She pressed her lips together. That was not the answer she wanted, but his reticence was not unexpected. “I am glad of that,” she told him truthfully. “But if you were certain of... of your welcome...” she glanced at him, saw the way his eyes flickered with... something as he stared intently at her mouth.
She swallowed. “Would you want me?”
“Yes,” he answered easily, his voice a rasp as if the response was visceral rather than intended. He seemed to realise he had spoken for he looked almost panicked as he glanced back up at her, and she could see the apologies ready to pour forth.
She didn’t need them. Didn’t want them.
She didn’t know if it was courage or foolishness, and she didn’t particularly care.
She leaned forward again, pressing her mouth to his, trying to show him all that she felt, all that she hoped for between them, so different from anything she had experienced before.
In that, she could be confident.
Being with Olivar would be different. In every way. Perhaps the act would bear some small resemblance, but the way her heart pounded, not in fear but in a lonesome ache for closeness...
It assured her that she did not have to fear him. Fear this.
“I want you too,” she admitted when at last she pulled away, her fingers skimming at his jaw, his cheekbones, the last tinges of green upon his ears. “Truly.”
She didn’t know if she should, if perhaps it would be wiser to take more time, to pretend she felt less than she did as she waited to learn more of his people, of her new place amongst them.
Except she would rather learn while calling Olivar her husband.
When she could approach his people—her new people—with the full assurance that she belonged.
“How do we marry?” she asked him again, hoping this time he would give a proper answer.
His forehead found hers as he fought for breath, though he still placed another, more chaste kiss upon her lips before he found some semblance of composure. “It began when I showed you all that I possess,” he said in answer, his fingers skimming down the length of her bared arm. The sensation made her shiver. “For some that portion takes longer, like for poor Bendan with Alindra. But the ceremony continues once the woman accepts.” He smiled at that, as if what had so recently transpired was already a treasured remembrance. “When you accepted.” She smiled too, because how could she not when he was obviously so pleased? “Then there is the sealing, followed by the announcement.”
Ness cocked her head to the side. “What’s a sealing?” The word meant nothing to her, but he used it as if it should hold some significance.
Olivar shifted under her, clearly uncomfortable with the answer. She couldn’t imagine why, especially not when they had already discussed so much.
“Traditionally,” he began slowly, evidently choosing his words with care. “It is when... when a couple...” he glanced at her, the green returning to his ears. “They couple,” he finished at last. Ness frowned, wondering why he felt the need to stutter over something they had just been discussing.
“Yes?” she prompted, still waiting to hear the dreadful part.
He huffed, his fingers smoothing over his forehead as if trying to rub away some strain. “I would marry you without that, Ness,” he clarified at last, dropping his hand so he could look at her properly. “The announcement follows, when we would go before the others and tell them of our marriage. It... it would be enough simply that I had offered and you accepted. None would question the rest of it.”
She relaxed at that. Not because she intended to accept his offer to lie—for even if it stemmed merely from omission, the masters would most certainly have viewed that as an untruth—but because she recognised the source of his anxiety.
“Olivar,” she soothed, still feeling a quick pattering of intimacy when she was able to speak his name without a title. “You don’t have to worry about that,” she insisted. “I know the difference between... my before... and what it would mean to be with you. And I know you expect nothing of me,” she hastened to add when he opened his mouth, likely to offer another unnecessary assurance. “But... but I am glad that you... you would like that with me.”
Her cheeks flared with colour, and it took every bit of courage to maintain eye contact with him. “Because I would like it with you.”
“You would?” he choked out, his voice low but raspy, almost as if his mouth had grown dry. She wondered if she should fetch him some water.
She bit her lip, still finding it unbelievable that this had become her truth. But it had, and there was no point in denying it. Especially not with him. “I love you,” she answered simply. Her heart pounded, her hands were clammy, but those words were as great a truth as she could give him, and they held all the hope she had for their future. “And if... if being together can be... be something good...”
“It can,” Olivar assured her, the hand about her waist gripping at her. Not hard, certainly not enough to hurt, but a subtle showing of his enthusiasm. She bit her lip a little harder to keep from smiling. “And it would be,” he promised her. “I... I cannot...” The green leeched down his neck, and she had to quiet her desire to lean forward and press a kiss to his flesh, the visible marker of everything he felt. “I have not done it before,” he confessed, as if revealing a very great secret. “But I do know some of what to do.”
She had not thought of that, of what his history might be with other women. He was looking at her as if waiting for some pronouncement from her, some reaction to his confession, but she did not know what answer he sought. She found herself pleased that she would not accidently meet another that had shared such intimacies with him, but she had not given it enough thought to have cared even if he had.
None had claim to him now, regardless. Just her. As impossible as that still seemed.
“I wish I could tell you the same,” she answered, finding that the only honest thing she could supply.
He looked at her sadly, touching her cheek softly. “As do I,” he agreed. “Not because I...” he shook his head, trying to find the words that she already knew were coming. “Only because I would spare you any pain,” he clarified, just as she knew he would.
She smiled at him, for there was nothing else for her to say or do. Her past could not be changed. No amount of wishing could undo what had been done to her, what she had been forced to endure in the name of survival.
But sitting here with him, with their imminent sealing before them...
It did not make it all right. Nothing could do that.
But the pain of it lessened all the same. Which was much more than she had ever expected.
“I know you would,” she assured him, enjoying the way his thumb felt against the skin of her cheek. It made her want to kiss him, made her want to hide away in his arms. Never did she think she could desire touch so much. Desire him so much.
But she did. And that was quite all right.
He hadn’t been shocked seeing that Arterian healer and his wife. Hadn’t thought anything strange about their marriage, about the child that was growing from it.
And he did not seem to believe his people would either.
And as she had learned with most things, Olivar’s judgement was much more reliable than her own.
“Because I love you,” Olivar continued, leaning forward, not enough to kiss, not yet, but the anticipation lingered. “Most dearly,” he insisted, brushing his lips so very softly against hers. Once. Twice. But when she pressed forward for the third, he withdrew, his expression almost grave. “You will be mine? Truly? Because... because you love me, and for no other reason?”
She took his hand in hers, feeling the need hold him in turn, and she clutched it to her as best she could with her good hand, her bandaged one settling against his cheek as she stared at him, willing him to see her sincerity. “For no other reason,” she confirmed.
There were practicalities, to be sure. A life of nothingness made it nearly impossible for
her not to appreciate the benefits. But he had offered those freely regardless of her status as his wife. She would have a bed, would have food to eat, would have clothes to wear—some his, some hers.
It wasn’t even to prevent him from wedding someone else, though that was certainly an encouragement toward doing it.
“I want it because I want you,” she told him truthfully. “All of you. Because I love you and... and I did not think I would ever have that. Or even... be loved.” She grimaced, if just a little. “Didn’t really occur to me to even want that until you.”
She hoped that was enough because she did not know how to better explain it. Doubt was a terrible thing, and if he still carried some...
Then perhaps now wasn’t the time to complete their wedding.
The thought made her much sadder than she thought was reasonable. She should be patient, should be content with whatever he needed, but there was that longing deep within her that had swelled with the possibility of more, and it was difficult to accept that there would be more waiting.
If it was even to happen at all.
But then he was kissing her again, his lips a bit more fervent, his hands holding her so close it was almost as if he was hoping she could simply meld into his skin.
She did not mind. Not when this was precisely where she wished to be most.
He withdrew, just enough that he could whisper out his entreaty. “Come with me?” he asked, his eyes flitting to the door of the bedroom. Her heart raced just to think of it.
He did not mean for rest, his eyes betrayed him on that, and excitement and nervousness overtook her in equal portion.
She nodded, because the ability for words seemed very far away, and she was grateful that he did not make her walk.
She closed her eyes, pushing away the memories of those long walks full of dread as a master led to her a low cot and told her to submit.
This wasn’t like that, she told herself.
There was want here, and anticipation, and her nervousness was natural. She did not have to hide from Olivar, hide her worries, hide any pain. She could be open, even if it meant disappointment for the both of them and that was perhaps the greatest comfort.
“What are you thinking about?” he enquired as he walked through the doorway, pushing the door shut as they passed. She was grateful for the additional privacy. She doubted any would enter without permission, but this... she did not want it watched. It was for them, for her and Olivar, and that was all.
“This is so different,” she said at last, choosing to be honest with him rather than tuck away her thoughts and pretend they had never been. “From... before,” she clarified.
He stiffened at that, if just a little, and he eyed her carefully. “I should hope so.” His expression clouded. “But... you will tell me if something is wrong? If... if you are frightened, or uncomfortable, or...” his unease was mounting as the pleasantness of a few moments ago was replaced with his mistrust. Not in her, not exactly, but that she had not grown enough that she would speak out if she was troubled, if she hurt.
“Olivar,” she stated firmly, halting his growing distress. “This...” she swallowed, still finding it difficult to talk about such intimacies. She did not know why it should bother her, especially not when she was so willing to actually indulge in them. But that did not change what was. “This is shared, yes? Is... is for both of us?”
Olivar breathed out deeply, calming somewhat. “Yes,” he confirmed just as resolutely.
“You would never wish to hurt me,” she reminded him—a truth she had first accepted from him. “I will not let it begin now. Not with my silence.”
He leaned down, nuzzling his face into her neck. “You have my thanks,” he murmured in obvious relief.
Perhaps his concern that he might cause her discomfort should trouble her more. But it didn’t. Not when the mere prospect of it was so upsetting to him. She trusted him, even if he did not fully trust himself, and that made all the difference.
“Are we to do it standing up?” she asked him, a hint of teasing in her voice. She did not know if such a thing was even possible—found it rather doubtful, and belatedly realised she was likely exposing her own ignorance on the subject—but she felt him smile against her neck, felt him adjust his hold in as close to a hug as he could manage given their positions.
“If you would like,” he answered cheekily. “Though that seems rather ambitious for our first endeavour.”
She hummed in agreement, smoothing her fingers through his hair. He released a shuddering breath as she toyed with the shorter ends near his neck, her fingertips brushing against bits of flesh as she explored.
His grip on her tightened, and something in her flared anew. She had pleased him, even in something so simple. And that should not make her want to preen, yet it did.
She enjoyed their kisses, enjoyed the way it felt when his hand slipped down her side, skimming over her small breast just briefly, hesitating there as if he would like to linger but did not yet dare.
She did not know why he wanted to—they were for milk and little else—but his reticence troubled her. She wanted him to feel free to touch her... to be with her. So when he made to move toward her waist, to settle there with the other, she caught it, feeling a little sheepish, a little brave, as she brought it back to where he seemed to want to feel.
His breath caught, and she couldn’t imagine why, but there was that knowing that he was pleased that swelled again, and it gave her all the assurance that she had done rightly. “You can touch,” she assured him, her voice a whisper. She did not know why she felt it important not to speak too loudly, but it was if anything too loud might be too distracting, might draw them into too deep a conversation rather than... than what she wanted them to do.
His large fingers dwarfed her frame, they always had, and that did not change now. But there was a reverence in his touch that made her feel safe, made her feel like something beautiful, a strange but wonderful change to what she had known.
He swallowed again, glancing up at her with a reserved sort of longing. “Would you... that is to say... would it be too much to ask you.... for both of us... to undress?”
She had been ordered to strip many times, and rarely had it made her feel anything at all. A dull sort of embarrassment, perhaps, but that was dwarfed by her concern over whatever the master was actually asking her to do.
With Olivar, she had to fight down the smile that wanted to escape, already remembering how shocked he had been when he had first seen her naked form. She hadn’t known better then, hadn’t known that he intended that to be shared.
Her heart beat a little faster just at the prospect of it. Not from fear—she wasn’t afraid of being naked, despite everything. The masters had taught that their bodies were something to derided, for they showed the weakness of her kind compared to the strength of the hard-plated forms of the Narada.
But Olivar had never seemed to find anything displeasing about her body, except when it bore hurts, vibrant purples and greens from when she’d first come, or the angry pinks from her burn.
And when she thought of him without clothes...
That did make her cheeks burn.
She could not quite force an answer out, not when she was busy thinking about what Olivar would look like without his tunic and lowers, and as she plucked off her own clothing, she found her eyes straying over toward him as he followed suit, obviously taking her action for the consent it was meant to be.
He was so strong. She’d known that from simply the ease in which he had rowed the boat through the water, from the way he could lift and swing the hammer at the forge. She had seen his arms plenty of times, most of his tunics lacking any sort of sleeve that would hinder her gaze. At first she had found it intimating, the constant reminder that he was so much stronger than she.
But now... when he was undressing for her, for... for them, she found that she liked this looking. Liked how obvious it was that he could protect her.
So distracted was she at looking at his form, she quite forgot that she had already shed her own clothes. She remembered when at last she glanced up at his eyes and found them fixated on her body, his eyes drifting and halting, as if each part mesmerised him in turn.
It should have embarrassed her, to be studied so. It should have made her want to bury herself under the blankets until she could shyly ask him to join her.
But she wasn’t. So she didn’t.
And instead bit her lip and reached for him, suddenly wondering what it would be like to feel skin on skin.
She’d never had that before. Not ever.
There had been the uncomfortable rasp of too-rough cloth against sensitive flesh, of a hasty joining that was full of pain and choked tears.
Nothing like this.
Olivar submitted readily enough, coming to her and folding her into his arms, her bared breasts crushed against his own firm chest. They remained that way for a little while, his warmth settling through to her very bones, a delicious creeping that made her place kisses absently on whatever skin she could reach without moving from the pleasant spot entangled in his arms.
“Ness,” he said at last, her name coming out almost in a groan. “Can I...”
She did not know what he was asking of her and she looked up perplexedly. He did not finish the thought, his hands coming to her shoulders and urging gently.
She swallowed, finally realising his intention. He wanted her to lie back, for him to have room to join her on the bed...
Perhaps even be on top of her.
The first bit of hesitance overcame her, even as she tried to push it back. There wasn’t need for it, not here, but still it came, and she bit harshly at her lip, warring with herself. “Ness?” Olivar asked, this time his voice more concerned than full of entreaty. “Are you well?”
She nodded, even before she was entirely certain, and Olivar’s eyes narrowed. He did not appear angry, but she knew well that unless she was clear, his suspicions would soon spoil what could be so sweet between them.
“I... Is it always where I must be on my back?” she finally forced out, wanting to assuage his concern but uncertain how else to phrase it. She did not know much of the logistics, but if there was perhaps a chance that it might be done differently, she would like to know of it.
Thrall (Deridia Book 3) Page 33
