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ππππππ ππππππππ ππ πππππ ππππ ππππ πππ ππππππππ that night, but every part of him intended to make certain she did not endure it alone. His hand remained against the side of her face, the pad of his thumb rested beneath her cheekbone, feeling the heat there, the faint tack of dried tears and perspiration. Her lashes lifted a fraction, and Harwin bent until his mouth touched her forehead, his lips lingering at her temple. For one selfish instant, he wanted nothing more than to remain as they were; he wanted to curve himself around her again and close his eyes against the silver-gold tangle of her hair; his body heavy with the aftermath of release, every muscle carrying the deep, pleasant burn of having been used hard. Her scent clung to him; her nails had left fine, stinging crescents along his shoulders and through his scalp. He pressed another kiss to her shoulder, then another nearer the nape of her neck, smoothing her hair aside with the backs of his fingers. The strands had tangled badly where he had wound them around his fist, and he began separating them carefully, patient even where sweat had made the finer pieces cling together.Β
β . . . You never have to thank me for loving you. βΒ
His fingers loosened the last small knot near her nape, and he laid the freed length across the pillow, arranging it away from the dampness at her throat, then allowed his hand to drift slowly down the center of her back, following the line until it disappeared beneath the sheet he had drawn over her hips. Harwin closed his eyes briefly; the room smelled faintly of sex, sweat, and the lavender vanille linen spray one of his sisters had included among the absurd number of things she had brought when helping them prepare their home. After a brief rest, Harwin eased his hand from beneath hers and began to rise. The mattress shifted under his weight, and the loss of his warmth elicited a small, displeased sound from Rhaenyra's lips. It threaded directly through him, stirring a faint remnant of desire that his body, evidently lacking all sense of decency, had not entirely relinquished. He drew the sheet over her instead, lifting the fabric carefully so it would not drag unpleasantly across oversensitive skin; the linen settling along her hip and over the lower curve of her belly, then he swung his legs over the edge of the mattress and sat for a moment on the side of the bed, elbows braced on his knees, dragging one hand down his face. His heartbeat had not yet settled; his thighs still ached. He could feel the faint tremor in his own fingers as he pushed himself to his feet, retrieving his boxers where they had been discarded, pulling them on before stepping around the corner of the bed.
The kitchen was bright after the bedroom's dimness, and he squinted against the overhead light as he retrieved a glass from the cabinet. He filled it with ice first, then water, and stood for a moment with his hip against the counter, drinking half of it in long pulls before refilling it for her. He left the glass sweating gently on the counter and opened the refrigerator, blinking into its cold white light. Three smoothies waited in a neat row along the upper shelf, thick and cold within their glass bottles, and Harwin found himself quietly grateful for his foresight, and that he'd possessed enough sense to prepare them earlier that day before she was in need of such small mercies. He loosened the lid, tested it with a cautious swallow, then poured it into the smaller insulated cup she preferred. The mixture had thickened in the refrigerator, and Harwin added a little oat milk, stirring until it moved easily through the straw, then gathered both drinks against his chest and returned to the bedroom.Β The bed remained wholly in disarray. Pillows had slipped toward the floor; the sheet lay gathered around Rhaenyraβs lower body, covering her hips and belly but leaving the long slope of her back bare, one hand rested beneath her cheek. The other remained curved over the fullness of their child, her palm splayed there as if even exhausted she could not relinquish the instinct to protect him. Her lashes lay dark against her flushed skin, her lips were parted, swollen and tender from his mouth. A faint sheen of sweat still cooled along her spine. He set the smoothie on the nightstand and slid one arm beneath her shoulders, lifting her carefully enough that her cheek came to rest against his chest.
β Easy, love. Just me. β He settled behind her against the headboard and arranged her between his thighs, supporting most of her weight against him. β Small sips. βΒ
He held the glass to her mouth, his palm spread beneath her jaw while she drank, and tipped the glass again only when her lips parted for it. A bead escaped at the corner of her mouth and traveled toward her chin; Harwin caught it with his thumb and wiped it away, resisting the instinct to kiss the place clean.Β
β Another. Then Iβll stop harassing you for a bit. β He stayed until the tension in her shoulders had begun to ease, his fingers moving over her stomach and then along her arm. When he finally shifted, he did so slowly. β Iβm going to run you a bath. Iβll leave the door open. β
Harwin eased her back onto the pillows and arranged them beneath her until she no longer had to hold herself upright. He left the water and smoothie within reach, though he knew she would not touch either while he was gone, then crossed into the adjoining bathroom. He turned on the taps and held his wrist beneath the stream, adjusting the temperature until it was warm enough to soothe without leaving her light-headed as steam began to rise in thin ribbons. Harwin found the vanilla bath oil and added only a little, watching the pale sheen unfurl across the surface, before he laid a clean towel on the heated rail, setting another beside the tub for her hair, and retrieving the soft robe she had abandoned over the back of the bathroom chair that morning. A few minutes later, he shut off the taps when the water reached halfway up the tub and returned to the bedroom. Rhaenyra watched him approach through half-lowered lashes, and Harwin bent as he pulled the sheet aside just enough to gather her, sliding one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her back. He paused before lifting her, giving her every opportunity to berate him. When she did not, he drew her against his chest and rose. The effort pulled sharply through his tired thighs, but he scarcely noticed it. Her arms came around his neck, her face settling into the hollow beneath his jaw. Harwin adjusted his grip beneath her knees and carried her into the bathroom, moving carefully over the threshold as steam curled in the air around them.
He lowered her slowly, one arm bracing along the tub's edge while the other guided her legs over the porcelain rim. The water received her in increments; first her calves, then her thighs, and Rhaenyra drew a sharp breath as the warmth met oversensitive skin, her fingers tightening on his shoulder. The vanilla oil had turned the water faintly iridescent, and it lapped at the swell of her belly as she settled, the surface trembling with each small shift of her body. Harwin kept his hand beneath her arm until he was certain she was steady, then withdrew it slowly, his knuckles brushing the side of her ribcage as he pulled back. Her skin had flushed from the heat already, the pink deepening across her chest and throat, and he could see the fine tremor that ran through her arms when she braced them against the tub's edge. Steam curled between them; his boxers had dampened at the knees where he knelt against the mat, and sweat prickled along his hairline, as he gathered her hair where it floated in pale ribbons across the surface, lifting the wet weight of it over the rim and onto the towel he had laid within reach. He cupped water in his palms and let it trail down her shoulders, following the path with his eyes, over the faint marks his mouth had left along her collarbone, the deeper blush still fading at her throat, the places where her skin had flushed and cooled and flushed again. He reached for the cloth folded on the bath's edge and drew it through the water, then began washing her arm in long, unhurried strokes from shoulder to fingertips. He took each finger in turn, cleaning around the knuckle, along the nail, before laying her hand back against her stomach and moving to the other.
Once he was nearly done, he drew the cloth along her stomach, passing gently beneath the full curve where their child rested, and she shifted slightly at the pressure before he set the cloth aside and cupped the water instead, bringing it up in slow handfuls along the taut skin, his palm broad and warm as it followed the slope and returned again. He could feel the subtle tension beneath his touch, the tightness that had not fully relented, the low ache that lingered in her lower back where the weight of the child had settled, and he adjusted, sliding his hand beneath the water to the base of her spine, pressing his thumb there in a slow, firm circle until he felt her exhale.Β
β Yeah that's it, good girl. . . there you go, breathe for me, sweetheart. Gods, you poor thing. What can I do? β
