Luckily, he smiled at her when he walked in but went directly to the bathroom. She had time to turn out her light, turn on his, put her book aside and get in a sleeping position before he walked out, naked and heading to bed.
She told herself he didn’t hear her sucking in her breath at the beauty of his naked body (but she didn’t believe herself) and this was proved false anyway when he grinned at her knowingly.
Once in bed, he immediately, and adeptly (totally ignoring her painstakingly crafted sleeping position), slid her closer to him, rolled her to her belly then to her side, avoiding her back and pulled her to him, face-to-face.
Then his hands started roaming.
She tucked her face in his throat and bit her lip because his hands on her felt way too nice and she missed them.
Way too much.
“Sonia, baby doll, do you want to play?” he asked softly.
She shook her head.
“I’ll be gentle, little one.”
She loved it when he was gentle almost as much as she loved it when he was rough.
“I’m in a little pain. The pills aren’t working as well as they used to,” she lied for she felt okay. The pain was mostly a twinge by then and the wounds had started itching, indicating they were healing.
“All right, honey,” he murmured but his hands still roamed, though they’d slowed and the caresses felt soothing rather than exciting.
Then he asked, “Do you want to talk?”
“About what?” she asked back and her voice sounded higher than normal.
His hand slid up her arm, his fingers curled in at her neck then her jaw and they tipped up her chin so she was forced to look at him.
“About anything,” he replied.
“Not really,” she told him.
His brows drew together and he commented, “A good deal has happened to you. With me, my family, my people, moving, finding out about Gregor and Yuri, meeting Lucien and Leah. Are you okay with all of that?”
God, he’d be sweet if he wasn’t such a jerk.
“I’m coping,” she told him and when he looked like he didn’t believe her, she went on. “I mean, it’s so much, you get used to your world rocking under your feet every few days. If Frankenstein walked through that door right now and asked if we wanted to go to a barbeque at his house tomorrow, I probably wouldn’t even blink.”
He burst out laughing and wrapped his arms around her, low at her waist to avoid her injury, falling to his back and taking her with him so she was on top.
She planted her forearms in his massive chest and lifted up to watch him laugh.
She told herself it was clinically (when it was not) that she noted he was unbelievably handsome when he laughed and therefore, since she was like a scientist observing nature, she could watch him do it.
When he got control of himself, he informed her, “There is no such thing as Frankenstein.”
“I trust you.” And that wasn’t a total lie.
She didn’t trust him, trust him but she trusted, with his statement, he was telling the truth and he, of all people, would know.
“Would you go?” he asked.
“What?” she asked back.
He grinned. “To a barbeque at Frankenstein’s house.”
“I don’t know,” she answered. “What do Frankensteins serve at barbeques?”
He roared with laughter again and, with a hand cupping the back of her head, he forced her down so her arms had to slide out and around him and he pressed her face into his neck.
Then he took her hair in his big fist and wrapped it into a rope again, coiling it around his palm.
“I fucking love your hair,” he murmured and she forced her body to stay relaxed.
Because that was a lie. He hated blondes.
That was, supposedly, until recently.
“I was thinking of cutting it,” she lied yet again just to be mean.
His fist tightened in her hair and he decreed, “I’ll not allow that.”
She bit back a, “Yes, your grace,” and stayed silent.
He used her own hair to rub against her jaw when he whispered, “Are you happy, little one?”
It was an odd, endearing and unbelievably poignant question and, furthermore, he sounded like he cared about her answer.
She felt the sting of tears in her sinuses again but with effort, she controlled them.
Then she sighed and stated, “Well, I guess a girl could do better than a fairytale castle in a beautiful wood with a handsome wolf as her husband who happens to be king, making her queen of a kind and loving people who think good things about her… but I don’t know how.”
Except, of course, having that king love his queen beyond anything in the whole world, like Lucien loved Leah and like Regan loved Mac and like Mara loved Drogan.
Or like Sonia’s father loved her mother.