"To keep you grounded," he murmured, his voice a low vibration against her skin. "And to keep the world from interfering with that."
He didn't wait for her response, pulling her into the warmth of his chest. His hands, usually so precise with a blade or a map, were surprisingly gentle as they rested against the small of her back. It was a silent assertion of ownership, not of conquest, but of belonging.
Lucien cleared his throat, a sound of exaggerated delicacy. "I hate to be the one to inject logic into this display of domestic bliss, but the cheese is reaching room temperature. It would be a crime to let it suffer."
Grayson didn't pull away, but he did turn his head slightly to narrow his eyes at his friend. "You are still here, Lucien."
"And you are still neglecting your host duties," Lucien retorted, grabbing a crystal decanter. "Pour, man. If we are to settle into this bizarre 'human' existence, let's at least do it with a decent vintage."
