She was walking half a pace before him. Sometimes throwing a fleeting glance in his direction while she talked, hair gleaming in the afternoon sun.
She insisted on making small conversation, and he would mostly just listen and grunt a respond. He actually liked it, even though he felt out of his depth sometimes.
He preferred it when she walked beside him though, feeling her arm brush against his from time to time. Like this, he could not look at her face. (And she, very conveniently, not at his and that bothered him greatly.)
He didn't know what he was doing really, when he grabbed her and pushed her back against the wall.
His hands remained on her shoulders and they both stood there for a while, unmoving.
Underneath his calloused thumbs he could feel her collarbone and without thinking, he stroked it.
She blinked at this gesture and then slowly, she lifted her head.
Her gaze flickered from his chest, to a spot near his shoulder and then finally, it settled on his face.
There was no fear in her eyes like he'd seen before, but some sort of… confusion and wonder.
He swallowed.
A few more moments passed without either of them saying anything. He should probably let her go, get her safely to her cage.
But instead he slid one hand to her neck, as gentle as he could, his skin barely brushing hers.
She didn't flinch or pull away from his touch as he expected her to.
His fingers trembled slightly, and he heard her draw in a breath.
He moved his hand languidly upwards, his thumb stroking up and down her jaw.
He watched her. Her breathing quickened, coming out uneven, reminding him of a trapped animal.
His jaw twitched.
But he couldn't help himself. He leaned in and inhaled against her pale throat. his scarred side almost brushing against her.
He closed his eyes and for a sweet moment his senses were completely overwhelmed by her.
He felt a small hand on his chest then, and he was sure she was going to push him away.
Except she didn't.
She just let her hand rest there, above the hammering of his heart. And very lightly, she traced a pattern on the material of his jerkin, a small and reassuring gesture.
She was touching him willingly, he realized.
Yes, she had done so once before, but now he was touching her and she was responding to it.
That relevation left him breathless.
And confused, his mind reeling.
He staggered backwards. Her hand fell away as he did so.
Suddenly he got the urge to grab her by the shoulders again and shake her. Stupid little bird, what do you think you are doing?
Instead, he took in her face. Her brows knitted together as in thought for a split second, before she once more raised her head to him.
And smiled.
It was a shy, barely there smile with hooded eyes but nevertheless tugged at him all the same.
And then she took a step forward. And another one.
Gently, she grabbed his hand with both of hers and uncurled his fingers where they had been clenched into a fist at his side.
And all he could do was watch.
Then, very deliberately, she raised his hand and put it on her chest, between the valley of her breasts and held him there softly.
At first he was so stunned he could only hear his own heart pounding loudly in his ears.
He didn't dare to move. Didn't dare to fully register what was happening, afraid that if he moved she would change her mind, come to her senses.
Small fingers pressed his hand flush against her.
That's where the heart is.
And he felt it then, underneath his palm. Beating infinitely quicker than his, like a small animal. (Like a little bird indeed.)
But it was not of fear. He fully realized that now, as he let his eyes roam over her face. A soft smile at her mouth still, eyes glowing and a pink tinge high on her cheekbones.
By then he noticed other things. The detailed embroidery of her dress, a little bit rougher against his skin than the fine material underneath.
The smooth, freckled skin under his fingertips where her neckline dipped.
The swell of her breast. And underneath his ring finger, the hardened peak of her nipple.
Seven buggering Hells.
He felt unsteady on his feet as tiny sparks of desire shot through him.
Closing his eyes, he leaned forward and placed his other hand on the wall for support.
That's how you kill a man.