In Time

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Thorin rolled over and opened his eyes, reaching up to rub them with one hand. A soft snore reached his ears, which made him smile. Amara.

He rolled carefully onto his side to ease an arm about her. She lay on her side, her back to him, so he gingerly slid her toward him until she came flush against him. Perfect. He sank back into the pillows, his eyes closing as the image of her astride him, wearing only the diamond and platinum necklace, the stones glittering and flashing with each movement of her body, each slow arc of her hips, rolled through his mind. A treasured memory, for certain. One he wouldn't mind repeating. There was something very heady, very arousing, about allowing her to control him and he was curious to see how much control she would take over him. He trusted her—trusted her enough to cede total control if she wished—and she was the only one he would ever willingly cede his control to.

Since he was a boy, the morning was his favorite part of the day, when the world was quiet, and no one wanted anything from him, and he could simply lay there and savor the peace and quiet. In the days before Smaug, he'd rise before the sun, go up to the ramparts, and just wait for the first rays to peer over the horizon. The ravens would sometimes be there, and sometimes they were his only companions, but that was fine. He savored the quiet as he'd stand and watch the world come to life. That time, those few precious hours between night and day, when the rest of the world slept, was his and his alone.

Of course, after Smaug, the world was a different place. He had to find some way to survive, and took whatever work came his way. Blacksmithing came naturally to him, and so that was what he did, wherever he could. Gone were the days of a restful, full night's sleep and watching sunrises. It was backbreaking, exhausting work, but it kept his mind off other things—things over which he had no control no matter how much he wished otherwise. But, that was also when he'd begun having trouble sleeping and took to midnight walks. He loved having the streets, or the woods, or wherever he happened to find himself, completely to himself.

Then, of course, came the fateful meeting with Gandalf that was no happenstance meeting at all. And that meeting set into motion the events that would eventually find him near death and at the mercy of an elf whose skills were outshone only by her beauty.

She stretched and he bit back a groan as her backside snuggled oh-so-nicely against him. Now, this was his favorite part of the day. He could happily lay there with her, skin to skin, until time itself drew to a close. She was warm and soft against him, her soft curves meshing perfectly with the harder planes of his body. Her heat became his, her breath became his, and everything he was became hers.

"Let's simply get married," he murmured, tracing the pointed arch of her ear with one forefinger. "Get married, have babies, and live happily ever after."

"You're a king, amrâlimê," came her whispered response as she smiled. "A royal wedding calls for ceremony upon ceremony, you know. Your subjects will be disappointed."

"I'm not a king yet." He leaned over to brush his lips against her cheek.

She carefully turned toward him, her violet eyes heavy-lidded still. "Of course you are, Thorin. You might not have been crowned yet, but you are most definitely their king."

"I've no wish to wait any longer, Amara. And if I'm king, that means I get to make the rules, don't I?" He waited for her to smile and when she did, he added, "So, we can sneak off into Dale, or the Blue Mountains, or anywhere, and find someone to marry us. No one else need even know and then, when we've finished here, we can have another wedding to make everyone around us happy."

She met his gaze and snuggled closer still to slip her arm about his middle. "You get to make the rules?" she asked with a smile.

"Well, what good is it to be king if I don't?"