Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
What the Deer Witnessed
Lyssena
Out of all the scandalous things she could have said, she had chosen to remark that her Erevos had not yet tried his tongue and teeth on her.
It was wildly inappropriate. It was shameless.
And the fact that the words had left her mouth so easily made heat creep slowly up her throat and settle in her cheeks.
But she was his songbird, and he was her god, and now she was certain that he was a good one.
Strangely, that certainty allowed her lungs to fill more deeply than they had in days.
Even though the knowledge that he had watched her for most of her life should have been unsettling, should have sent her fleeing in horror, it did not root fear inside her the way it would have if he had been human.
If he were human, she would have run. If he were human, she would have felt hunted.
But Erevos was not human at all, and she found that she liked that very much.
He did not carry the same narrow mindsets men did, did not measure her behavior against invisible social rules, or expect her to perform softness in precise and suffocating ways.
The fragile structures she had lived by her entire life—speak gently, sit properly, never desire openly, never embarrass yourself—seemed to dissolve in his presence like mist burned away by the sun.
No matter how many times she stumbled over her words, no matter how bold or absurd or improper she sounded, Erevos never laughed, never recoiled, never judged.
He simply watched her.
And chose her.
Lyssena realized that what she cherished most was not merely his protection, but the way she felt in his presence. Lyssena felt comfortable.
He was kind and attentive. He was patient. And he was not bound by the limitations of mortal men.
She found herself thinking not only about the things he had done for her, but about what he was.
That otherworldly male. That ancient, towering being of shadow and violet light.
She did not know how much time had passed since she had first stepped into this place with him, since her world had cracked open and rearranged itself entirely, but as she stood there within his arms, she felt . . . content.
“Where,” Erevos asked, his voice low and thoughtful, “may I use my tongue and teeth?”
Lyssena’s breath faltered. She had not yet recovered from her own boldness, and now his question slid over her skin like warm silk, settling low in her body.
Heat bloomed between her thighs, a slow spreading warmth that made her knees feel weaker.
Her pulse began to thrum in places she had been taught never to acknowledge, and she became acutely aware of the way her gown brushed against her hips, the way the air shifted when he moved even slightly closer. Lyssena swallowed.
She was aroused.
Her body had responded before her mind could compose something proper and restrained, and the damp heat gathering in her most intimate place made her inhale sharply through her nose as though she might steady herself through sheer will.
He was watching her. Of course he was.
He always watched her.
And the thought that he might notice only made the warmth deepen.
Lyssena lifted her gaze slowly to meet the twin violet lights of his eyes, and though her cheeks were flushed and her lips parted with uneven breath, she did not retreat.
“You truly do not know?” she asked softly, though her voice trembled at the edges.
Because if he did not . . .
If this ancient being of shadow truly did not understand what he was asking . . .
Then she would have to show him. And the thought of that made her pulse stutter all over again.
Her mother had once told her that when a woman wed, she must please her husband with her mouth, that it was her duty to kneel if asked, and that if she were fortunate—if she were very fortunate—the man might one day decide to return the favor.
It had been spoken like a secret, a transaction. Like something endured.
Her voice dropped to a murmur, soft and almost shy despite the boldness of the words.
“You could . . . ” She hesitated, her breath trembling. “You could place your mouth . . . on me.”
Erevos hummed. The sound vibrated low in his chest, and before she could gather another breath, the table behind her seemed to lengthen slightly, or perhaps it was only her perception bending under the weight of what was happening, because in the next moment Erevos moved her as though she weighed nothing at all and set her upon the dark wood.
Lyssena gasped as her palms pressed against the surface for balance.
She was suddenly aware of the deer’s head mere inches from her, its empty eyes staring eternally forward.
Erevos stepped between her knees.
He leaned forward, placing both hands on the table at either side of her hips, caging her in without touching her, his vast body towering over her as shadows pooled and curled around the edges of the wood.
Lyssena’s breath grew shallow.
She could feel how wet she was now, embarrassingly soaked, the fabric of her undergarments clinging to her with every tiny shift of her hips. Her thighs pressed together, only to part again when Erevos moved closer.
“I have never done this,” she admitted, her voice barely more than a breath, her fingers curling into the table’s edge.
Erevos’s gaze darkened, and Lyssena had not expected that at all.
“Nor have I,” he replied, his tone unashamed. “But I wish to.”
The simplicity of it made her stomach flip. The shadows beneath her stirred, and her gown began to lift.
The fabric slid upward along her legs as though guided by unseen hands, exposing inch after inch of warm, flushed skin to the cool air of the kitchen. Lyssena’s breath hitched sharply as the hem rose above her knees, then higher still, pooling around her hips like spilled ink.
“Erevos—” she whispered, though she did not wish for him to stop. She was shy, but also eager, and so very curious.
Erevos lifted his hand from the table, and Lyssena followed his movement. His arm was as thick as her thigh, and Lyssena was a proud woman, with plump thighs to hold her generous arse.
Her gaze traveled along his wrist as it slowly got closer and closer to her skin.
The contrast between shadow and touch made her blink.
He slid his palm upward, the pads of his fingers grazing along the sensitive inside of her thigh, leaving heat along her skin. Her muscles trembled under his touch, instinctively wanting to close, to hide, yet opening for him instead.
He reached the curve where her thigh met her hip and paused, his thumb pressing lightly into the softness there as though memorizing the shape of her.
“You are warm,” he murmured, and it was the first time she noticed that Erevos’s gaze was unfocused.
Lyssena’s breathing had grown heavy now, uneven and almost desperate, each inhale catching halfway in her chest before spilling out in a shaky exhale. Her fingers tightened against the table, her back arching just slightly as though drawn upward by invisible strings.
“Yes,” she breathed, her voice thin. “I— I think I am.”
Erevos tilted his head, studying her.
Her second thigh lifted gently under his guiding hand, her leg parting wider for him, and the air against her most intimate place made her shudder visibly.
She could feel how exposed she was, how vulnerable.
How utterly ready.
Her heart pounded so loudly she wondered if he could hear it. Perhaps he could.
Because his gaze darkened, and he leaned closer.