Chapter 8: Scorching, Relentless Heat

Lorraine broke away from Leroy’s shadowed gaze, her heart splintering beneath his silence. What had she dreamed of? Her husband never learned her sign language. What would he understand? He never sought her words on parchment. If he valued her soul, he would have reached across their chasm. Yet he hadn’t. His indifference, sharpened by his cruel words, sliced deeper with each rejection. How long must she bleed before her heart accepted his indifference? She dabbed her hair with a towel, the damp strands clinging to her chilled, trembling skin. The icy bath and water in her lungs left her craving heat, a fire, to thaw her bones. Pride silenced her plea for help. Her hair would dry slowly, coiling in the cold, but she endured. Drained, she curled onto the bed’s farthest edge, her back to him, tugging the blanket to her lips. Her body quaked, her spirit heavier than stone. Why did he linger in her chambers? Was he staging a lie, feigning a shared night? Let him. It wasn’t new. She shut her eyes, exhaustion pulling her into sleep’s embrace. A whisper of touch stirred her awake. Leroy was drying her hair, his fingers gliding with a reverence that stole her breath. Strand by strand, he pressed the towel softly, as if her locks were woven of starlight. Heat bloomed across her scalp, easing the chill that gripped her. Too weary to analyze his motives, Lorraine surrendered to the warmth, not having the courage to spin hopes from his fleeting care. Sleep reclaimed her. She didn’t know how much time passed, but the cold vanished, replaced by a molten heat against her neck. Her eyes fluttered open, to realize that her body was cocooned in Leroy’s arms. His bare chest molded to her back, his unlaced shirt revealing corded muscle, taut and warm against her back. His hand slipped beneath her nightgown, pressed possessively across her abdomen, fingers grazing the sensitive curve below her navel. His lips teased the arc of her neck, a slow, deliberate caress. A single candle flickered, its golden glow weaving an erotic spell, shadows swaying across their entwined forms. He paused, sensing her quickened pulse. His nose brushed the faint wound on her neck, left by her snapped necklace. His silken hair grazed her cheek, igniting a pulse deep within her. She held her breath, her body taut with a hunger she couldn’t name. His tongue traced the wound, a languid, deliberate lick that sent a shockwave of pleasure through her. The faint sting fused with a warmth that seared her core, liquid desire pooling low in her belly. Her fingers dug into the sheets, resisting the urge to press herself against him. His lips lingered, trailing sultry kisses up her neck, each one a spark that set her skin ablaze. His hand roamed higher, fingers teasing the soft skin beneath her breasts, kindling a fire that threatened to consume her. A soft sigh slipped free, her grip tightening as her body arched, craving more. His kisses climbed to her jaw, his fingers brushing the swell of her breast, circling the edge of her peak with maddening restraint. His heat enveloped her, scorching and relentless, unraveling her defenses. She tilted her head toward him, and his lips claimed hers, fierce and ravenous, a clash of pent-up desire. His hand cupped her breast, thumb grazing her nipple, sending a shudder through her. She clutched the sheets, desperate for his fire, his claim. She rolled to her back as the kiss deepened, his tongue delving past her lips, exploring with a primal hunger. Their past kisses were chaste, fleeting. This was raw, a dance of need that devoured her senses. Her hands roamed his face, tracing the sharp angles of the man she’d loved in silence. Her husband, hers to touch. Hers to love. His tongue brushed the roof of her mouth, hitting a sensitive spot. Her back arched, and a moan slipped out, soft and erotic, a sound she’d never made. A sound Leroy had never heard. Her voice, locked away for years, betrayed her secret in a single breath. He froze. Lorraine’s pulse thundered, desire clashing with dread. She didn’t even realize that she had made such a provocative sound when her husband believed her to be mute. Her yearning heart only dreaded one thing. Five years ago, a moment like this had faltered, cut short by his retreat. Was he stopping now? She didn’t want him to. She burned for the forbidden intimacy they’d been denied for ten years, her body alight with need. In the candle’s dim glow, she studied his face. No scars marred his features, only the reddish birthmark on his cheekbone, a mark she cherished. She’d thought his masks hid it, a shield for his pride. Her finger traced it, tender and reverent. Slowly, she reached for his braid and ran her fingers down the length. So long... Unable to hold back, she twisted his braid around her finger. There was something about having the greatest warrior of their time, who had won countless battles on top of her, all handsome and... hers, at the moment. Their breaths mingled, lips a whisper apart. His eyes locked on hers, fierce yet guarded. In Vaeloria, noblewomen were bound by rigid codes: to initiate intimacy was unthinkable, a scandal that stripped her honor and demeaned his manhood. A lady of her birth should wait, yielding to her husband’s lead. To act was to risk scorn, to brand herself wanton in the court’s eyes. It was considered grounds for divorce because such acts were reserved for courtesans and ladies of the night, not women of aristocratic lineage. Yet, a reckless courage surged within her, born of thirteen years of unspoken love and the courage given by the tasteful darkness. She pulled his braid and kissed him, pressing herself upward, claiming him with a boldness that shattered every rule she’d been taught. The fire between them roared, undimmed by her moan or her defiance. Leroy didn’t pull away. His hand slid beneath her back, lifting her against him, his lips devouring hers with a fervor that matched her own. His hips pressed to hers, the hard, pulsing evidence of his desire igniting a thrill that coursed through her veins. She gasped into his kiss, her fingers tangling in his hair, urging him closer. Her nightgown rode higher, baring her thighs to his touch, each brush of his skin against hers a spark in the gathering inferno. Was this the night? Would they finally consummate their marriage, sealing a bond weakened by years of distance? Her heart soared, entwined with fear and hope, as the candle’s flicker danced across their fevered embrace.