Chapter 11

Nakht pushed himself upright and climbed back onto the bed. The wood creaked under his weight. Merit gave a startled gasp, her fingers clutching at the sheets, but he didn’t stop. He settled above her, knees planted on either side of her hips. Their faces were close, breaths mingling, heavy.

He laid his palm flat against her stomach, over the veil. The thin fabric slid beneath his hand, yet he could feel the heat of her skin. Merit shivered, her chest rising faster.

Without waiting, he bent down and pressed his lips there. Once again, the linen stood between them. His kisses were muffled, dulled by the cloth, but still she arched faintly under him.

Then he drew the fabric aside. His hand caught the veil, but Merit herself lifted a little, clumsy, to help him slip it away. The linen spilled from her shoulders, cascading over the bed, part of it still draped across her legs, a last shred of modesty.

When she lay back again, her breasts were bare. Her chest rose in quick, uneven breaths, her nipples already stiff.

Nakht let out a ragged exhale but forced himself to linger lower, at her belly. His mouth resumed its path, laying kisses everywhere. Across her waist, up her sides, he murmured in between, his voice half-distracted, as though speaking to himself: “Here ... maybe ... a child will grow...” He paused, lips brushing tender skin. “I never truly thought about it...” A kiss in the hollow. “But if that miracle happens ... I’ll cherish it ... with all my heart.”

His words vibrated against her belly. Merit closed her eyes. Her hands no longer clutched but rested open on the sheets. She didn’t understand what was happening to her: the more he spoke, the more he kissed her, the further her fear receded. Her legs stayed pressed tight, but her breath had become short sighs. She was ... moved.

Nakht’s forehead brushed the underside of her breasts whenever his head rose too high. The friction sent shivers through her; her nipples, already hard, grazed his skin. She bit her lip, her heart hammering.

For an instant, she dared. Her voice, timid yet clear, rose between them: “And ... my breasts?”

Nakht froze. He lifted his head, swallowing audibly. His eyes burned with hunger. The moment Merit caught that look, she knew he’d been waiting for her to ask.

He leaned down. As always, he began with kisses—around, above, beneath, covering every curve. His lips pressed, nipped softly. His hands, heavy and firm, took each breast, kneading them slowly.

Then he risked his tongue. It traced slow circles around one nipple, deliberate, precise. Merit arched faintly, eyes closing. A sharp sound escaped her throat, stifled at once as she bit her hand.