Chapter 281: Willing and able 2

MARGAUX

I nodded, unable to speak, and I matched his rhythm, rising to meet each thrust. The bed creaked beneath us, the sound loud in the quiet room, and I focused on the slide of him inside me, the friction building between us, the way his breath hitched every time I tightened around him. I memorized the way his hair fell across his forehead, the way his mouth opened slightly when pleasure overwhelmed him, the exact shade of his eyes when they locked with mine.

"Margaux," he gasped, his pace faltering. "I’m close."

"Let go," I urged him, my own release building like a wave I couldn’t outrun. "Let go, Étienne. I’m right here."

He buried his face in my neck, his hips snapping forward once, twice, and then he was shuddering above me, his body going rigid as he spilled inside me. The sensation of it, the raw intimacy of it, pushed me over the edge, and I came with a cry that I muffled against his shoulder, my body contracting around him in waves that seemed to go on forever.

We lay there for a moment, tangled together, breathing hard. Then I pushed at his shoulder, gently at first, then with more insistence.

"Roll over," I whispered.

He complied, too spent to argue, and I followed him, climbing astride his waist and settling my weight over him. His hands came up to rest on my thighs, his thumbs stroking lazy circles against my skin. His chest heaved with exertion, the muscles still twitching with aftershocks, and I watched the pulse hammering in his throat.

"That was..." he started, his voice thick.

I placed a finger over his lips, silencing him. "Don’t talk."

I traced the lines of his face with my fingertips, learning him by touch alone. His eyebrows, furrowed slightly in confusion or contentment. The bridge of his nose, straight and strong. His cheekbones, sharp beneath my touch. His jaw, rough with stubble. His mouth, soft and slightly parted.

The gold thread pulsed brighter between us, and it was starting to look and feel like a web as I watched it wrap around my wrist, his ankle, connecting us in a network of light that screamed of finality. I was reminded of Theodore and Laurent again.

I would not let that happen to him... to us.

I would not let him die in a war my father started. I would not let him bleed out on some stupid battlefield because Chris couldn’t handle rejection. I would not let fate take him from me slowly, painfully, violently, while I watched helpless from a distance.

If one of us had to die, it would be me who chose when and how.

But that wouldn’t happen. I would make sure we both lived.

Even if living meant we couldn’t be together.

Even if it meant walking away from him and knowing I might never get to touch him again. Even if it meant watching him build a life without me, knowing every part of me would ache for him and knowing I could never tell him how much it hurt.

I would rather have him alive and far away from me than buried in the ground because he chose me.

If being together put a target on his back, then I would become the person who took the target away. If the only way to keep him safe was to leave him, then I would leave. I would let him hate me if I had to. I would let him believe I never loved him, if that was the price of keeping him alive.

Because I could survive losing him.

I could not survive knowing I had kept him close when I had the chance to save him.

We did not have to be together for him to live.

We only had to live.

"I’m sorry," I whispered, my voice breaking on the words.

He smiled up at me, lazy and sated, his eyes half-closed. "For what?"

"For everything," I answered, and I leaned down to kiss him one last time.

His lips were warm beneath mine, pliant, trusting. I tasted him, memorized him, poured everything I felt into that kiss until my chest ached with it. When I pulled back, his eyes were closed, a small smile still playing at the corners of his mouth.

"I’ll never lose you again," I told him, and my voice was steady now.

Resolute even.

His eyes opened, confusion flickering there. "What do you mean?"

I didn’t answer.

Instead, I placed my hands on either side of his face, my thumbs resting against his jaw, my fingers curling around the back of his skull. I held him there, held his gaze with mine, and I watched the realization begin to dawn in his eyes, watched the confusion shift to alarm as he read something in my expression that he couldn’t name.

"Margaux?" he asked, and he started to sit up.

I moved faster than he could react, my hands tightening their grip, my thumbs pressing into the soft space beneath his jaw while my palms cradled his skull. I twisted, sharp and sudden, using the leverage of my position and the element of surprise, putting all my strength into the motion.

The crack was loud in the quiet room, a sound like a branch breaking under snow.

His body went limp beneath me instantly, his eyes wide and staring, the alarm still frozen there, mixing now with shock and betrayal and something that looked almost like understanding. His hands fell away from my thighs, hitting the mattress with a soft thud.

I didn’t let go.

I held his face in my hands, my fingers trembling now, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps that felt like they were tearing my throat open.

He was alive.

He was breathing.

He would wake.

That was the only thought I allowed myself to hold on to.

I lowered myself down, curling my body around his, pressing my face into the hollow of his throat where his pulse had been beating loudly moments before and now was nearly still. His skin was already cooling against my cheek.

"I love you," I whispered into his neck, my arms wrapping around his shoulders, holding him close, holding him together. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

The words became a mantra, a prayer, a confession, spilling out of me in a broken stream as I rocked us both, my naked body pressed against his, my tears hot against his cooling skin. I kissed his closed eyelids, his forehead, the corner of his mouth that had smiled at me only moments ago.

I pulled him tighter against me, my fingers tangling in his hair, my legs wrapping around his to keep him close. The room was cold now, or maybe that was just me, my body shivering against his stillness.

"You understand, don’t you?" I asked him, though he would never answer.

And when he came through, it would be too late to answer.

That was the point.

If he woke, he would come after me. If he came after me, the others would follow. And if they followed, the war would begin.

So I had taken the choice away from him.

I had taken his ability to stop me.

And I hated myself for it.

I pressed one last kiss to his forehead before forcing myself to pull away.

"I love you," I whispered again, my voice breaking. "That’s why I have to leave."