Page 27 of Of Shadows and Blood

“Where did you get this?”

“A few were left like little breadcrumbs up to your bedroom last night. I had no real plans for it, other than knowing I’d be reminded of you every time I twist the stem between my fingers. But –” he reaches for the locket and examines the petals himself, brushing his thumb across them – “this one was delicate and small enough, it was perfect. It deserved to be preserved.”

I move to rest in the space between his chest and shoulder, where my head fits perfectly. My heart begs me to soak in this moment. So, we sit like that, both watching the locket dangle in the small rays of sun that make their way between the canopy of the trees. The locket looks even smaller in Sawyer’s fingers.

“It smells magical. Like lavender, a little citrus and some sort of forest smell. Pine, I think.”

I reach for the locket, but he holds it up higher than I can extend. I swipe up, finally grabbing it, the chain serving as a connection between our two hands. Sawyer slowly drops his arm, his fingers lacing between mine and the chain.

My breath hitches as he looks over at me, his eyes beaming yet glazed. Our fingers rub against one another softly and my stomach flips as he turns to his side, eyes never leaving mine.

“I want you,” he whispers. Our hips press against one another, the feel of him washing over me like hot coals. My breathing starts to become ragged as he drops our hands to grab my thigh, pulling me nearly flush with him.

Sawyer leans down, our lips parted mere centimeters from each other. Had I been snow, I would have melted into the wood right then and there. The heat between our breaths summons a passionate desire within me.

“Sawyer,” I breathe. He grabs my head, fingers pressing into my hair as he flips me on top of him and I kiss him.

“Stay with me,” he says in between breaths, not giving me a chance to think.

“I’m going absolutely nowhere,” I manage to say, focused on the feel of his size against my core, my nerves on fire, tingling from my neck down to my toes.

“Liv,” he moans, moving onto pressing his lips into my neck, tossing the scarf from my head. My eyes roll back in pleasure. The feeling of his warm kisses moves to my chest as he tugs the neckline of my dress down, surely stretching the fabric.

My own hands wrap around his shoulders, nails digging into his shirt, pulling on him. He sits up in compliance with my urging so I can slip his shirt from his body, running my fingers up his sides as I do so. The goosebumps raised prickle against my arms as I press my whole self against him, both hands on his cheeks.

As I try to control my breathing, I pull back to fully drink him in.

“Don’t stop,” he pleads, leaning forward to kiss me once more.

“We can’t,” I rasp, looking away to avoid his gaze.

Sawyer pulls back, hands loosening on my sides. It isn’t that I don’t want that sort of intimacy with him, because some nights I can barely hold myself back when I think of it. But it is far more complicated than attraction. And I have explained such to him.

“Liv, I understand,” he says, sliding me from him onto the wood. He remains sitting with his knees bent, arms resting on them. “Anything, with you, it is enough.”

In this position, I can truly take him in. His muscled arms spread tight against his shirt, his hair unruly, skin dusted with dirt, scar-covered forearms. This life he has been subjected to, not by choice, is not forgiving.

“Thank you for understanding,” I say. I scoot closer to him and rest my head on his shoulder, breathing in the early spring breeze.

There we sit for what feels like hours, his arm around me as we drink in the peace of this spot. We eventually have to go back. Trentin surely would drink his pockets empty in a short amount of time considering how long it’s been since the last market. The need for alcohol surpassing the need for decadence.

Sawyer’s breathing hitches and he coughs, waking me from my trance. His hands massage his temples and he slowly comes to stand.

“Come on, let’s get that necklace on you,” he says, voice soft and quiet. I hesitate, looking at his unreadable face but I take his hand and let him pull me up to stand, a sense of urgency in his movements.

We’ve been on the floor for so long, my head spins. Sawyer steadies me, leaning his head down to meet my eyes.

“You okay?”

“Yes, I just stood up too fast,” I say, shaking my loose hair from my shoulders.

From up here, the tree towers even higher than before, and I realize how unsteady the structure really is. It surprises me that the wood can hold us both with how worn and chipped it looks.

He moves his hands up to my shoulders and turns me around. With my back to him, I can now see the variety of trees in front of me. It really is beautiful out here, so I make a mental note to come back next week.

Sawyer reaches around my head, holding the necklace in front of me from each end. “Your hair,” he murmurs, close enough to my ear that I can hear a shake in his voice.

“Afraid of heights, Sawyer?” I tease, holding my hair up over my shoulder.