Chapter 12: Tonight Isn't Forgiveness

I walked into the Blackpine pavilion at midnight, exactly as I'd said.

Two guards at the flap looked at my face and stepped aside without a word.

Inside, one lamp burned.

Ronan sat on the edge of a camp bed in his shirtsleeves, with his arm in the sling.

He stood up when I came in.

He did not come toward me.

"Tonight isn't forgiveness," I said.

"I know."

"I don't want a speech, and I don't want you to be gentle with me.

"I want to stop thinking."

"Then I'll take tonight as what it is," he said.

His voice had gone rough.

I crossed the rug and put both hands flat on his chest.

His heart was slamming under my palms.

"Lie down," I said.

He lay down.

I stood over him and took off my dress, slowly, and watched his face while I did it.

He watched me like a starving man watches bread.

When I was bare, I knelt on the bed and unbuttoned his shirt one button at a time.

The bandage over his shoulder was clean and white.

I put my mouth beside it, not on it, and felt him shudder.

"Eira."

"Don't talk."

I kissed his throat.

I kissed the hard line of his collarbone, and the scar over his ribs that had not been there three years ago.

I pushed his trousers down his hips.

His cock sprang free, thick and flushed and already wet at the tip, and I wrapped my hand around it.

He made a sound I had never heard from any man, a broken, helpless groan.

His good hand fisted in the blanket.

"Three years," he said, through his teeth.

"I know."

"I'll come if you keep..."

"Then come."

I stroked him slowly, root to tip, and watched his hips lift off the bed.

I was already soaked.

I had been soaked since the courtyard.

He had stood behind me in the dark and said I'd know exactly what I was getting.

I straddled him and held him against me, and felt the heat of him sliding through my wetness.

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