Page 131 of Star Bringer
My heart is beating out of control as I lead Beckett down the hallway to my room. Our room, though she’s never once slept in it.
After my talk with Merrick, I found her sitting in her pilot’s seat, dozing lightly. The second I walked up, she opened her eyes, immediately on high alert. But they softened when she saw it was me.
I took her hand and pulled her to standing without a single word.
As we walk now, I imagine what will happen when we finally get there. I’m oddly grateful that Kali is sleeping in the sick bay tonight, that the room will be empty when we get there. I imagine wrapping my arms around Beckett’s waist, pulling her long, powerful body against mine, kissing her lips and her neck and her shoulders before sliding lower and lower, until I’ve touched and tasted and licked every single part of her.
I imagine being bold. Being confident. Being sexy and desirable and everything Beckett could want in a partner.
And I realize in this instant that I don’t need my imagination anymore—my silly, childish fantasies. Because no fantasy could ever be better than the reality of this moment.
It’s right there waiting for me. I just have to reach out and take it.
Except my stomach grows tighter with every step we take, and my breath grows shallower. Because no matter what I imagine—no matter how I want tonight to go—the truth is, I’m none of those things when it comes to sex. Not bold, not confident, and definitely not sexy.
I’m just me. Rain. A girl who’s spent her entire life in a monastery. How could I possibly have thought I could do this?
But I want to. I really, really want to.
By the time we get to the cabin, I’m a nervous, flustered wreck. I try to hide it from Beckett, but as the door closes behind us, I can feel the weight of her yellow eyes on me.
“Hey,” she whispers, sliding her arms around me and pulling me against her, my back to her front. I’ve always hated being short, but as she wraps herself around me, I have to admit it feels nice to be so completely enveloped by her. More than nice. It feelssexy.
“We don’t have to do anything,” she whispers against my ear. “If you’re having second thoughts, it’s okay. We could just sleep.”
“No!” I tell her so forcefully that it’s embarrassing. I can feel my cheeks burning, and for a second I think about agreeing with her. But then this will be just like everything else in my life—a fantasy that I imagined and dreamed about but was never brave enough to reach out and take. And I don’t want that. Not with Beckett.
Not with us.
And so I swallow back every ounce of fear and embarrassment as I turn to face her. After searching for the right words to no avail, I settle for telling the truth. “I’ve never done this before. Slept with someone, I mean. Or…anything else. The Book of the Dying Sun doesn’t forbid relationships, but I’ve never found anyone I wanted to… But I want to. With you.” I reach up and cup her sad, tired, beautiful face in my palms. “I really, really want to.”
She studies my eyes for several seconds, and I don’t know what she sees in them, but it must be enough. Because she whispers, “Okay.”
“Okay?” I repeat, and it suddenly feels like my heart has skipped a few beats.
Beckett smiles softly. “Turn around.”
“Turn—”
“Around.” When I don’t immediately move, she presses her hands gently into my shoulders and moves me until I’m once again facing the bed. But instead of wrapping herself around me this time, she takes the band off the bottom of my braid and starts to slowly unplait my hair.
It doesn’t seem like a sexy thing. But when Beckett does it…when Beckett does it, nothing in the world could possibly feel better.
She takes her time unraveling the braid, takes her time stroking her strong, calloused fingers through my hair until it falls around my shoulders and tumbles down my back. And then she takes her time rubbing those same fingers against my scalp, my neck, my shoulders, until every ounce of tension and worry slides right out of my body and all I can think about is her.
All I can want is her.
“Like sunshine,” she murmurs, running strands of my hair through her fingers. “My own personal sunshine.”
“It’s so boring compared to your curls.” I whisper because I don’t want to break the spell.
“Nothing about you could ever be boring, Rain,” she whispers back. Then she sweeps my hair over my shoulder and leans forward to press her mouth against the nape of my neck.
I gasp as shivers run through me, and she laughs a little, notatme but like she’s delighted with me. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard her laugh like this, and I like the sound of it. Warm and soft and open. So unlike the Beckett she shows to the world. So like the Beckett she shows to me.
“Do that again,” I tell her, tilting my head to the side so she can have better access.
This time when she laughs, it’s a little darker, a little more wicked. And I like the sound of it even better.
