**THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS ADULT SITUATIONS AT THE END**
Lapis did not consciously leave the room, but Patch bowling into her knocked her out of her daze. He settled his hands on her shoulders and guided her to a plain stairway and down a cross-corridor with stripped walls, which ended at a beautifully shined, red-stained door. She entered, registering a comfortable reddish-brown atmosphere, dark carpets and drapes, scrolled furniture that looked a couple of hundred years old, and a sparseness in décor she associated with her partner.
“Why did she give me this?” she whispered. Patch slipped his arms down and hugged her tightly about the waist.
“She sells clothes for special occasions,” he replied quietly. “Apparently, for occasions a bit more special than I assumed.”
“She’s going to use us to market this stuff.” Lapis buried her face in her hand as embarrassment and hot distress fought for supremacy in her chest.
“Yeah.” He pressed his nose into the back of her head, nuzzled his way to her ear, then slipped his lips across her cheek.
“You blushed, too.”
His face heated against hers. “Maybe.”
“Well, hopefully they’ll get more use out of it.”
He stilled. “You don’t want to wear it?”
“For what purpose?”
“I don’t know. A good time.” Warm heat filtered through his tone.
She met his eye, a shing of hurt anger rushing through her. “As if you’ve ever been interested in that with me.”
“That’s not true.”
She pulled away. “Uh-huh.”
“Lapis—”
She flung the outfit away; it landed on a chair and slid down, to pool on the floor. She failed to adequately explain her emotions, but humiliation tinged with rage did not make for good lustiness.
He touched her back, and before she turned, slid his arms around her, crossed her chest and pressed her against his lean length. His nose tickled her hair until he reached her ear, then his lips brushed the edges. “I’m not the most forthright about this shit,” he admitted. “But never think, I don’t want you. I do, and have for a long while now. But I didn’t want to pressure you into a relationship with someone like me.”
“Someone like you?” What did he mean by that?
“I’m a . . . dead end.”
“That’s ridiculous,” she snapped, furious he even voiced it. He opened up to her, as often as she bore her soul to him, but sometimes she wanted to smack him silly for his thoughts. “You’re not a dead end. You’re my rock, my base. Unless you think I’m a dead end, too.”
“No!” She disliked his startlement.
“You’re the one who wanted to hide our relationship.”
“I thought it would keep you safer.” He sagged against her, his weight keeping her in place. “I’ve been wrong about a lot of things. Relationships aren’t my strong point, and bad decisions make it worse. I’m sorry.” He kissed the side of her head. “I did want to make sure we both wanted to be together, that it wasn’t just me making things up because I was desperate.”
“You’ve never been desperate.”
“I have, concerning you. I was afraid you’d disappear into the Grey Streets, find someone else, someone happier, healthier, someone more stable.”
“Why would I want someone else?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’ve had starry eyes for you since you rescued me in Coriy. I thought I was too annoying to be of interest, though.”
“Sometimes you were annoying,” he agreed. She growled and he laughed, his usual sarcastic confidence absent. He wanted her to take his words as seriously as he spoke them. “But after we reached Jiy, I never considered a relationship with anyone else.”
“Not anyone. Not Relaine?”
“No,” he said, confused. “Why would you even think that?”
“You got along with her well.” Why did she bring up another past hurt that scraped against her?
“I thought she was a different kind of rebel. I was wrong.” He molded his body against hers, grew warmer, softer. “Yeah, she hinted at a relationship, and I told her no. You’re the one I’m interested in. You’re the one that’s stayed by my side and put up with me at my worst. There’s no greater love than that, and I’d be the greatest fool to sacrifice it for . . . what, exactly?”
She laughed in disbelief, despondent she appreciated the subtle dig at the woman. She settled her hands on his upper arms and closed her eyes, gathering irritation, embarrassment, extraneous hurts, and shoving them into a dark, forgettable emotional corner where they could rot together. She had other, vastly more important worries, about Rin, Jerin, and why Hoyt and his Black Hat buddies wanted to find Aethon—and why a leadcommander of a skyshroud led the charge.
They remained as they were while her emotions merged and settled into the depths of her chest. Shadows lengthened across the room, and the light peeking around the curtains took on the golden hue of the setting sun. The atmosphere comforted, cradled; Patch tended to pay attention to such things, creating small but wonderful shelters for her to enjoy.
“Lapis,” he whispered once she relaxed completely against him. “You have my trust and my heart.”
She did not deserve them, but she wrapped herself around the words and swallowed them. Her mind turned to the sunsets they shared atop the rebel House. He held her close and they basked in the orangish-red brightness that turned to a ruddy crimson, a deep wine, then into a succulent dark purple and blue. When the chill winds tore across the roof, his body warmed her and shielded her from their touch. If she shivered too much, he would prod her inside, bring them warm tea from the kitchen, and they would cuddle together on the sleeping mat, content.
She turned and buried herself in his embrace.
He kissed his way to her lips, and that caress ended her remaining anger. She savored him, though her concentration descended to another part that hardened against her. He slid his hand down to the top of her buttocks and pressed her firmly against him.
She circled his waistband, unbuttoned his pants, then shoved her hands down and around, to grip his butt and pull him closer. He grinned against her lips as he snagged the bottom of her shirt and slipped his hands beneath. His fingers trailed hot streaks across her ribs and up; her lower regions clenched when he lightly touched her breasts and played with her nipples. Heat raced from her cheeks and down her neck, to pool in her chest. He followed it, kissing and nibbling, still smiling.
He pulled her shirt up and over her head, flinging it somewhere, before cupping her chin, stroking her mouth with his thumbs and kissing her again. She shoved his top up, flared her fingers against his muscles, then tugged it off; his hair became static and poofed in all directions. She laughed and he grasped her, picking her up as easily as he did a pack. The blue lights of his patch blinked and chased each other about as he carried her to the next room. She nuzzled his neck, smelling heat and musk, tinged with the lingering spiciness of his soap. He set her down and she turned on her heel.
And stared.
A bed, with four thick, twisty posts. Transparent fabric hung from the beams, the airy brown complimenting the deeper color of the bedspread, which contained an erotic love scene centered in a circle. Fluffy blue pillows filled the top, enough to keep her propped up for eternity.
Patch had a four-poster bed?
“It was my uncle’s,” he told her, humor lacing his tone. “It’s pretty comfy.”
“The bedding, too?”
“It’s what I scrounged up.” His hand slid down her belly and settled lower, his fingers playing with the very sensitive part of her anatomy. “Are you still drinking that brew?”
“Yes,” she gasped as he rubbed, and squirmed. The act of swallowing the bitter stuff held a personal promise that, one day, Patch would make her a woman.
Dammit, she wanted him.
There was no enticing way to remove their footwear. Perhaps someone else had thought of one, but sitting on the edge of the bed, pushing at the heels with their toes and sending them careening away was not it. At least it made it easier for Patch to undress her while she unbuckled her gauntlets. Those landed on the carpeted floor with a soft thump.
He pushed her back, the crisp coolness of the bedspread a delight. His kissing up her thigh aroused her, and she arched against him as he tickled and sucked and ran his fingers through her very wet private places. He made his way to her mouth, tingles streaking away from his lips at every place he caressed.
He finally tossed his pants aside, though she did not think that very sexy, either. Should he not move his hips about and pose or something? Random thoughts died as he hovered over her, and she wrapped her hands about him, shuddering at the heat. He was hard, smooth, ready.
She was beyond ready.
He slid his lower arms under her shoulder, cupped her face, settled his other hand against her hip, and thrust.
She enveloped him, wrapped her legs about him, clasped her arms around his neck, and had no idea what else to do other than wallow in the heat and goodness spreading from her groin. She finally dared to kiss him, suck at his lips, and revel in delightful, addicting pleasure with him.
And she silently thanked Mitta for that harness thing.
