CHAPTER 269: TO CRAVE WARMTH

The journey lasted for days.

Lorraine, who had never once stepped beyond the capital walls, looked around in awe. For someone raised among marble corridors and chandeliers, the little villages they passed weren’t quite as romantic as she had imagined. The air was thick with dust, the roofs were uneven, and everything smelled faintly of smoke and damp hay.

As much as she wanted to be moved by the sight of her people’s lives, she found herself thinking of the city she had left behind — her mansion, her allies, her carefully spun web of influence. Leroy had promised he wouldn’t destroy what she had built. Yet here he was, quietly undoing it, one winding dirt path at a time.

He never took the royal road. Only backwater trails through dense woods, paths where she saw no other soul. At first, the wilderness thrilled her as it was a taste of adventure, of freedom. But by the second day, the novelty wore thin. There were no baths, no warm bread, no silk sheets. She had to wash and change in the open, and her meals were plain and meager compared to the delicacies she was used to.

But he was with her. And that was enough... wasn’t it?

Leroy took care of her better than she expected. Before she could even voice a need, he had already met it. When she was hungry, he gave her bread that was dry, but filling. He had packed dried fruits and nuts for her health. He caught fish and rabbits, skinning and cooking them with practiced ease over a fire that never failed to burn steady through the night.

Sleeping arrangements were the only thing she refused to compromise. She might have been abused before, but for the past decade, she was used to luxury. Her husband was the one who pampered her into luxury and her body and her mind were used to luxuries. She was a lady, a princess, and she would not sleep on bare earth like a commoner. So she didn’t.

She slept on him

.

The first night, under a tree.

The next, inside a cave where the air was damp and cold.

Leroy was hard as stone, but he was warm, warm enough to make her forget the chill and the world. His scent wrapped around her like a lullaby, lulling her to sleep despite the distant growls of unseen predators.

And she admired him. The sure way his hands handled a blade. The calm in his eyes as he skinned and scaled. The firelight flickering across his face, gilding him in quiet strength.

Everything...every moment with him... felt like a secret she wasn’t supposed to enjoy.

But she did.

But on the third day... it started like any other morning. Lorraine woke curled against him, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek a comforting rhythm. The fire still burned low, casting a golden glow that danced on the walls of the cave, and the first morning light filtered through the damp entrance, soft and gentle.

She lifted her head and watched him, his eyes closed, a stubble brushing against her fingertips as she lightly poked his chin. The rough softness of it sent a shiver through her, and she smiled, relishing the small, familiar intimacy.

Leaning closer, she brushed her lips against his jaw, lingering over the curve of his mouth. His warmth seeped into her, steady and grounding, and she felt that familiar fluttering in her chest; the kind that had nothing to do with danger or fear, but everything to do with him.

She pressed her lips lightly against his face, playful and teasing, watching for any reaction. His hands tightened around her in response, though he still pretended to sleep, unmoving, unyielding in his quiet challenge. Lorraine chuckled softly at his stubbornness, tracing her fingers across his shoulders, memorizing the strength she had always admired.

The quiet hum of the cave, the crackle of the dying fire, and the closeness of him filled her senses. She leaned in again, letting her forehead rest against his, breathing in the scent she had always found comforting, and smiled.

"Leroy..." she grazed her lips on his earlobe as she whispered. She smiled sensing his hand tightening around her waist, but he still pretended to be "sleeping".

Lorraine smiled, her desire rising to a challenge now. She wanted to see how far he would go to pretend to be sleeping.

She pressed her lips on his. And there it was... the scent she craved, the softness she desired, the warm wetness that made her lower abdomen constrict with desire. She sucked and nibbled on his lips, grinding her crotch over his abdomen, all the while her hands slipped under his shirt tracing over the hard planes of his chest and on his nipples, teasing and lingering on his sensitive spots.

There it was...

A groan... A deep groan of desire rising from his abdomen.

Lorraine’s lips curled. She had still got it... Got the tricks to get him hot and bothered by her touches. She got bolder and her hands slipped inside his trousers, teasing his length that was already ready.

With that, Leroy didn’t hold back. His eyes opened, half-lidded, the molten gold eyes looking at her with burning desire. His jaws clenched as he pulled her skirt up. Grabbing her thigh, he slipped inside her as his lips crashed into hers.

The morning light spilled into the cave, painting their entwined forms in gold and amber. Lorraine pressed herself against Leroy, letting the warmth of his body seep into her bones, a quiet reprieve after days of fire, chaos, and flight. Every brush of his hand against her back, every shift of his weight as he adjusted to hold her more snugly, was a language all their own—a conversation of trust, of need, of devotion that needed no words.

She rested her cheek on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, letting herself sink into it as though it could carry away every memory of the burning mansion, every shadow cast by the emperor’s men. Leroy shifted, nuzzling her hair and tracing gentle circles on her shoulder, a soft touch that made her close her eyes and sigh.

Time seemed to stretch in the quiet, the crackle of the dying fire the only reminder of the world outside. Lorraine tilted her head, brushing her lips over the ridge of his jaw, and he responded with the slightest shiver beneath her. No urgency, no pressure... just the profound recognition of being in each other’s presence, of surviving and existing together.

She curled more tightly into him, and he tightened his arms in turn, resting his chin atop her head. Fingers threaded through hair, hands on shoulders, small, unconscious presses and shifts; they were a dance of intimacy born from comfort, from the relief of being together without danger looming over them.

Even in their exile, even amidst the damp stones and shadowed corners of the cave, they found joy in the simple act of closeness: leaning, touching, feeling the heat of each other’s skin, their bodies a silent promise of warmth and safety. Every movement was deliberate yet tender; every sigh and shuffle a testament to how deeply they needed one another.

The fire’s glow dwindled, leaving only the soft traces of light on her skin and his. Yet within that glow, they created their own world; one of quiet flames, of shared breaths, of lingering touches that said more than words ever could. Outside, the world raged. Inside, they were infinite, wrapped in each other’s presence, making the best of this stolen haven beneath the weight of circumstance.

And that warmth lasted only so long...

Until Lorraine realized what she truly craved:

A bath. A long, steaming, cleansing bath...