. There’s no one else in the room, but she wants this to be just for him. Just for them . 

“Elide, wait.” She looks up, surprised and disappointed, already forming arguments to volley at him, when he leans forward, cupping her face with his hand, and presses a gentle kiss to her lips. She smiles into the kiss, reaching up to thread her fingers through his hair. He keeps it chaste, and when he pulls away a moment later there’s a pink blush on his face. “I should have done that earlier.”

She smiles at him, then reaches forward to run a finger along his cock. He shudders, looking at her with wide eyes as she grins. Apparently speechless, he lets go of himself to lean back on his hands and watch her. 

She explores at first, acutely aware of his eyes on her as she runs a finger along the head, down the shaft, into the curls at the base. As she moves, she tries to catalogue his reactions. He gasps when she lets her nails scrape the skin of his balls and groans when she first closes her fist around him and drags upward. 

“Wait,” he says again, when her skin gets caught on him. He grabs her hand and tugs, looking at her face for permission; she releases him with a frown. She was just finding a rhythm, why does he want to ruin it – 

She gasps when he spits in her palm. He looks at her with something almost like worry in his eyes, as though he thinks that’s going to be where she calls an end to the night. 

But Elide just smiles and gets back to work, grasping his thick length in her hand and gliding up and down, testing out different paces and watching the results play out on his face. 

She had thought, when she fell back on the mattress with the last waves of her orgasm leaving her, that she might never need to come again. That she could be satisfied with the memories of his fingers inside of her for the rest of her life. 

But now, hardly ten minutes later, she feels the familiar burst of warmth spark below her stomach. She readjusts where she sits, trying to be surreptitious in rubbing her thighs together. 

But Lorcan – eagle-eyed, Fae Lorcan – catches her, just like he always does. 

“Does touching me make you wet, Elide?” he rasps. She looks up at him to answer and sees a red flush across his chest, his cheeks. There’s sweat on his brow and a look in his eye that only fans the flames of her desire. “Do you need my fingers again?”

He’s teasing her, and she hates that he already knows how well that works on her. She opens her mouth to answer, rubbing her thumb over his head, when she feels a drop of something. She looks down, confused, at the pearls of liquid dripping down his head. 

“That’s just – just precum,” he says, noting her confusion. “It’s normal.”

“Are you – are you going to come?”

He lets out a strained laugh, letting his head drop back as though he can’t bear to look at her – though in this context, she knows that’s a good thing. “Yes,” he says after a moment, his voice ragged. “Sooner than I should.”

She looks back down at his cock – thick and proud and so beautiful – and makes up her mind. 

“Lorcan,” she says. He doesn’t look up, so she squeezes him ever so slightly; his head shoots up, his eyes finding hers immediately. 

“Fuck,” he growls. “Elide, if you keep doing that, I’m going to come much sooner than I should.”

“Lorcan,” she says again, swallowing. She tips her chin up, gathering her courage, and says, “Will you fuck me?”

“You want my fingers, darling?” he asks with a grin, reaching for her. 

“No,” she says. “No, I want you to – to fuck me, Lorcan. Really fuck me.”

The arrogant smirk fades from his face, replaced by a frown. “Elide,” he says, shaking his head. “No.”

She lets her hand drop away from his length – it doesn’t feel fair to keep stroking him as they argue. 

“I know what you’re going to say,” she says hurriedly. “You’re going to say that we’re moving too fast and I don’t know what I’m asking and you’re taking advantage of me. But listen…” She takes a deep breath and is disturbed to find that her bottom lip is quivering. Lorcan notices, too, and immediately moves up the bed to be closer to her. Even with his cock out and her own pleasure still drying on her thighs, the way he eases her into his side feels stunningly natural . “My whole life, I’ve had so little choices. After everything with my family and my uncle and Adarlan, all of my choices were robbed from me. Even this…this journey for Manon, finding Aelin – it wasn’t something I picked. I’m happy to do it, you know I am, but it wasn’t what I chose .”

She turns, angling herself toward him so she can see his face. He leaves his arm around her though, and for that, she’s grateful. 

“But I choose you. Do you understand? There have been so many times when we could have left each other, but we didn’t. We chose to stay together. We chose to defend each other, protect each other. And tonight, with all of those dancers in front of me, you’re who I chose. You .” She pokes him in the chest to emphasize her point and he smiles softly. “I chose to let you touch me. I chose to touch you. And if I knew this was an option, I would have chosen it a month ago. I’ve wanted this, with you, for a long time.”

She puts a hand on the side of his face, tracing his cheekbone with her thumb without trying to hide the lovingness of the action. He leans into her palm, closing his eyes against the gentle touch. 

“And Lorcan, who knows what will happen after we find Aelin. There might be a war, or Aelin might send you away, or-or Maeve might come…” For the first time, her voice breaks, and Lorcan pulls her closer, until they’re practically nose to nose. “And if that happens, Lorcan…if anything happens to us, I want us to have this. This night, this memory. Because – because no one could ever take that away. I would always have – always have a piece of you. Here. With me.”

She touches her heart, feeling insanely immature and sentimental and like the little girl that Lorcan used to teasingly call her – but then Lorcan covers her hand with his own. They sit there like that for a moment, listening to the beat of Elide’s heart and the distant music on the street. 

“Are you sure?” he asks finally. He looks at her through his long lashes, reaching up to trace the length of her jaw with the back of his finger. “It cannot be undone.”

“I want this,” she says firmly, clutching his hand on her chest. “With you. I want you to be my first, Lorcan.”

He gazes into her eyes for a moment longer, as if waiting to see her resolve crack, waiting for her to crawl out of his reach and apologize for wasting his time. 

Elide lets him look. She knows what he searches for and knows what he needs. So she gives it to him – with an easy smile and no hint of fear, she swings one knee around to straddle him. His cock is still out, but she ignores it, sitting back on his thighs. She leans in slowly, giving him time to pull away if he needs it, before pressing her lips against his again. 

He hesitates just one moment more before something within him is unleashed. 

Elide could sigh she’s so relieved as he grabs her hips and takes charge. His hands on her are scorching, possessive, but his lips are gentle as he slowly teaches her to kiss. Once she has her hands threaded through his hair, he lets one of his sharp canines bite down on her bottom lip. She gasps, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth. 

She knew this is how kissing was done, but somehow being a part of it is so much better than just witnessing it. Every inch of her body feels alive and astonishingly sensitive as his tongue explores her mouth, as he invites her to do the same to him. He moans into her mouth, his hands gripping the soft flesh of her sides for dear life and she traces the tip of her tongue up along one of his canines.

The warmth between her legs is back and even worse than before, wet all over again for the male before her. She grinds down on one of his thighs, too aware of his length pressed against his stomach, just inches away from where she so desperately needs him.

To distract herself, she lets one hand drift down to play with her nipple, but Lorcan catches her. 

“That’s my job,” he murmurs against her lips, leaving one last, chaste kiss against the corner of her mouth before moving his lips to her jaw. His hands drift up her sides to her breasts, kneading them with all of the finesse that five hundred years has taught him. 

“Off,” she mutters, near delirious with all of the places he’s touching her. “Lorcan…off.”

“You want this off?” he asks. She can hear the grin in his voice as he plucks at the fabric of her chemise. “Say please.”

“Oh, you bastard,” she growls. In a moment that surprises even herself, she takes a fistful of his hair and tugs , pulling him backward until his neck is bared to her. She licks a strip of flesh from his collarbone straight up to his jaw before pressing a scorching, lingering kiss there. “Please?” she whispers when she’s done, using the absolute sweetest voice she can muster. 

“You witch,” he murmurs, his voice trembling as he hurries to tug her chemise off. “You absolute witch.”

She raises her arms and lets him pull the dress off of her, grinning at her own wickedness – until the cold air hits her breasts.     

Even when Lorcan had been touching her, he hadn’t been watching her. He’d felt her cunt but never seen it; kissed her nipples through her dress but never looked at them. What if there’s something wrong with her? If she’s deformed in some way that she’s never even thought to question and now Lorcan’s going to see? She’s completely naked and Lorcan threw her dress halfway across the room the minute it was off her body, so she can’t put it back on and oh gods…

She wraps her arms around her chest, wondering if he has ever touched a woman as scrawny, as misshapen, as ugly as her. 

“Elide,” he says, and his voice is soft, so soft , as he reaches for her. He moves slowly, allowing her to stop him if she wants; when she doesn’t, he gently grabs her wrists and pulls them away from herself, but he doesn’t even glance at her bare breasts as he says, “You are so lovely, Elide. The prettiest girl I’ve ever known.”

She blinks away the sudden tears that fill her eyes, laughing despite herself as he smiles up at her. She wonders how many women have seen that smile – completely and totally unguarded. 

Not many. 

Maybe not any. 

“Then prove it to me,” she says, wrapping her arms back around his neck. “Kiss me like the prettiest girl you’ve ever known.”

Something flares in his eyes and he has half a moment to shoot her a wicked grin before he kisses her again – fiercely and firmly and as lovingly as she could imagine. He moves quickly, pressing kisses to her lips, her cheeks, her jaw, her neck, and finally, finally , her breasts. 

His tongue on her nipple is so much better than his fingers. She throws her head back with an unholy moan as he pinches her left nipple and kisses the right, laving his tongue against the sensitive bud. She runs her hands through his mane of hair, letting her nails scrape along his scalp in the way that makes him groan.

The need between her legs grows and grows as he laves attention on her breasts, and she can’t stop herself from grinding down on his thigh, desperate for pressure on her clit, desperate for something to fill the emptiness inside her.

“Please,” she whines. “Please, Lorcan, I need you.”

“Where?” he says. “Tell me where you need me, my darling.”

“You know – you know where,” she whispers, letting her head rest in the crook of his neck. Her lips immediately find his warm, honeyed skin, though; it’s comforting, somehow, to feel his skin beneath her tongue, to hear him groan beneath her touch. 

“Tell me, Elide,” he insists. His hands grip like steel against her waist, holding her to him. “You have to ask me.”

She whines against his throat, her hands threaded through his hair, her lips against his warm skin, but he doesn’t budge – not even when she lets her hips buck forward to brush close to his straining cock.

“My – my…” She sighs, frustrated. “Lorcan…”

“Inside you, darling,” he whispers in her ear. His hands stray down from her waist to clutch her ass, kneading the flesh between his fingers. “Say it.”

“I need you, Lorcan,” she says. “I need you – I need your cock in – inside me.”

He groans and the sound is more animal than human – she thinks, distantly, that it has been a long time since she’s seen him act so purely Fae – but then he’s grabbing her waist and pulling her forward, positioning her over him. She cries out at the feel of him at her entrance. 

“Are you sure?” he asks. His hands tighten on her hips, and though she’s sure his grip will leave bruises it’s still somehow comforting. His dark eyes are locked on her as though he’ll never look away. He reaches up to swipe a lock of hair off of her sweaty forehead and every half-doubt and shadow of fear leaves her mind.

“Yes, I’m sure.” she whispers back. “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes.”

And she is sure. She wants this more than she can say; she knows, through some uncanny knowledge or whispered rumor or feminine confidence that this, with his cock, will be leagues better than what he did to her with his fingers – and that was better than she’d ever dreamed.

Just the brush of the head against her folds is enough to make her cry out, bracing herself on his shoulders. The muscles there flex under her hands and she digs her fingers into them.

“Lorcan, I…” She looks down at where they’re almost joined, gasping quietly at the sight of it. “I don’t know…”

“Want my help, sweet girl?” he says, his voice a deep, dark rasp, even as he reaches up to brush hair off her sweaty forehead with a touch so tender it threatens to make her cry. 

She nods, sinking with relief and ease into his arms. She isn’t quite sure what he can do to help – other than just thrusting up into her – but she’s grateful all the same for his embrace, for the steady comfort in his voice. 

Then, suddenly, Lorcan’s face is transformed by a wicked grin that she knows all too well. 

“Lorcan – ” she says, warningly, just as Lorcan grips her tight to him and flips them on the bed so Elide’s on her back with Lorcan over her. She squeals at the sudden, fierce movement, and Lorcan’s responding laughter reverberates through her own chest. 

“This’ll be easier,” he says, almost breathless, as he looks down at her. 

She nods, reaching up, hesitatingly, to brush her fingers over his sharp cheekbone.

“This is how I always imagine it,” she says quietly. 

Something almost sad crosses Lorcan’s face before he leans down to press a gentle kiss to her lips. 

Soon, the kiss loses its sweetness, and she is painfully aware of his length pressed against her stomach. “Lorcan,” she breathes against his lips. “Please.”

He nods, then nods again – before lifting himself off her completely. 

Elide scoffs indignantly as he stands beside the bed, her body suddenly feeling very naked without him pressed against her. She reaches up to cover her breasts, wishing she could burrow back into the blankets. 

“None of that,” he snaps playfully, and she obediently lowers her hands. She watches, grinning, as he steps out of his pants and throws them haphazardly over his shoulder, his gaze never wavering from her. 

“There,” he says, taking a few stalking steps toward the bed that remind her that he is a pure Fae predator – and he’s naked. With her. If it’s even possible, she thinks her blush might worsen. “Now we’re even.”

He gestures down at his naked body with an unabashed smirk. 

“Oh, you arrogant ass!” she says, laughing, reaching for him. 

He steps willingly back into her arms, lowering himself gracefully back on top of her. 

“Are you ready, Elide?” he says, reaching down to trace a soft touch over her clit. 

“Yes, yes, please,” she says, pressing her hips up against his to prove it. 

He hisses at the contact, looking up at her with something she can’t quite place glinting in his eyes. “It might hurt,” he says, slipping a hand between their bodies to position himself at her entrance. She gasps at the warmth of him, the pressure. “Elide?”

“I know,” she says, looking between them in anticipation. When Lorcan still hesitates, she looks up to see a terrible sort of indecision on his face. Reaching up to press a hand against his cheek. “Lorcan, I know you’d never hurt me. Look at me – I trust you, all right? I trust you.”

His eyes bore into hers for a moment, before he drops his head to press a tender kiss to her temple. Something nameless swells in her chest, but she doesn’t have long to dwell on it. 

She gasps, surprised at how simultaneously familiar and foreign he feels inside of her. She saw how big Lorcan is – and yet she’s surprised at how big he feels inside of her. Elide grimaces at the burn in her walls, closing her eyes so Lorcan doesn’t have to see the pain in them. 

“Is it too much?” he asks, kissing the corner of her jaw. 

“No,” she says, keeping her voice steady. “It’s just – new.”

“Tell me when you want me to move,” he says, pressing a trail of kisses down her neck. “Or if you want me to stop. All right?”

“All right,” she says, her hands clutching at his shoulders. She wants to feel the muscles move in his back, wants to kiss the stubble on his jaw, wants to run her hands through his hair – but it takes all of her focus not to cry out at the discomfort between her legs. She knows if she did something like that it would take months to convince Lorcan to even touch her again, much less fuck her. 

Lorcan keeps one arm by her side, bracing himself, and lets the other slide between them to slowly massage her clit. The combination of his finger against her and the hot, wet kisses he’s leaving on her skin starts to ease the pain into a discomfort – it’s still nowhere as good as his fingers were. 

“All right, try – try moving,” she says. 

He nods, pushing in an inch more, then another. She throws her head back at the stretch of it, biting her lip to keep from crying out. 

“Oh, Elide, no,” he says, devastation in his voice. His kisses become comforting as he starts to slip out of her, but Elide, acting on instinct, wraps her legs around his hips, pulling him close and forcing him even further inside. 

Her gasp isn’t one of pain, not anymore, and she can tell that Lorcan realized it. 

“ Oh, ”  he says in her ear, pressing slowly, slowly inside until she feels so full she can’t speak. “You like that, don’t you? Feeling stretched? Feeling full?”

She nods, but can’t seem to find any words to answer him. The sensation of having him fully sheathed inside her is too overwhelming to process anything else; she clings to his arms and makes pleading little noises as he slowly retreats and pushes back in, starting a slow, careful rhythm. 

“Fucking Hellas,” he groans. “You feel – so fucking – good , Elide.”

His other hand is still wedged between them, increasing the rhythm and pressure against her clit just as he increases the rhythm of his thrusts, always casting her an assessing glance before. She wonders, vaguely, if there’s something she ought to be doing for him , but all she can focus on is the building need in her core, the words he whispers to her. 

“My perfect girl,” he says between strokes, speaking over the sounds their bodies are making. “My sweet, perfect girl. I’ve – I’ve dreamt of this, Elide. With you. It’s only – it’s only ever you.”

“Lorcan,” she gasps. “ Lorcan .”

She wants to say so much more – she wants to say that she’s dreamt of him too, that her favorite color is the darkness of his eyes, that she has never felt safer than when he’s within arm’s reach – but her tongue isn’t cooperating. It’s too busy trying to learn the taste of Lorcan’s skin. 

With his finger on her clit, the head of his cock pressing over and over and over again on that perfect, sensitive spot on her front wall, the heat in her core starts to build and build again. 

“Lorcan,” she says, grasping at his bicep. “I feel – I feel…”

“Tell me,” he says, breathless and insistent. “Do I make you feel good, Elide? Tell me, tell me how I make you feel.”

“I think – I feel like I might…like I might…like I’m going to…”

“Going to what, darling?” he chuckles, his breath warm against her skin. 

“Going to come ,” she says, her voice almost a whine. “But I – I already did. Is that…does that happen? Twice, in one night?”

Lorcan laughs again, and when she meets his eye there is a smile so sweet and so soft on his face that her heart skips a beat. “With me?” he says, his voice a growl. “You can come as many times as you’d like, Elide.”

As if that display of such casual, enticing confidence wasn’t enough, Lorcan goes to work on her body with a renewed vigor that leaves her breathless. His finger spells out a punishing rhythm on her clit, just teetering on the border of pain and pleasure. He keeps his thrusts slow – probably afraid to break me , she thinks, halfway delirious – but with every one, Elide swears he’s going somehow deeper, filling her even fuller. 

I could get addicted to this , she thinks, throwing her head back against the pillow. Having him inside me. Being connected to him. 

She digs her nails into his back and he groans, his head falling to rest on her shoulder. 

“ Fuck , Elide,” he growls against her skin. “Are you close?”

“Ye-Yes…” she keens, holding onto him as he pulls her close against him and hurries his pace. With every drag of him against her front wall she grows closer and closer and closer until her entire body seems to hang on an excruciating precipice. 

“Come on, Elide,” he entreats, his voice soft, rasping. “Come for me, darling girl, my perfect girl, my Elide.”

“Say that – say that again,” she gasps. “That I’m – that I’m – ”

“That you’re mine?” he asks, something darkening in his eyes as she nods. “You’re mine, Elide, you hear me? All – fucking – mine .”

She cries out, her voice breaking as the orgasm crashes over her, pleasure shooting through every limb, lighting up every single nerve ending. Elide has no idea what sort of noises she makes – all she can think about is the sensation of her muscles clenching around him, his finger on her clit. Lorcan kisses her through it, whispering praises and promises against her skin, sealing them with his tongue. 

Elide feels practically boneless as she sinks back into the mattress; she’s aware she’s lying pliant and limp beneath him, but Lorcan doesn’t seem to mind. 

“So fucking pretty, Elide – so perfect – I don’t deserve - you’re all…all I think about – just…just fucking…so fucking sweet …”

He murmurs to himself, almost unconsciously, as his thrusts grow sloppy, his rhythm hurried and uneven. 

“What do you need, Lorcan?” she asks, her voice raw from exertion. “Let me help you. What do you need from me?”

“Just…just…” He drops his head to rest his forehead against hers. “Just…say it for me.”

She smiles, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his lips. “I’m yours,” she says against his lips, feels him smile. 

“No, not that,” he breathes through his smile, and Elide understands. 

“Lorcan,” she says, dragging her nails across his scalp, making him moan open-mouthed against her lips. “ You’re mine .”

The sound that Lorcan makes sends shivers along Elide’s skin; she watches, eyes wide and breath held, as he throws his head back, stiffens, and comes with a moan that she hopes she’ll never forget. She gasps as she feels his come spurt inside of her, more and more until she can hear him move inside of her, the evidence of both of their pleasure making such obscene, wet sounds that she blushes, tries to raise her hands to cover her face. 

Before she can, Lorcan’s lips are on hers; as his thrusts slow to a stop, his tongue fucks her mouth like he’s trying to imitate what he just did to her cunt. She responds with a moan, winding her arms around his neck as his body begins to lose its tension, lowering part of his weight onto her. She hadn’t realized how much he’d been holding back, how much space he must have been rigidly maintaining between them until part of his body is resting on hers.  

He must sense the change in her breathing because he starts to pull away, reaching down between them like he’s about to slide out of her. 

The feel of him inside of her is still new, still unfamiliar but even having his softening cock inside of her is somehow comforting. She feels full, whole. 

“No, no, wait,” she says, grabbing the back of his neck in a move that is entirely too possessive – though, if his smirk is any indicator, Lorcan doesn’t seem to mind. “Don’t get up.”

“I’ll crush you,” he says, giving the corner of her mouth a peck. 

“I don’t mind,” she sighs, gazing up at him without even trying to hide her fondness. “I like…I like feeling close to you like this. Connected.” 

He raises a brow and she realizes the innuendo only after she’s said it. She rolls her eyes, but her cheeks heat all the same. 

“I just – I like it when you touch me,” she mumbles, forcing herself to look back at him, meet his eye. If she let him fuck her, let him tell her when to orgasm and proclaim herself as his, surely she can look him in the eyes whens he says something vulnerable. “And you don’t – don’t really touch me much. Usually.”

Elide half expects him to laugh, to make some joke about all of the touching they just did. Instead, that same soft look crosses his face and he stares at her for a moment before kissing her temple. “Well, trust me,” he says, “That’s going to change.”

“Promise?” she asks, unable to keep the hope out of her voice. 

He smiles, a broad, genuine smile that she has glimpsed only a handful of times, and says, “I promise, Elide.”

She leans up and kisses him, and this time it’s her tongue invading his mouth, and she’s sure she’s clumsy and inexperienced, but Lorcan takes it in stride, responding with the same hunger as the first time he kissed her. Apparently making her come twice wasn’t enough to satisfy him. He still kisses her like there’s something he’s trying to claim in her, or maybe say to her. 

I really don’t care what he’s trying to do , she thinks, blissful and warm and sleepy. As long as he doesn’t stop . 

So, of course, Lorcan – contrary, stubborn Lorcan – does just that. He stops. 

She whines as he pulls his lips from hers, eliciting a dark chuckle from him. Elide is vaguely aware that this will only feed into his arrogance. Every whine and purr and that she’s made tonight will surely be mercilessly mocked by him later, but she’s too sated and warm to care. 

From the way he strokes her cheek, she thinks he might be just as smitten. 

The thought is almost too ludicrous to consider, if not for those hazy promises he made in bed. 

“Where are you going?” she asks, lazily, jokingly, as he pulls away from their kiss. 

But then he’s pulling out of her altogether; the absence of him is enough to make her gasp, pressing her legs together as his come drips out of her. He stands, leaving her completely bereft. Elide covers her breasts as the cold air of the inn makes her nipples pebble, but they’re so sensitive after two orgasms that the feeling is more painful than pleasurable. 

Seeing Lorcan turn his back on her, walking away, is too much to bear with his come still on her thighs, the marks of his kisses already darkening her skin. 

This time, her tone is not the least bit joking when she says, “Where are you going?”

In fact, it might have been a little bit panicky, judging by the speed with which Lorcan turns around. 

His eyes are wide and almost hurt as he says, “I’m just going to get a towel. You didn’t think I wouldn’t clean you up, did you?”

Her cheeks heat as she nods, but Lorcan makes no comment. He simply turns and hurries to the small washroom attached to their room, returning quickly with a washrag soaked in water.

Realization dawns upon her when he returns, as naked as the day he was born and utterly unashamed, and sits on the side of the bed. She hadn’t understood what he’d meant by clean her up until she saw the damp cloth in his hand.

She feels dirty, with his come on her thighs and his hand between them, wiping gingerly at her core with his towel. But she knows if she says that she’ll be subjecting herself to another achingly sincere tirade in her defense, and she’s not sure if her heart can handle any more softness from Lorcan tonight.

Indeed, there is nothing but fondness on his face as he places a large hand on one of her thighs and gently pries them apart. 

“As if I could ever leave you,” he says under his breath. Elide is surprised for a moment before remembering her own panicked question. “As if I could ever want to leave you.”

Elide smiles, and she thinks, stunned, I don’t think I’ve ever been as happy as I am now. 

Lorcan looks up at her, away from his gentle ministrations at her core, with a slightly guilty look on his face. It’s not a look she’s ever seen before; Lorcan is not guilty over very much. “I should have asked,” he says, giving her core one last gentle swipe before looking up at her. “Before I came.”

“Why?” she asks, confused. Maybe this is some part of sex that’s unknown to her? Maybe she’s just revealing her naïveté. 

“Well,” he says, shifting uncomfortably. “You could – you could get pregnant. Fae are notorious for very poor fertility, but still. It could happen. And I should have asked. I was just – caught up…”

She laughs, surprising even herself. She sits up, painfully aware of her bare breasts but also certain that if she tries to cover them, Lorcan will scold her. She reaches forward, hesitating, and touches the side of his face when he doesn’t stop her. “It’s all right, Lorcan,” she says, smiling. “Don’t worry. One of the girls in the caravan told me about herbs you can take, to prevent pregnancy. I’ll find some tomorrow morning.”

“No you won’t,” Lorcan says, leaning forward until he’s only a few inches from her face. She resists the urge to lean away, intimidated by the confident smirk on his face. This time, though, she feels included in his arrogance somehow, like she’s a part of whatever teasing he’s about to do. 

“Oh?”

“ I will,” he says, reaching up to tuck a rogue lock of hair behind her ear. “You have a lot to learn about possessive Fae male behavior, Elide.”

“I do?”

“Oh, yes,” he says, nodding sagely. 

“Such as?”

“Well,” he says, cocking his head in mock concentration. “You’ll never have to open another door or pull out another chair if you so choose.”

“Sounds lovely.”

“I will be carrying you far more than I currently do,” he says, fixing her with a teasing glare. “Something I’ve been wanting to do for a while, actually.”

“Really?” she says, genuine in her surprise. 

“Yes,” he says, seeming almost affronted at the shock in her voice. “I know this travel hurts you more than you act, Elide.”

She blushes at being called out, but not willing yet to admit the truth to him. 

“What else?” she says. 

“You never have to worry about another seedy barman grabbing your ass again, I promise you that.”

She laughs, thinking about the time a few weeks ago that a tavern owner had made the mistake of pinching her ass cheek - and quickly found himself thrown out of his own window. 

“Oh, I don’t worry about that,” she says, making him smile. “I think you’ve already made your stance clear on that.”

“Well, now I can be possessive openly ,” he says, drawing a finger up her arm. “I’m quite looking forward to it.”

“Is that all?” 

“I’ll badger you much more about how much you eat,” he says. “Don’t be surprised if I feed you by hand.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me,” he says, a dangerous glint in his eye. “I only wish I had more than tavern fare to offer you. One day, I’ll take you to Doranelle, and you can drink spiced wine and eat sweet venison.”

The wistful look in his eye and the way he reaches forward to hold her hand – such a fond, simple gesture between two naked adults – almost has her in tears. And, of course, there’s the implication of his words. 

“So,” she says, her voice wavering. “You mean that this is – this is real?”

His brows knit together in concern at the tremor in her voice, and he swipes his thumb over the back of her hand. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she says, taking a deep, calming breath, “That this isn’t just for tonight? It’s not just - just sex between friends? That you – that you care for…for…”

Elide looks away, her bottom lip quivering. Why does this have to happen now ? She thinks bitterly. 

But then Lorcan’s fingers are on her chin, lifting her face up to meet his. 

“Are you asking if I care for you?” he asks softly, devastation in his voice. “Elide. I don’t know how to make it any more clear.”

“No, it’s not your fault,” she says, taking his other hand in both of hers. “It’s just – you’re much more experienced with this than I am. And for me…for me, sex will always be a big deal. But I would understand if for you, this was just…casual fun. I don’t want you to feel any…any sort of obligation towards me – ”

“Of course I feel an obligation towards you!” he says, almost sharply. “An obligation to keep you safe when you’re afraid and warm when you’re cold; to feed you when you’re hungry and bring you water when you’re thirsty. I feel an obligation to ease your pain and cause your happiness.”

She swallows the lump in her throat, but her eyes burn with unshed tears. Never in her life has someone said something so sweet, so earnest. 

“Elide,” he says firmly. “I’m not asking you to make any commitment to me. I know that our futures, our goals are…not the same. But for as long as we’re together, I’ll take care of you. I’ll care for you always. Do you understand? You’re – you’re special to me. You’re perfect to me and not just – not just physically.” He takes his hand from her to frame her face in his palms, his dark eyes boring into her. “Elide, this isn’t just for tonight. Not for me.”

She nods, a stray tear trailing down her cheek. With heartbreaking gentleness, Lorcan wipes it away with a thumb. 

“What is this for you?” he asks softly. “Give me any answer and I’ll be all right, Elide. You owe me nothing.”

“I meant what I said,” she answers. “I’ve wanted this for a long time. I’ve wanted you for a long time. Not just tonight.”

He smiles, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “Then why are you so nervous?”

“Nervous?”

“Your hands are shaking, darling,” he says with a grin. 

“I just…” She shakes her hand. Damn him and his perceptiveness . “I don’t know how to do this . Sex and – and being with someone.”

“Elide,” he says gently. “We’re still us – just like we’ve always been. It’s just me. Just Lorcan.”

She flashes him a small smile, reaching up to cup his jaw in her palm. “ My Lorcan?” she says, cautious, hopeful. 

His smile is blinding as he leans forward to kiss her, sweetly and fondly and chastely. When he pulls away, he nods. “Yes,” he whispers. “Your Lorcan.”

Elide grins, nothing cautious about her smile now, but before she can respond, she yawns. 

When she opens her eyes, Lorcan is already fussing – reaching down to grab his shirt where he discarded it on the floor between their beds, trying to force the blanket up over her legs. 

“Lorcan, I’m not tired,” she laughs. 

Her protest isn’t enough to stop him, though, as he sternly tells her, “Arms up.”

She obeys, mostly because she really is tired and partly because there’s something about doing what he tells her that sends a flutter of excitement to her stomach. He threads her arms through the sleeves of his shirt like she’s a child, making a point to ruffle her hair as he forces her head through the shirt. 

When she meets his eyes, she’s surprised to find an odd look on his face. 

She looks down at his shirt, pooling around her hips. “Bit too big for me,” she says with a laugh, lifting her arms to make the inches of loose fabric hanging past her hands sway. 

“Yeah,” he rasps, his eyes still trained on her like she’s something he’s planning to devour. 

“You like seeing me in your clothes, Lorcan?” she says, pitching her voice low. 

He meets her gaze with a burning intensity, shaking his head. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, Elide.”

“Who says I can’t – can’t…” But another yawn overtakes her words. Lorcan laughs at the rueful look on her face as he picks up her ankles and forces her legs under the sheets. She pretends to resist and quickly surrenders when his hands skim up the sides of her legs to his sides, tickling her with disturbing precision. 

“Fine,” she says, burrowing into the mattress. “But be prepared for a sneak attack in the near future.”      

“I’m not ticklish,” he says with a smirk, standing. Her cheeks heat at the sight of his unashamed nakedness, but if Lorcan notices her flustered state he’s too gracious to show it. 

“We’ll see about that,” she says, tracking his progress through the room, watching as he pulls on his pants and approaches the beds. He stops between them, glancing between hers and his. “Where are you going to sleep?” she asks, trying to keep her voice calm, self-assured.

He looks at her, his gaze steady though she sees his fingers tapping out a nervous pattern on his thigh. “Where do you want me to sleep?”

She senses a gauntlet being thrown at her feet. Lorcan, after all, is a man of action, not words. She told him she cares for him, that she wants him and not just in the bedroom – but Lorcan needs to see if she means it. 

Elide smiles, pleased that she knows him so well, and grabs the corner of the blanket and pulls it down, revealing the empty mattress next to her. 

“It’ll be a tight fit,” he says through a crooked grin. 

“I think we can manage,” she says. 

She closes her eyes, trying to remember this moment, as he slips beneath the sheets behind her. His movements are tentative, careful as he wraps himself around her, draping one arm over her waist and gently slipping the other beneath her head. Elide can’t help but sigh as the warmth of him leeches into her, settling back against him until his chest is flush against her back. His arms tighten around her, pulling her close.  

“Lorcan,” she says after a moment, listening to his steady breaths. “Will you stay?”

It’s a simple question, but she knows that Lorcan understands her enough to hear the meaning beneath it. 

Lorcan is the antithesis to the life she’s led before: lonely and hollow, empty of care or love or compassion. If she’s going to lose him, if he’s going to leave…She can’t even bear to think about it.

“As long as you’ll have me,” he says, pressing his lips to the top of her head.

“Forever, then,” she says, grinning against the pillow. 

She feels his smile against her hair. He pulls her even closer and whispers, “Sleep, Elide. You’re safe.”

She closes her eyes and is quickly lulled to sleep by the steady rhythm of his breath, feeling safer in his arms than she’s felt in ten years. Elide falls asleep with a smile on her face and, for the first night in her memory, has not one nightmare. 

Lorcan stays awake. 

It’s not that he’s not tired – he is; sated and warm and almost giddy. 

It’s not that he’s uncomfortable – he hasn’t been this comfortable since he left Doranelle, and maybe even not then.

It’s not even that he feels the need to keep watch. 

Lorcan stays awake because he wants to memorize the way the moonlight catches on her raven hair, the way her tiny body feels within the circle of his arms, the scent of both of their pleasure mixed, perfuming the air and the sheets and their skin. He wants to know that she’s safe and warm and happy. He wants to pretend that this could be his life – holding Elide every night, waking with her every morning, laughing and talking with her every day. 

He remembers her words, ringing through his mind over and over again: You’re mine. You’re mine. You’re mine . 

“I’m yours,” he whispers, his voice barely a breath in the quiet room, and kisses her hair. 

It’s not a blood oath, but it’s as good as. Eventually, Lorcan fades asleep, content in the knowledge that, for the first time in centuries, that he belongs to a woman worthy not of fear and hate, but love. So much love.