Her arms went around his shoulders, pulling him forward with more strength than he expected from someone who had barely been able to stand that morning. He caught himself with one hand against the mattress, his face suddenly buried against the loose fall of her hair.
Her scent overwhelmed him.
It was stronger this close, no longer something he could dismiss as an unfamiliar change brought on by fever. Every breath filled his lungs with her until the chamber seemed to contain nothing else.
Metheea pressed her face against his neck and inhaled.
The sound she made afterward stripped away another piece of his restraint.
Azrayel closed his eyes.
His hand found her waist before he decided to put it there.
The robe had fallen open completely, leaving only the thin fabric of her sleeping gown beneath his palm. Heat poured from her body into his, and the moment he touched her, the silver sparks crawling over the blankets weakened.
Metheea moved closer.
"Azrayel."
