Page 506 - Fourth Wing

Leaving his hair, I sink to my knees before him.

“Violet—”
“I’m just taking off your boots.” A smirk plays at my lips as I unlace one,

then the other, taking them off. I rise and carry his boots toward the

armoire.
“You can just leave them there,” he blurts.

I put them on the floor next to the armoire and walk back. “I wasn’t going

to go snooping through your clothes, and it’s not like I haven’t seen them all
anyway.”

His gaze locks on my skirt, heating every time the slit reveals a section of

my thigh. “You’ve been wearing that all night?”
“That’s what you get for walking behind me,” I tease, coming to stand

between his thighs again.
“I can’t really argue about the view from the back, either.” He tilts his

chin to look up at me.

“Be quiet and let me get this off you.” I undo the line of diagonal buttons
across his chest, and he shrugs out of the leathers. “Were you flying

tonight?”
“It usually helps.” He nods as I lean over to set them on the armchair.

“This day is always…”

“I’m sorry.” I look him in the eyes as I say it, hoping he knows how very
much I mean it as I return, reaching for his shirt.

“I’m sorry, too.” He lifts his arms, and I tug the shirt off before putting it

with the flight jacket.
“You have nothing to be sorry about.” I keep my eyes on his as I cup the

unrelenting angles of his face, then trace the scar that bisects a brow.

“Challenge?”
“Sgaeyl.” He shrugs. “Threshing.”

“Most dragons scar their riders, but Tairn and Andarna have never hurt
me,” I say absent-mindedly, my hand slipping down his neck.