"Oh? Athea. What did she want?" Zaeryn asked, settling back against the headboard of his bed, the plush pillows cool against his skin.
Ysmeine followed him. She didn't sit beside him on the wide bed. Instead, with a fluid grace that was uniquely hers, she turned and settled sideways onto his lap.
Her back rested against the arm he had propped up near the headboard, her legs curling comfortably beside his hip. The sudden, intimate weight of her body against his side and thighs sent an undeniable jolt through him.
Her warmth seeped through his thin pants, and her signature floral scent enveloped him, thick and close. He instinctively fought down his body's immediate, betraying reaction, acutely aware of her closeness, the soft curve of her hip pressing firmly against his stomach, the subtle shift of her breathing.
This wasn't the casual comfort of him resting his head in her lap; this was different. Closer. More deliberate.
