Chapter Thirty-Seven: Infinite

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

INFINITE

The banquet ends deep into the night. After our guests ride off in their luxury electric carriages, drunk out of their minds, Shimin and I are escorted to one of the hotel’s penthouse suites.

He lets me bathe first to free myself of the layers of makeup and neck-aching hairstyle. The moment I emerge from the washroom, he breezes past me in the sigh of released steam, then shuts a door between us again.

His intention must be for me to fall asleep first, so we can ignore the issue of consummating our Match.

Instead, I slump down on an intricate wooden chair under the sitting room’s red lanterns and wait. Anticipation swoops up and down through me. This tension between us has gone on for far too long. Tonight, it’s about time I resolved it.

When he comes out, red night robe loose on his body, he puts his glasses back on after a long day of suffering contact lenses.

He recoils at the sight of me.

“I couldn’t manage the walk to the bedroom,” I say as casually as I can, though I can’t stop my ears from going hot, especially at the glimpse of skin down his chest. “Could you carry me? Please?”

“Um. Okay.” He sashes his robe tighter before coming for me.

If he meant to make this less intimate, it doesn’t work. The heat of our bodies presses through our thin layers of steam-dampened silk, practically skin on skin. I can feel every curve and contour of his muscles as they tense up to carry my weight. They daze me, making my blood flow go haywire.

Until he came into my life, I never realized how mesmerizing this kind of masculinity can be. A steady, controlled power used to protect and defend, not terrorize and take. In his arms, I feel safe being vulnerable. I don’t have to force myself to be the cold, guarded, lonesome Iron Widow all the time.

I press my ear to his chest. His heart beats fast.

As fast as mine.

Good.

A burning fragrance stirs out of the bedroom when I push the door open. Low red light bleeds through a wooden lattice on the ceiling. On a mahogany dresser, two maroon candles flicker in bronze candlesticks, making the room’s ambiance palpitate like a heart chamber. Even our skin gets dyed a pulsing red. I turn my hand in the light, transfixed.

The bed is the same fancy style as the one in Yang Guang’s loft. It’s boxed inside a tall, carved frame with a round opening, and beckons in the ebbing light.

Shimin lowers me onto the silk sheets. Crossing the bed frame feels like crossing a threshold to a new world. A denser, more compact one where every sense comes sharper and deeper. For a second, he hovers over me, the hard angles of his face sculpted by red light and velvety shadows and a dithering arc of candle glow. The gap between us seems compelled to close.

But then it doesn’t.

His cloud of heat leaves me, chased by a cold rush. He turns to the door.

I seize the back of his robe.

“Where are you going?” I say.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he says, without facing me. “It’s fine.”

“I don’t want you to sleep there.”

Slowly, he turns around, a glistening wonder blooming in his eyes. Just like after our first battle, when he discovered I’d survived.

“The bed is big enough for the both of us,” I add in a spill of words, in case he’s intent on misunderstanding me. I let go of his robe. My body feels charged up to the brink of endurance, ready to snap or shatter.

The cautious wonder vanishes into him. His expression darkens. “There’s no need to act anymore, you know.”

“I’m not acting.” I scowl, throat drying, heartbeat accelerating. “I’m really not.”

His brows furrow. “Then what are you doing?”

I snort out a laugh. “Seducing you, I guess.”

Surprise flashes across his face.

I hold his gaze, untangling my fingers when I notice them clasped together. Letting him know how serious I am, how sure.

It takes him a while to find his words. He ends up repeating the same ones, but in a different tone. A more tortured one.

“What are you doing?” He shakes his head. “You have Yizhi.”

It sends a shot straight through my heart, but I maintain my poise. “I do. Does that bother you?”

“No, he’s perfect for you.” All hardness wilts from Shimin’s eyes. “He’s kind, he’s brave, he’s reliable, he…” Shimin blinks rapidly. “His skin is so smooth. It’s like porcelain.”

I blink. Sometimes, I wonder if Shimin’s range of attraction extends just as far as Yizhi’s.

I don’t know if Shimin would be comfortable expressing it, though. In my village, it would mark him as a target for heated gossip for sure. When Yizhi and I were chatting in bed about this a few nights ago, he said city folk don’t care as much, but he’s rich and from the capital. He has it a lot easier than most people.

Anyway, that’s for Shimin and Yizhi to figure out. This is between Shimin and me.

Shimin staggers back. “Yizhi’s the one you should choose.”

I lean forward with a growl, digging my nails into the edge of the bed. “Choose? Why do I have to choose only one of you?”

“You can’t…cheat…on him.”

“Cheating is deception. He and I have talked about this. He’s secure enough to know it’s not a competition. That any feelings I have for you don’t cancel out the ones I have for him. He’s okay with however close you and I get.”

“He’s just saying that.”

“No. There’s something he told me: love can be infinite, as much as your heart can open. And my heart is open to you, Shimin.”

His face goes blank. He just stares at me.

I don’t know what it means.

A sudden shyness rushes through me, bowing my chin. Maybe I shouldn’t have crossed this line. “If it’s too weird, that’s fine. We can stay—”

Shimin steps close again. My head swings up.

Our eyes meet. His vulnerable, mine tender. The opposite of what we’re supposed to be. Even hunched over, his shadow eclipses me. He seems to become aware of this, and sinks to one knee to regard me at eye level.

“Is this really what you want?” he whispers huskily. “If Sima Yi, or whatever, got to you, don’t. You really don’t owe me anything. And you especially don’t have to…pity me.” His eyes glide aside, and the rest of his head starts to follow.

I cup his face with both hands to make him look at me.

“I don’t pity you, you dork,” I say with a small laugh. “I cherish you.” I skim my hands to his collarbones, feeling his rapid heartbeat at the bottom of my palms. “I cherish who you’ve managed to be, despite the world telling you over and over that you’re wrong. You may have some undeniably monstrous parts inside you, but that’s okay. I have them too. No matter what anyone says, I’m proud to call you my co-pilot, Iron Demon.”

His brows slacken. A boyish shine enters his eyes. The youngest I’ve seen him look. Our warm breaths quicken, swirling together. His mouth moves as if to say something back.

But then he just lifts my chin and kisses me.

His gentleness is a startling thing. It takes effort for a boy like him to be gentle, yet that’s what he abides by around me.

Our mouths move against each other’s with the ghost of soft, slow murmurs. When we run out of air, he sits back on his knees, lifts my hand, and presses a kiss to my knuckles. The gesture scatters any last semblance of my defenses into vapor.

“And I’m proud to be your partner, Iron Widow.” He looks up at me through his glasses, a hint of red qi sizzling in his eyes from his spinal brace. Simultaneously demonic yet sweet.

“You know, that’s not a very auspicious title,” I say, though I can’t control my grin.

“Charming Lady, then.” He runs his thumb over my fingers. “Mei-Niang.”

“Fine. I do enjoy ironic nicknames.” I hook a finger in his robe collar and pull him into another kiss. More aggressive this time. More urgent.

The temperature shifts in the room. He lets me guide him onto the bed and overtop of myself. His knees settle on either side of me, making the mattress rise against my hips. Only with him could I feel so comfortable being pinned down by someone so strong and imposing. His mouth comes down to meet mine. My mind overflows under the sensations of his solid flesh, his crushing weight, his intoxicating heat.

I reach for his robe sash.

His hand flies near my wrist, but then mellows.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper against his lips. What is it with boys and hesitating to show me their chests?

“I’ve got a lot of scars,” he mumbles in the lowest register of his voice, the sound dizzying me, making me writhe beneath him.

“I’m not scared,” I say on a fast, airy breath.

He drops his hand, but he doesn’t kiss me again. He hovers, chest heaving slowly and deeply.

I pull the sash loose.

Whenever I open the last layer of Yizhi’s robes, a calm gladness fills me like moonlight.

Shimin’s skin makes me feel anything but calm.

I gape in awe at the landscape of muscles and scars across his torso. I wish I had his power, I wish I was him, yet I hate that he went through any of this. I can read his life story, the things he’s bested and survived, as if I were blind.

I can’t help but compare. The sterile ache of Yizhi’s tattoos versus the raw agony of Shimin’s scars, born from different forms of pain.

There’s a reason Shimin has been the most powerful pilot in Huaxia for two years. And it has nothing to do with how easily he can carry me without breaking a sweat.

To have kept choosing to wake up every day and face what life has dealt him, he is the strongest person I can imagine.

Despite the endless horrors that we’ve both been through, I really am grateful that we survived to meet each other.