Chapter forty-five
Long Rest Achieved
Micah
Ronan stopped.
I know he did because I heard him say, “Enough.”
I heard the strap hit something that wasn't me when he set it down. I know there isn't another strike coming because Ronan does not say things he doesn't mean, especially in a scene.
My body hasn't figured that out yet.
Every muscle along my back and thighs is still waiting. The skin across my ass burns hot enough that the air feels cool against it, even through whatever Ronan has wrapped around me. My pulse seems to live there now, deep beneath the surface, each beat pushing heat outward until I can't tell where one mark ends and another begins.
I should be able to catalogue it better than this.
Broad pain from the strap. Sharper lines from the crop. Heat underneath all of it from everything before.
Instead, all I really know is that I hurt.
And for the first time in almost two weeks, that doesn't feel like a problem I need to solve.
Ronan is behind me—or under me, maybe. It takes a few seconds to sort out the position. I'm half across his lap with one side of my body resting against his chest, his arm around my ribs holding enough of my weight that my own strength barely seems involved.
His other hand moves down my arm.
Shoulder to elbow.
Back again.
Exactly the same speed.
Exactly the same pressure.
The third time I notice it, I realize he's probably been doing it much longer.
My face feels tight and cold where the tears dried. Then another one slips from the corner of my eye and tracks toward my temple.
I don't wipe it away.
That would require moving.
I don't particularly want to move.
“Micah.” His voice lands differently now that there isn't pain behind it.
During the scene, every time he said my name, I had to find my way back far enough to answer him. Now the sound settles over me instead, low and familiar, something my body recognizes before I do.
I manage a noise.
Not a useful one.
His hand stops.
Immediately, something inside me pulls tight.
Ronan notices.