The Dragon's Heart: Unspoken Passion-Chapter 125: I Will Take Care of You (Part 4)

Ilaria did not realize she was crying until a tear slipped sideways into her hair. Her breath fractured, coming apart in short, helpless pulls as something inside her tipped with a slow, dreadful inevitability that made her fingers dig into his shoulders as if she were afraid of being swept away.

It was happening again.

"Ah—" The sound broke in her throat, unfinished, unguarded.

She tried. Gods, she tried to control herself. But the feeling swelled again, deeper this time, not sharp like before, but vast, rolling through her until her body bowed beneath it, her mouth opening on a sound she could not stop. Her eyes wavered then, unfocused, panic flashing there for a heartbeat.

She had never imagined it like this.

She had been told pleasure existed in the conscientious, reverent language reserved for married women, but she never knew it could unravel her so much. The way it asked nothing of her body except surrender. The way it made her feel seen rather than taken...

In Caelwyn, intimacy had always been spoken of as a sacred duty first, a continuation of bloodlines and vows sealed in flesh. She remembered the Temple clearly the first few months before her wedding: cool stone beneath bare feet, incense clinging to her hair, the quiet murmur of priestesses as they taught her what a wife must give and what a husband would claim.

They had spoken of patience and obedience, of bearing heirs and endurance mollified by devotion. And of the body as a vessel and a future. She had listened. She had understood. She had prepared herself just so that she would be the perfect wife Noctharis could expect.

But nowhere in those rites... neither in the fasting nor the prayers nor the ceremonial oils traced along her wrists had anyone told her it could feel like this. That it could leave her trembling not from obligation, but from being cherished into pieces. That she would one day let another person touch her not because it was ceremonial, but because some subtle, aching part of her wanted him to.

This was not duty. This was not instruction. This was something else entirely... something cozy and overwhelming and terrifying in its sweetness. Something that made her realize, dimly and all at once, that intimacy had never been only about creation — It was about communion.

The thought struck her so hard it stole what little breath she had left. Her fingers clenched tighter, as if holding onto him might anchor the realization before it shattered her completely. She had walked into marriage believing she knew what it meant to belong to someone.

She had been wrong.

The tension she had been holding snapped all at once, leaving her shaking and breathless while clutching onto him like he was the only solid thing in a world that had gone frighteningly alive and melting around the edges. When it passed, she sagged against his chest, stunned by the silence that followed.

"There," she heard him said as he slowly, and finally withdrew his fingers, leaving her feeling both bereft and exquisitely sensitive. "...Are you okay?"

She did not answer immediately, her body still vibrating with the aftershocks of pleasure. Instead, she nestled her face closer into him, seeking for his warmth and familiarity. Only then did she lift her head, eyes glassy and unfocused, lashes clumped dark with tears.

"I—" She swallowed, then frowned, as if the feeling itself had offended her expectations. "You didn’t... You didn’t w-warn me it would be like that..."

It was not accusation so much as bewilderment. "I-I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything that... that didn’t listen to me before..."

Levan shifted just enough to lift his hand and brought it up to her hair. His hand caresses the silver strands, careful not to let his still glistening fingers touch her.

"Mm," he cooed at last, like he was not surprised at all. "Of course you didn’t know."

His thumb brushed along her temple, wiping away the trace of moisture there. When he spoke again, it was fond in a way that bordered on indulgent. "You’ve never had to learn what to do when something feels bigger than you. You were always meant to be protected from that."

He smiled down at her as his hand continued its steady motion through her hair. "But you don’t have to be scared. Because that wasn’t your body misbehaving," he added gently. "It was just... responding."

Ilaria made a small sound then, barely audible, her face turning inward toward his chest as if she could hide there while saying something incoherent.

"Hm?" Levan paused. "What was that?"

She did not lift her head. If anything, she nuzzled closer, her voice emerging even more muffled than before.

"I said—" she stopped, swallowed hard, then tried again, "—I said I’m embarrassed." The word came out thin and fragile, like a confession dragged into the light against her will.

Levan marveled at her, tilting his head, trying to catch her face. "Embarrassed?"

She nodded against him, silver hair brushing his collarbone. "That isn’t how it was explained," she mumbled. "...I t-thought being intimate was just for making... making babies..."

Levan froze, blinking once, then an incredulous titter escaped him. "...You thought that’s all it was for?"

Her nod was desperate and apologetic. She hesitated, then rushed on, clearly flustered. "...They said it was meant to be proper and purposeful. That it was about duty, and heirs, and... and understanding one’s role."

There was a short pause, then her voice dipped timidly. "...Was husband taught differently?" She looked up at him, eyes wide in genuine wonder. "Were you taught... to... to touch... my..." her ears reddened, and she stopped talking altogether.

And that did it. Levan had to look away for a moment, pressing his lips together as something molten and helpless curled tight in his chest. Gods help him, this woman... He wanted to pull her closer, hide her away, and devour her whole just to keep her safe from the world and from her own innocent questions.

When he finally looked back at her, it was with the expression of a man already lost. All composure had melted away, leaving only naked endearment and a tenderness so intense it bordered on painful. His eyes darkened, then shone, then tempered again, utterly unmoored by the sight of his wife looking up at him like this, so confused yet devastatingly sincere.

"Saints, Aria..." he breathed. His eyes glinting like he was reveling in the conversation too much. "Is that what you really thought?"

Her eyes searched his, startled by the way his gaze lingered with mild merriment and raw adoration. A few strands of his dark hair had fallen forward, brushing just above his brow, catching the light in a way that made his features look more impossibly handsome.

It was so disarming that she could not help but blink, caught somewhere between awe and bashfulness. "Why are you laughing... Was I wrong?" She whispered.

"Yes," he said. "Very." And because she was still looking at him like he was being vague, he sighed and removed the pillow beneath her waist, only to wrap his arm around her while being attentive to her comfort as he slid his hand up to the small of her back.

"Okay, you weren’t taught wrong," he said in a hush. "Not at all." He reassured, a doting warmth settling into his eyes. "The temple taught you what it could. About the sacred parts and the solemn one, it simply didn’t speak of the entire thing."

Her brows knitted faintly, still overwhelmed. "Then... Then why does it feel like I did something improper?"

Levan’s fingers curled lightly around her shoulders. "No, it’s not," he shook his head lightly, "It’s not improper. Not in the slightest. It’s only new."

She considered that, then promptly curled back into him, hiding her face again. "...I still feel ridiculous."

"Ridiculous?" Levan repeated thoughtfully. His thumb traced a lazy, comforting line along her shoulder. "Aria, I didn’t even touch you anywhere scandalous."

She stiffened, her mouth already opening to babble out his crimes, because he absolutely did — when he cut her off. 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

"I didn’t," he went on, clearly enjoying himself. "I didn’t look at you the way you’re thinking I did. Didn’t do anything other than pleasing you." His voice dipped, tinged with amusement. "Saints, I barely even breathed wrong."

Her head snapped up. "You— you absolutely breathed wrong."

He snorted, the sound vibrating through her. "If that’s all it takes, then you truly were never warned."

Her face burned. "Husband."

"Hm?"

"That isn’t funny."

"Oh, it’s very funny," he said fondly, brushing his knuckles along her arm. "You’re clinging to me like I committed some great sin when all I did was touch you the way a husband is allowed to." He tilted his head, the corner of his eyes crinkling with mirth. "And You came undone like you lost your footing all at once."

She made a distressed sound and groaned. "Please stop saying it like that."

He chuckled, then lowered his voice, conspiratorial. His mouth brushed her hair as he spoke, eyes closed as he breathed her in. "Should I say it like this instead? My wife discovered she has feelings."

That earned him a weak shove to the chest, making him lean back with a snort. "I have always had feelings!" she protested.

"Yes," he agreed easily. "Just not ones that leave you shaking and accusing me of crimes afterward."

"I did not accuse you!"

"You looked very betrayed, though, as if I failed to submit proper paperwork before making you feel adored. That counts as accusation."

Despite herself, a tiny, traitorous chortle slipped out of her. Levan felt it and smiled, pleased in that smoldering, gratified way. His arms enfolded just a fraction, holding her like something precious he had coaxed back from the edge.

"There," he hummed. "That sound. That’s the part they didn’t teach you."

She sniffed, mortified all over again. "What part?"

"That it’s allowed to feel good," he said simply. "That your body is allowed to answer without asking permission first." His hand smoothed down her hips, caressing her skin there. "You know what? I think you care too much about doing things properly."

She pursed her lips at him. "Well, I wanted to be a good wife."

"You already are," he said without hesitation. "Gods, Aria, you’re extraordinary at it." He gave her hip the slightest squeeze while looking at her as though she were the only thing in the world. And she could not help but melt under him.

Her eyes went glossy again, which made him sigh and kiss her hair before she could spiral.

"And for the record," he added lightly, returning to mischief just to save her, "if that was you being ridiculous, I should probably warn you next time I so much as look at you."

She gasped. "Levan!"

He laughed again, easy and rare. "See? Imagine if I actually tried."

"You’re cruel," she sulked, not meaning it at all.

She did not speak for a moment, sinking into the steady ease of his arms like sunlight pooling over a quiet morning. The frantic edge of her thoughts loosened, drifting apart until all that remained was the fragile calm unfurling in her chest, content simply because he was here, with her. Slowly, she peeked up at him again, eyes still glassy, but now pensive and brave in her own way.

"We still have that bath, don’t we?" she confided, her voice still weak, but with a faint return of her usual playful lilt.

Delight traced Levan’s lips in an instant, soft and unassuming. He adjusts her chemise to sit properly over her legs, covering her for the sake of her solace. "We do," he said, nodding affectionately. "I promised you your bath, didn’t I? It’s still waiting for you."

A flash of brightness spread across her countenance, and her eyes lit up just enough for him to see it. "Then... I suppose we should go," she intoned quietly, poking at his chest like a spoiled child. "If you hadn’t dawdled, we’d already be in the bath like... thirty minutes ago."

He groaned, sinking low with mock defeat and admitted immediately. "Yes... guilty as charged. Punish me if you must."

Ilaria laughed, pure and radiant, and he crumpled against her, heart fluttering, every ounce of pride and composure gone, reduced to nothing but the ache of adoration that she had willed into his chest with nothing more than her joy.

She was always happy, a creature of easy laughter and unguarded smiles, and yet the happiness she wore now was different, and watching her face light up like this, he felt the undeniable certainty take root, that this peaceful quietude existed because of him and would not have existed otherwise.

If it were up to him, he would have stayed right here, satisfied to settle into her embrace until the sky dimmed and lightened again with morning. But his hand slid to her back all the same, and with effortless ease, he lifted her into his arms. She looked far too eager for her bath, and he did not have the heart to take his words back now.

"Alright," he said, turning toward the antechamber, "let’s wash you up." His steps were unhurried and assured.

As he walked, he dipped his head to her hair, breathing her in before pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. His voice sank to a private, warm cadence, meant only for her. "I’ll take care of you."