Imperial (Insight #8)(51)
I squeezed his hand. “I trust you. And I am grateful for you. I thank the Creator each day for you—for every moment.”
“Not fully…to the extreme that He believes you will feel one day.”
“Well, next time you talk to Him, tell him I miss our little talks. That I am a little blind right now.”
Vade’s eyes were full of agony, and I had no idea why. I suppose that he was right before: I didn’t see the lessons of the Veil or the ones I was living through now. I could only hope that he was also right in stating that I would understand them one day.
“Out of cake,” I said in an attempt to change the subject. “Want to go on another joy ride?”
He stood from his seat and held out his hand for mine. I took it, holding his stare. Around us, the little shop vanished. I expected to find his car once more, but I was wrong again; instead, the most enticing scent absorbed me: night blooming roses.
We were in a garden, one that he created for me, that held every single flower known to creation. The grass was as soft as silk, and the moon hung so low that you could swear you could touch it. There was no wind, and it was not cold or hot; the air was pure, and vibrating with his essence.
I doubt I could choose a favorite first with him, but the night when we fully claimed each other would always rank among the most memorable.
He was just as scared as I was, even though he didn’t show it. His hands were steady, powerful, and extremely careful with me. Each caress was tender and offered a pause, a chance for me to tell him I was not ready.
I was more than ready, so ready that I had to hold myself back, that I had to force patience. Before this first, each time we were alone and he would ask me to talk about how I was feeling, how I felt about him, I developed the habit of changing the subject physically. A kiss, a simple touch, anything that would keep me away from saying the truth, to distract him.
During this first, he urged a slow and steady pace. He told me later that fevers were raw and physical; rushes were a sensual dance between souls. He was very right about that.
To this day, I still use a touch to distract him, something he had already called me on once tonight, but I had learned this dance as well.
I let an innocent yet seductive smile come to my lips.
“Look familiar?” he asked as his fingertips reached for the strap on my dress and traced the cloth there.
“Vaguely,” I said in a deep, sensual whisper.
“A lot of emotion in this garden.” With a glance from him, the bed we had shared countless times before manifested. It was solid white; a canopy let lace sheets rain down around it.
“Agreed,” I said as I inhaled the scent of roses; it was not coming from the garden, but from him.
“I always thought that I felt more than what you say to me here…am I wrong about that?”
My hands reached for his chest and slowly slid up to his shoulders. I stood on my tiptoes. He made no effort to lean down; he was waiting on my answer. I pulled his head down and kissed him before he had a chance to move away. He was under my spell now.
The tension left his body as his kiss became more powerful, graceful. He picked me up and wrapped my legs around him before carefully lying us down.
The classic battle of tenderness with aggression began as the scent of roses encased us.
The first time this occurred, I was nervous, terrified that something or someone would wake me up from the bliss of his presence. I couldn’t understand why or how he could look at me, touch me with such wonder and admiration. The stoic King of Anger recognized and embraced the fragile being I was with such care and grace.
Vade knew I’d been hurt, that my heart was black, yet more fragile than glass. It had been shattered so many times that it dared not believe that it had finally found its way to safety, for it knew that any and all bliss was extremely short-lived, and the pain you received for it was never, ever worth the experience.
With every deep velvet word he spoke, every smile and gentle caress of my skin, he polished the darkness away, slowly revealing the real me, the one I didn’t even know existed. In the end, all that remained was a small crack in my black glass heart, one that wrath seeped through, one that never fully allowed me to forget who I once was.
I hated that crack, that weak girl I was in my mother’s care. Because of her, that dark time in my life, I always had my defenses up when it wasn’t warranted. I always looked for negative intent in the words that were spoken to me, which was the reason that Vade and I fought when we did. I started every single fight, pushed him to the limits of any control he could be asked or expected to have. That crack led to me being too stubborn to tell him I had to face Xavier. It led to the absence we had both suffered.
Maybe that was the lesson I was supposed to learn in the Veil...maybe that was what Vade was trying to tell me at that shop.
I did trust Vade. I did have gratitude for him. He had saved me, more than once. I suppose that was why I was so focused on this war of lines. I was trying to repay the favor, save him.
I let the thoughts of my past and the dark future slip away as I focused on his touch, on how his skin felt against mine. We held each other for hours, sometimes tenderly, others more aggressively. We found ourselves laughing, feeling emotions that were so powerful that they nearly stilled us as we stared into each other. More than once I had to close my eyes, demand that tears that were of bliss but mocked weakness retreat.