her!
Heilyn!”
But Heilyn couldn’t
move. His breath was all caught in his throat and he couldn’t stop
staring, not at the art, but at Emyr.
“You’re staring at me.
Did I say something wrong?”
“You’re smiling,”
Heilyn choked out.
It was the best smile
he’d ever seen. Emyr’s face was transformed, no longer melancholy
but round-cheeked and flushed, with that dimple dipping in beside
his mouth and his eyes brighter than any shade of blue that Heilyn
could dream of painting.
“Am I?” Emyr didn’t
stop, and his hand tightened around Heilyn’s, tugging him closer.
“Really? It must be your fault.”
Then his arm was around
Heilyn’s waist, and his hand was in Heilyn’s hair, tipping his head
up, and his mouth was on Heilyn’s, kissing him warmly. Heilyn could
feel the smile under his lips, and then Emyr’s tongue was teasing
its way into his mouth, hot and demanding.
“Emyr, would you like a
scone while you’re wait—oh!”
Heilyn heard Arianell
dissolve into giggles and rush away, and it was just enough to make
him pull back, though his lips felt cold at once. “We probably
shouldn’t do this here.”
He got a kiss nuzzled
against his neck, and Emyr chuckled softly and murmured,
“Home?”
Heilyn almost fell over
twice on the way across the common, just because he couldn’t stop
staring at Emyr’s face. The third time he tripped, Emyr caught him,
his arm warm and steady around Heilyn’s waist, and his hand firm on
his hip. “Careful.” Then his smile sharpened slightly, going hungry
at the edges, and he leaned down to kiss Heilyn again. This time it
had intent: a slow, thoughtful exploration of Heilyn’s mouth that
left his head swimming and his knees weak.
He let Emyr tug him
over the common after that, his mind still caught up with the
echoes of it. He could still feel the print of Emyr’s mouth against
his, and he wet his lips, hoping to catch a taste of Emyr. He was
beginning to wonder how much he had underestimated the man. He had
forgotten, in all his plots for seduction, that Emyr had not just
had a serious lover before, but had been handfasted, which was the
next thing to marriage. He must have had far more sex in his life
than Heilyn, with his collection of one-offs, had even
contemplated. There was, in fact, a pretty good chance that Emyr
was an expert.
He was so caught up in
the anticipation and anxiety that provoked that he nearly fell into
the next stream they had to cross.
“There’s a plank,” Emyr
said, and that quiet amusement which always flavored his voice was
warm and obvious now. “It would be wise to use it.”
“Somebody distracted
me,” Heilyn complained, tightening his grip on Emyr’s hand. “Where
are we?”
“Short cut.”
“There’s a short cut?
Why have I been walking home through the village every day
then?”
Emyr’s smile dimmed a
little. “I thought you liked walking with me.”
“Oh,” Heilyn said and
pulled Emyr close enough to kiss his hand. “I do, yes. Don’t mind
me. I’m just wittering. Nothing to complain about really.”
Emyr’s smile brightened
and he pulled Heilyn through a gap in the hedge and out onto the
back road, between Pumpkin’s field and the house. The wind was
tumbling off the sea in quick gusts and the air was full of shining
starflower petals. First to flower, last to fall, always, and it
meant that winter was almost here.
In
the derwen copse, Emyr stopped again. The petals covered
the ground like snow here, and fell through the air with a soft
sigh like rain, catching in his hair and the folds of his cape.
Heilyn’s fingers itched for a paintbrush: watercolor and the finest
lines of silver to capture the subtle wonder of Emyr smiling
amongst the falling flowers.
Emyr reached for him,
lacing his fingers through Heilyn’s hair and dislodging more
petals. “For luck, this time.” This kiss was almost reverent, his
hands cradling Heilyn’s head as he touched his lips so very lightly
to
Heilyn!”
But Heilyn couldn’t
move. His breath was all caught in his throat and he couldn’t stop
staring, not at the art, but at Emyr.
“You’re staring at me.
Did I say something wrong?”
“You’re smiling,”
Heilyn choked out.
It was the best smile
he’d ever seen. Emyr’s face was transformed, no longer melancholy
but round-cheeked and flushed, with that dimple dipping in beside
his mouth and his eyes brighter than any shade of blue that Heilyn
could dream of painting.
“Am I?” Emyr didn’t
stop, and his hand tightened around Heilyn’s, tugging him closer.
“Really? It must be your fault.”
Then his arm was around
Heilyn’s waist, and his hand was in Heilyn’s hair, tipping his head
up, and his mouth was on Heilyn’s, kissing him warmly. Heilyn could
feel the smile under his lips, and then Emyr’s tongue was teasing
its way into his mouth, hot and demanding.
“Emyr, would you like a
scone while you’re wait—oh!”
Heilyn heard Arianell
dissolve into giggles and rush away, and it was just enough to make
him pull back, though his lips felt cold at once. “We probably
shouldn’t do this here.”
He got a kiss nuzzled
against his neck, and Emyr chuckled softly and murmured,
“Home?”
Heilyn almost fell over
twice on the way across the common, just because he couldn’t stop
staring at Emyr’s face. The third time he tripped, Emyr caught him,
his arm warm and steady around Heilyn’s waist, and his hand firm on
his hip. “Careful.” Then his smile sharpened slightly, going hungry
at the edges, and he leaned down to kiss Heilyn again. This time it
had intent: a slow, thoughtful exploration of Heilyn’s mouth that
left his head swimming and his knees weak.
He let Emyr tug him
over the common after that, his mind still caught up with the
echoes of it. He could still feel the print of Emyr’s mouth against
his, and he wet his lips, hoping to catch a taste of Emyr. He was
beginning to wonder how much he had underestimated the man. He had
forgotten, in all his plots for seduction, that Emyr had not just
had a serious lover before, but had been handfasted, which was the
next thing to marriage. He must have had far more sex in his life
than Heilyn, with his collection of one-offs, had even
contemplated. There was, in fact, a pretty good chance that Emyr
was an expert.
He was so caught up in
the anticipation and anxiety that provoked that he nearly fell into
the next stream they had to cross.
“There’s a plank,” Emyr
said, and that quiet amusement which always flavored his voice was
warm and obvious now. “It would be wise to use it.”
“Somebody distracted
me,” Heilyn complained, tightening his grip on Emyr’s hand. “Where
are we?”
“Short cut.”
“There’s a short cut?
Why have I been walking home through the village every day
then?”
Emyr’s smile dimmed a
little. “I thought you liked walking with me.”
“Oh,” Heilyn said and
pulled Emyr close enough to kiss his hand. “I do, yes. Don’t mind
me. I’m just wittering. Nothing to complain about really.”
Emyr’s smile brightened
and he pulled Heilyn through a gap in the hedge and out onto the
back road, between Pumpkin’s field and the house. The wind was
tumbling off the sea in quick gusts and the air was full of shining
starflower petals. First to flower, last to fall, always, and it
meant that winter was almost here.
In
the derwen copse, Emyr stopped again. The petals covered
the ground like snow here, and fell through the air with a soft
sigh like rain, catching in his hair and the folds of his cape.
Heilyn’s fingers itched for a paintbrush: watercolor and the finest
lines of silver to capture the subtle wonder of Emyr smiling
amongst the falling flowers.
Emyr reached for him,
lacing his fingers through Heilyn’s hair and dislodging more
petals. “For luck, this time.” This kiss was almost reverent, his
hands cradling Heilyn’s head as he touched his lips so very lightly
to
Similar Books
