Chapter 271: She Was Keeping This Part

DOVE’S POV

The travel update came with conditions, and Dove listened to every one before allowing herself to be happy.

Thorne had managed another day without his wound worsening. The clinic intended to move him the following morning with other patients, a medical worker, and Ash watching the route. They would confirm once he was actually on the road. The escorted vehicle had finally reached the clinic. Dove wrote down the morning departure window, then asked when she should call if she hadn’t heard anything.

Dove could live with that, provided somebody reminded her to breathe occasionally.

She asked the relay operator to tell Thorne she had a bed for him, then added that he wasn’t allowed to complain about the pillow until he had put his head on it. Edrik leaned against the van beside her, smiling at the way her voice changed when she talked about their panther.

"What?" she asked after the call ended.

"You sound like you’re getting him back."

She looked at the radio. "I’m trying to let myself believe it."

He took it from her hands and set it safely on the seat. Then he pulled her close, giving her somewhere to put the relief before it turned into nerves again.

They drove another hour to the stop marked on the route sketch, a former roadside hardware store with a fenced yard behind it. The keeper housed travelers in the upstairs offices while the ground floor held tools and supplies. He showed them the stairs, the shared bathroom, and the back steps down to the yard. Their van parked beneath the window of the room they’d rented with owned food and a clean blanket.

Dove didn’t have to imagine where it was. She could look down and see the roof, the side gate, and Edrik’s jacket laid across the passenger seat.

That helped her settle.

The room had a desk, two chairs, and enough clear floor for the cots. Edrik unfolded two while Dove spread bedding, leaving the third stored for Thorne. She put the fan between them and set their movie player on the desk beside its new charging kit.

"We’re watching a movie?" Edrik asked.

"It means we can use the player without begging for an outlet. You’re not allowed to steal our next movie night while Thorne isn’t here."

"I can wait."

"Look at you. Personal growth."

He came up behind her and rested his chin near her temple. "Don’t spread rumors. I have a reputation."

Dove leaned back against him. Outside, somebody was arguing about a missing wrench. Downstairs, the keeper called dinner. The world continued to be messy and loud, but for a few minutes nothing in it required her to be clever.

She liked that more than she had expected.

They ate with the other travelers, taking generous bowls of stew and bread back upstairs when the room grew too crowded. One man offered to carry Dove’s bowl. Edrik looked at him, then at the bowl already safely in her hands.

"A touching concern," he said. "She’s survived the stairs before."

Dove waited until they were out of earshot before nudging him. "You could have let him carry yours."

"I didn’t want to encourage him."

"You’d make a terrible damsel."

"You haven’t seen me demand attention."

She had, actually, and the memory warmed her face enough that he laughed. It wasn’t fair that he could go from dangerous to delighted so quickly when it was her he was teasing. It was also one of her favorite things about him.

Dove chose a light comedy from the files already on the player and saved it for later, carefully avoiding the one with a hospital in its description. Edrik didn’t laugh at the choice. He only asked whether she liked to talk through movies, and her guilty expression answered for her. He said Thorne would need to sit between them if anybody wanted to hear the dialogue.

After dinner, Dove brought pool water out in the new twelve-liter jug. She washed behind the bathroom door, then topped up the jug through her space, closed its cap and stored it separately from their drinking water. Having it ready would save her fumbling for containers later. She asked Edrik to sit while she checked the places his shirt had rubbed during the long drive. Nothing serious, just skin irritated by heat and sweat. He let her tend it without turning a minor discomfort into another excuse for her to worry.

"You don’t have to keep finding something to fix," he said.

Dove paused with the cloth in her hand.

"I know. I wanted to do this."

He caught her wrist gently and kissed her fingers. "Then thank you."

His lips lingered against her fingers until she forgot the cloth in her other hand. Then he took it and set it aside.

"You’ve checked the bags twice," he said. "Come spend a little of that attention on me. I’ve been extremely well behaved."

"That is a filthy lie."

"Then I suppose you’ll have to deal with me, wifey."

She climbed onto his lap, pleased that he wanted her there even when she had nothing useful left to do.

His hands settled at her waist. "Is this still medical attention?"

"Don’t ruin it."

"Wouldn’t dream of it."

Dove kissed him first. Then she asked for what she wanted, quietly and without dressing it up as gratitude for keeping her alive. He listened, his teasing gone for the few seconds it took to make sure they understood each other.

She settles over his hips, knees bracketing him, and Edrik feels the blood rush south before he can do a single thing about it. She’s got that look on her face, the one that says she knows exactly what she’s doing to him, and she does it anyway, shifting her weight just enough to drag a groan out of him that he tries, and fails, to swallow.

"You’re doing that on purpose," he says.

"Doing what?" Her brows lift, all innocence, except for the smile tugging at one corner of her mouth.

"That." He settles his hands at her waist, not to stop her, never to stop her, just to feel her under his palms. "Wiggling."

"I wasn’t wiggling. I was adjusting." She adjusts again, slower this time, and his hands tighten on reflex. "See? Adjusting."

"Uh-huh." His voice comes out low and rough, like gravel dragged through honey. He’s hard against her now, thick and aching behind his pants, and every small movement she makes sends a fresh pulse of want straight through him. "Keep adjusting like that and I won’t be held responsible for my actions."

"Promises, promises."

He wants to say something clever back, but then she leans forward and her hair spills over one shoulder, and there they are: the soft curve of her, the shadow of cleavage above her collar, right at eye level, close enough to taste. His mouth goes dry. His attention snags there and refuses to budge. He’s thought about this more times than he’d ever admit out loud, the two of them tucked right where his face wants to be, and the thought of it now, so close, so within reach, makes his cock throb against the inside of his pants.

"You’re staring," she says, soft, pleased.

"I’m admiring." He drags his gaze up to her face, slow, savoring the trip. "There’s a difference."

"Is there?"

"One’s rude." He curls his hand higher, thumb brushing the strip of skin where her shirt’s ridden up. "The other’s a tribute."

A laugh bursts out of her, bright and unguarded, the kind that makes something in his chest go tight and full. "A tribute. Right. Like I’m a war memorial."

"The most beautiful monument I’ve ever laid eyes on." He says it like he means it, because he does, every word, and the way her laugh softens into something quieter, something only for him, nearly undoes him right there.

She leans down, bracing her palms on his chest, bringing herself close enough that he can smell the cedar and vanilla clinging to her skin, and his heart pounds against his ribs like it’s trying to reach her. "You’re ridiculous."

"I’m honest." His hands slide up her sides, slow, reverent, memorizing every inch under his palms like he hasn’t already memorized it a hundred times before. "Can I, wifey?"

The nickname comes out rough, wanting, and he watches it land in the way her breath catches, in the way her smile curves into something private and warm, meant only for him.

She looks down at him, hair framing her face, and takes her sweet time answering, like she enjoys watching him wait. "Mhm." Her voice drops, teasing and tender all at once. "You can. You don’t even have to ask twice."

"I like asking." He noses at the curve of her, breathing her in, feeling her pulse jump against his lips. "I like hearing you say yes."

"Good," she murmurs, fingers threading into his hair, "because I like saying it."