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CW: Sexual content

This is a shorter chapter. Some juicy, longer chapters coming soon :)

Enjoy!


Christine

Chapter 56

The Book

There was an execution on my birthday.

And every day after.

As such, upon waking, Erik and I were intimate in the way we'd been the morning I turned nineteen. As always, he refused to touch me while I was under hashish. He refused to touch me when we went to bed.

But a week after my birthday, we had a break from killing and smoking. No execution. We had the night to ourselves.

Erik took advantage of this.

He remained clothed. I wanted to beg him to remove something - anything - but wouldn't push him in that way. He'd expressed himself clearly on the matter, and I wanted to respect that.

We both stood near the bed, mouth to mouth, arms wrapped around one another. Every so often, I'd open my eyes to look at him, at his lovely face - lovely to me - in the golden light of the lantern. He never opened his eyes. Instead, he seemed to be losing himself in my presence. He seemed happy. So I was happy too.

As he lifted my dress over my head, then went to work on my underthings, I felt the familiar heat, the yearning. I wrapped my arms tighter and made my kisses more fervent. He moaned, bringing us to sit on the bed. He moved his hand to my waist, to my leg, to the space between my thighs. I panted when he made contact.

He moved his mouth from my lips to hover at my neck. "May I kiss you here?"

"Yes," I whispered.

He did so. He moved his mouth lower, to my chest. He asked the same question. I said yes.

He lowered himself to kneel on the ground and asked to kiss my stomach, my thighs. I said yes to both, feeling utterly breathless. Then, to a feathery, light feeling in my mind, he gently pushed my knees apart and asked to kiss me in that sensitive spot he'd been loving every morning with his hands.

"Yes."

He stood for a moment, only to kiss me on the lips again, laying me down as he did so. He worked his way again down my body, over my stomach, onto my spread legs, and finally pressed his lips between them.

At first, it was mere kisses. Gentle pecks. Then, I could sense his desire to experiment. He flicked his tongue out, and when I reacted very well to that, he did it again. And soon he was kissing me deeply there, trying new ways to move with his mouth, his lips, his tongue until he found what felt best.

When the euphoria hit again, I almost did beg him to let me use what I'd learned in training on him, to return the favor, but I knew he'd say no. He'd tell me when he was ready for that. But I had to express it somehow.

"I love you," I whispered, immediately feeling that the words didn't do it justice, but he moaned again, breathing harder, working more insistently. The euphoria began to build again, and-

A sound like something hard and heavy being dropped came from nearby.

Erik shot up like a firework, a glowing spark of alarm in his eyes. He stared toward the bookshelf, stiff as metal. I watched him, growing unease in my stomach as well.

"What was that?" I whispered.

"It came from behind the bookshelf," he responded lowly.

At those words, footsteps - so light I almost didn't hear them - sounded behind the door, fading, like someone running away. Feet moving fast on the floor.

Nausea filled me at the realization: someone had just been listening.

"Could it have been Nadir?" I sat, pulling the blankets to cover me.

"Nadir barely takes Echo Hall," Erik said slowly. "It's not impossible, but..."

"Ibrahim then?" If it was Ibrahim, as surprising as it sounded, I wouldn't be as embarrassed. I doubted the Grand Vizier, knowing his personality, would hold over our heads what he'd heard us do. And if he did, it would be in the most lighthearted way possible.

"Ibrahim has been missing in action from Nadir's house and my chambers," said Erik, moving around the bed to the bookshelf. "If it is him in there, then I would be very surprised." At last, he opened the secret door to reveal nothing but the long hallway, empty.

Not, actually, completely empty.

On the ground was a book. It didn't look like it had been placed there on purpose, with the way it was laying pages down, at an odd angle, some of the papers bent over.

It looked like it had been accidentally dropped.

Erik bent to retrieve it.

"What is that?" I asked as he closed the bookshelf behind him.

He raised a brow, frowning. "Perhaps it was Nadir."

A chill passed over me. "Why?"

He showed it to me. "Because this is his."

I looked at it. I noticed the word French printed on the cover. I immediately knew what it was.

"This," he said, "is his book of French translations. But..." Erik gazed at me, concern lacing his features, "I could have sworn he said he lost this."

I swallowed. "He did. He told me."

A long silence. In that silence, I saw Erik's expression match mine: fear. Actual fear.

"I think," he whispered, "perhaps we should start sleeping on the bed in the study. Thoughts?"

I nodded.