Chapter 24 #2
"Love is a human construct," he continued, now close enough she felt his breath brush against the back of her neck. "Fickle, changeable, worthless." His hands settled on her shoulders, and she tensed. "We don't need something as fragile as love to enjoy each other."
"Enjoy," she said flatly.
"Mmm." His thumbs traced the curve of her shoulders through the nightshift. "That warmth in your chest? I want to explore it again. See what other responses I can draw from it. From you."
"I'm not interested in being your experiment."
"No?"
She didn't see the vines until they touched her ankles, soft as silk, warm as summer. She startled, but they didn't restrain, just traced lazy patterns on her skin.
"Your pulse says otherwise," he observed. "Racing. Excited."
"That's fear."
"Liar." More vines emerged from the walls, but these didn't grab or bind. They explored, ghosting along her arms, her throat, the curve of her waist. Gentle. Teasing. "Your body is already responding. Already remembering how good it feels when you surrender."
She tried to step away, but her legs felt heavy. The vines weren't holding her, but their touch was hypnotic, making it hard to remember why she wanted to leave.
"I don't want—"
"What you want and what that warmth wants seem to be different things." His hands slid down her arms, following the path his vines had traced. "Feel how it reaches for my touch? Even through your anger?"
He was right. The warmth pulsed traitorously, leaning toward his darkness despite her mind's resistance.
"This doesn't mean anything," she said, but her voice came out breathless as a vine traced the sensitive spot behind her ear.
"Finally, something we agree on." He turned her to face him, hands framing her face. "This means nothing beyond pleasure and mere curiosity. Beyond the fascinating way your body sings for mine."
The vines grew bolder, one sliding beneath the hem of her nightshift to trace the back of her knee. She gasped, and he smiled.
"See? No love needed. No tender feelings required." His thumb traced her lower lip. "Just an honest response. Your body wanting what it wants without your mind's interference."
"That's not—" But her protest died as a vine wound around her waist, warm and secure, making the warmth in her chest flare brighter.
"Shall I stop?" He stepped back, and the vines stilled but didn't retreat. "Say the word and they'll release you. You can pace your room, restless and alone, thinking about human concepts like love that you'll never have."
The dismissal of love should have hurt and made her angry. To an extent it did. However, something about his honesty, as cruel as it was, felt cleaner than false affection. He wanted her body, was curious about the warmth, and would take pleasure in her responses. Nothing more, nothing less.
It should have been simple, transactionary, but in her heart it felt complicated.
"Or," he continued, watching her face, "you can stop pretending you need love to want this. Stop lying to yourself about what your body craves."
A vine traced her collarbone, and she shivered. They were barely touching her, barely restraining, but she felt surrounded by him. By his will made manifest in wood and leaf.
"I hate you," she said, but there was no heat in it.
"Irrelevant." He moved closer again, and the vines parted to let him through. "Hate me all you want. Your body still recognizes mine. Still burns for my touch."
His hand settled over the warmth in her chest, and it pulsed in greeting. Ready. Eager. Betraying every protest her mind wanted to make.
"Shall we see what other sounds you can make?" he asked, and the vines began to move with more purpose. "What other ways this warmth responds? No love. No lies. Just sensation."
The vines moved with more purpose now, exploring with intent that made her breath catch. One wound around her wrist, gentle but inescapable, drawing her arm up. Another caught her other wrist, spreading her arms wide. She stood caught in the middle of her room, held by his forest.
"This nightshift is charming," he murmured, circling her slowly. "So modest." His hand trailed along the silk edge at her throat. "It makes me want to tear it off. To see what you're hiding beneath propriety."
"Please—"
"Please what?" He stepped closer, close enough that she felt the cold radiating from him. "Please stop? Please continue? You'll have to be specific, little thief."
The vines at her ankles began to climb, winding up her calves with deliberate slowness. Where they touched, her skin heated, that traitor warmth singing welcome.
"Your body knows what it wants," he observed, watching her face as the vines reached her knees. "Feel how it welcomes my forest? How it recognizes where it belongs?"
The vines at her wrists pulled gently, raising her arms higher, making her back arch. The position left her completely vulnerable, unable to hide behind crossed arms or hunched shoulders.
"Beautiful," he breathed. "You should see yourself. Caught between earth and sky. Held by my will alone."
His hands finally touched her properly, settling on her waist. The contact sent lightning through her, and the vines pulsed in response.
"So warm," he murmured, hands sliding up her ribs, taking the nightshift with them. "Always so warm. Malachar was right about one thing. Touching you is like touching summer itself."
The silk bunched under his hands, rising higher. Cool air hit her skin, and she shivered, but not from cold.
"When you called my darkness home," he said against her ear, "did you mean it? Or was it just the heat of the moment?" His hands spanned her ribcage, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts through thin silk. "Your body says you meant it. The way you arch for me. How it begs without words."
The vines around her legs had reached her thighs now, holding them slightly apart. Not obscene, not yet, but the promise was there.
"Shall I tell you what I thought about after? While you lay sleeping beside me?" His mouth found her throat, teeth scraping where her pulse hammered. "I thought about how beautiful you looked when you came. The sounds you made. How greedily your body gripped mine."
She gasped as he bit down, gentle enough not to break skin but hard enough to mark. The vines tightened their hold, keeping her still for his mouth.
"Would you have let me take you again?" He moved to the other side of her throat, leaving a matching mark. "If I'd stayed? Would you have spread for me as dawn broke?"
"I—" Her voice broke as his hands moved higher, palming her breasts through the nightshift. "I don't know—"
"Liar." He pinched one peak through the fabric, making her arch into the touch. "Your body knows. It's telling me right now. The way you push into my hands despite the vines holding you. The way your thighs try to press together even though my forest keeps them apart."
More vines joined the others, these ones different—smaller, more delicate. They traced patterns on her skin like ghostly fingers, finding sensitive spots she didn't know existed.
"Every inch of you responds," he continued, hands mapping her body with possessive thoroughness. "From here—" He traced her collarbone. "To here—" His hands settled on her hips, thumbs pressing into those sensitive hollows. "And all of it is mine to play with. To torment. To pleasure."
The nightshift was bunched high now, barely covering anything.
The vines seemed to sense it, trembling with anticipation.
The warmth in her chest pulsed, reaching for him with embarrassing eagerness.
Her body had already betrayed her, arching into his touch, breath coming fast, skin flushed with want.
But it was more than that, more than just the warmth that craved his touch. She wanted it, a thought that both startled and unsettled her.
"Still so very restless." He smiled against her throat. "All that energy with nowhere to go."
His hands dropped to her thighs, fingers tracing where the vines held her. "Shall I exhaust you so thoroughly you can't think about anything else?"
The vines began to move, adjusting their hold. Her arms were drawn back slightly, wrists bound behind her now. The position thrust her chest forward, making her even more vulnerable.
With deliberate slowness, he hooked his fingers in the nightshift's neckline and pulled. The silk tore easily, the sound loud in the quiet room. Cool air hit her skin, and she gasped.
"Much better." His eyes tracked over her with dark satisfaction. "No more barriers. No more pretense. Just you, held by my forest, waiting for whatever I decide to give you."
The vines pulsed against her skin, warm and alive and patient. Just like their master, they could hold her like this for hours, until she broke, or begged, or both.
"Now," Eliam said, stepping back to admire his handiwork. "Let me show you what complete surrender feels like."