I should have pulled away. I should have climbed off his bed the moment my breathing slowed, the moment I realized what I’d done. But I didn’t.
I stayed in his arms.
The manor outside his chamber was silent as a tomb, but here, pressed against his warmth, it was almost easy to pretend that silence was peace instead of menace. His hand moved in a slow, absent rhythm over my spine, not possessive this time, not demanding — just steady. A tether.
I sighed and whispered, “I must look pathetic right now.”
Icarus let out a low laugh, the sound vibrating through his chest beneath my cheek. “Pathetic? No. Startling, perhaps. Storming into my chamber in the middle of the night like a banshee? Yes. But not pathetic.”
“I did not storm in like a banshee,” I muttered.
“You nearly tore the door of
