Part 37 (2/2)
”Is it in the book of rules, then?”
”Oh, there's no official pamphlet, or anything of that sort, if that's what you're wondering. But all manner of things fall under the rubric of s.e.x. If it can be imagined, someone has likely tried it and enjoyed it. Or died trying.”
”Really?”
”Really.”
”You're not jesting.”
”As enjoyable as it would be to tease you, no. I'm far too replete to make anything up at this point.”
”I like everything we've done so far.”
”Good G.o.d, so have I.” He stretched languorously, like a cat, his words a contented slur.
She leaned forward and with her teeth, very delicately, nipped at his chest, and his hand went up to cup the back of her head, his fingers threading through her hair, which was already nearly dry.
”Nice,” he murmured.
”You are beautiful, too,” she whispered.
”Shh,” he said rudely and sleepily, but she didn't mind.
He yawned mightily and looped his arm around her and pulled her into his body as he drifted off to sleep, as if she were the only thing anchoring him to earth, and he wanted to bring her with him into his dreams.
She followed him there moments later.
SHE STIRRED FROM a nap because the sun had traveled and was now beaming down on her bare belly.
She tilted her head.
And her heart skipped.
For there he was. Those eyes of his, and his increasingly bewhiskered face. Gazing warmly at her.
So like she'd imagined that day in Tingle's Bookshop years ago.
He reached for her hand and twiddled her fingers idly.
”What time is it?” she asked sleepily.
”Does it matter?” He sounded genuinely surprised.
His voice had that lovely fresh out of sleep rasp.
”No,” she said, and stretched, pointing her toes.
Her leg was pressed against his hard furred one.
He was gazing at her with something like bemused awe.
She was basking in his admiration, feeling beautiful, until he said: ”I had no idea your hair was so . . . enormous.”
”I . . . what?” She clapped her hands to her head.
”It's gone very fluffy and tall and just vast. You could wear it into battle proudly and terrify your enemies.”
She couldn't stop laughing. ”Hus.h.!.+” She smoothed it down frantically.
Her body was deliciously sore in so many places, but she now recognized an unfamiliar feeling about her rib cage, too.
It was from laughing until she ached.
She didn't think she'd done that since . . .
Since the last time she'd laughed until she ached with Lyon.
”It's splendid hair. Truly. It's very interesting.” He captured it for her, skeined it around his hand idly. ”And soft. Well done, growing such hair.”
He was relentless, and now she was laughing helplessly.
”Here, have it back.”
He unspooled her hair from his hand, and casually draped it instead across her face.
She pushed it away.
”Said the man who has a good deal more hair than he needs on his face at the moment. Not to mention a queue. As if you were a pirate.”
Her second strategic use of the word that day.
Something flickered in his eyes then. He casually rolled away from her onto his back and looked thoughtfully up at the sky, hands folded behind his head.
Her heart gave a little lurch.
Lyon had something on his conscience. And she suspected she knew what it was.
”Would you like me to shave?” he said finally.
”Would you do it?”
”Of course. Tell me what else you'd like me to do for you. Or to you.”
”Surprise me.”
”Don't I always?” he murmured.
<script>