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They slipped into an intimacy from which they never recovered.
A deep longing filled Jon's chest as his hands instantly tangled in her hair, pulling her closer than she had ever been before. He felt her strong body underneath the thin piece of cloth she wore, the caress of her nipples that were now flush against his chest tell-tale signs of what her body wanted, what she craved.
Her bottom lip was caught between his teeth as he slowly pulled it back, savoring the tiny breaths from her that fanned into his own mouth, swallowing them down into his lungs with need.
Wren's hands traveled from his face and up into his hair, running along his scalp and through the heavy locks. A sigh rumbled from his chest as he leaned back to look at her—glazed eyes shined back at him.
His hands ran down her back, lower and lower until they stopped right above the beginning of her backside, stilling as he observed her. She reminded him of spring, with the faint freckles on her cheeks and nose, the soft curve of her rose pink lips that were now colored red from their kiss, and the hair that hung loose around her shoulders twisted like tree branches. No one could compare to the utter beauty in his arms.
Wren squirmed under the scrutiny, not used to being so . . . exposed.
Jon tightened his arms around her. "You're beautiful, Wren. You must know—" He faltered at the blush that bloomed on her neck and face. "Oh, my darling," he murmured, lifting a hand to catch her chin. Her hands fell to his shoulders at the touch and the byname. There was an emotion in his eyes she couldn't quite decipher. She had never seen someone look at her with such . . . adoration. Not even Clay.
Clay, she felt guilt pang her. He had loved her, cared deeply for her wellbeing. And he was now dead while she was in the arms of someone else. And Jon, he had loved Ygritte, who was also dead. She knew Jon could see the reluctance in her eyes. His hands fell to his lap and she hugged her torso.
"I understand," he said as he thought grimly of the woman who had died in his arms. He looked at the woman before him, of the one who he had never stopped loving for a second. He didn't know if it was possible to love two people at once, but he realized that love was subjective. He loved Arya, but not in the way he loved Wren. He did love Ygritte, had loved her. But staring at Wren, what he felt was indescribable. It felt as though his chest would cave inward if he didn't touch her or kiss her again. It was all-consuming.
"I want to," Wren whispered as though the dead might hear her. "I want to kiss you until my lips go numb," Jon snorted softly, "but I can't help the guilt that claws away inside me."
