Chapter 16

Daria

I'm not even watching The Dragon Throne. My sole attention is on the veiny, delicious chords running up Wilder's bronzed arm. His sleeves are crawling up further up his arm every time he chuckles at the TV screen, and I try to steady my breathing, steal a glimpse of his face.

He isn't watching me.

Then maybe I can get in a more comfortable position without him giving me shit for it?

My hand press against the swelling of his right pec, and I inhale, too aware of his left arm pinned against my back. I melt into him, let the scent of his skin linger in my nose. It feels so intimate, resting my cheek against his chest and listening to his flickering heartbeat.

I can see this as something couples would do every night before going to bed together. And I briefly play a sweet reverie of telling Wilder the truth, that I'm possibly dying. The words are at the tip of my tongue.

But I remind myself this isn't a fairy tale, and neither do I want to