“I’ll take the floor,” Malik offered quickly, his voice steady despite the faint flush on his face.
Roman handled the arrangements with his usual calm resolve, though the tension in his jaw betrayed his frustration. Coins clinked against the wooden counter; a small fortune was exchanged for a chance at rest. He always seemed to carry the weight of our survival with unflappable grace, and I admired him for it.
“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, carrying the unspoken promise that he would bear the weight of our world—a world teetering on the brink of chaos.
As I followed him to our assigned quarters, Luna cradled in my arms; I wondered what the morning would bring. For now, we had shelter, and we had each other. That would have to be enough.
The room was modest, dimly lit by the flickering glow of a solitary candle. The walls, weathered and uneven, seemed to echo the weariness in my soul. Luna, my sweet anchor in the storm, stirred gently against me as I shrugged free of my heavy cloak. Roman set our belongings in the corner, his movements deliberate as he arranged the cloak into a makeshift nest. I carefully placed Luna onto the soft fabric, tucking the edges around her small form to shield her from the world’s weight beyond these walls. My heart ached for the life we deserved—a life unmarked by fear, pursuit, and shadows that loomed too close.
“Olivia,” Roman murmured, breaking into my reverie, “I ordered you a bath. I will give you a massage afterward.”
His words were simple, yet they carried a tenderness that contradicted the steel we needed to survive these past weeks. His eyes, filled with quiet devotion, were a balm against the raw edges of my heart.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He nodded, the corners of his mouth lifting in the faintest of smiles, and slipped out to check on the bath.
Alone with my thoughts, I yearned for more than survival. I longed for his touch—not out of necessity, but as a reminder of life and love amidst the encroaching shadows.
“My love,” Roman called softly from across the hall.
The sight that greeted me was a rare luxury. Steam rose from the surface of a large copper bath, swirling in lazy tendrils like fingers beckoning me closer. The warmth reached out, easing the ache in my weary muscles before I even stepped inside.
“Is it not custom for the men to bathe first in this era?” I teased, a weak attempt at humor as I approached the bath. “Women and children get the dirty water, don’t they?”
Roman’s lips curved into a wry smile. “Perhaps,” he said.
“But we are not bound by time, my love. Social customs are for those who obey them—not us.”
Our own rules and our own needs bound us.
“Of course, you come first. You and the baby are the most important things in the world,” Roman murmured, his voice low and steady as his warm hands reached for me. Rough yet gentle, they were the hands of a man who had weathered countless storms, and I melted into his touch.
With practiced ease, he began unfastening the buttons of my woolen traveling overgown, letting it slide to the ground in a soft heap around our feet. His familiar scent enveloped me, a heady mixture of pine and leather, washing over me like a soothing balm. It had been far too long since we had shared such moments, and I reveled in his hands gliding over my skin, grounding me in a world that so often threatened to tear us apart.
The woolen kirtle followed, its earthy tones and comforting texture slipping away, leaving only the cool air to brush against my skin. My linen chemise was the last barrier, and Roman removed it with deliberate care as if unwrapping a treasure he had long sought to claim. I felt an intoxicating mix of liberation and vulnerability with each layer shed. My senses heightened, every breath and movement becoming part of an intricate, intimate dance.
He untied the straps securing my blades with reverence, his fingers steady as they worked. It was as though he were peeling back the layers of our shared struggle to expose the woman beneath—the woman he cherished above all else.
“So beautiful, my love,” he murmured, his voice deep and rich, like velvet draped over molten gold. His heated gaze roamed over me, igniting a warmth that spread from my cheeks down to my very core. My hands instinctively went to my stomach, still soft and bearing the marks of motherhood. A flicker of self-consciousness crept in, but before I could speak, he stepped closer, his voice a raw mixture of tenderness and desire.
“So fucking beautiful,” he repeated, his words dripping with admiration and longing as if daring me to see myself as he did.
I pushed past my self-consciousness, allowing the tidal wave of desire to consume me. Every fiber of my being was deeply, madly in love with this man. His mere presence sent my heart racing and my hands trembling. I couldn’t resist the pull toward him. This love was all-consuming, saturating every inch of my soul until nothing remained but the raw, aching need for his touch, his presence.
He kissed my jaw, neck, and collarbones while caressing my bare skin.
“We’ll get to the connection we both ache for,” he murmured, his voice thick with hunger and restraint. “But first, I need you to rest. Rejuvenate. Restore yourself—for me.”
His words dripped with unspoken promises, and I obeyed, letting him guide me into the bath. The steaming water rose around me like a lover’s embrace, licking at my skin, soothing every ache and stirring every nerve. For a fleeting moment, I closed my eyes and imagined a world where his touch wasn’t fleeting—a life where every inch of my body was his to explore without fear or interruption.
The quiet clink of copper broke through the haze, drawing my gaze to him. Roman stood at the bath’s edge, his powerful body backlit by firelight, the pitcher in his hands steaming with heat. His eyes darkened as they raked over me, and a slow smile curled his lips—predatory, possessive.
He tipped the pitcher, letting the water flow in a slow, deliberate cascade. Steam curled into the air like a seductive whisper, warming my skin.
“Let me,” he said, his voice deep, commanding, yet impossibly tender.
I turned toward him, my body languid and exposed, and watched as he peeled away his clothes. Each piece dropped to the floor with a quiet thud, revealing inch after inch of flawless, bronzed muscle. Firelight kissed the ridges of his body, highlighting every line, every curve, every sinfully carved detail. My breath caught as my eyes roamed over him, lingering on the hard, thick length of him that stood proudly between his thighs, a testament to his arousal.
