6. Blake #2
Andreas probably didn’t want me in his lap—right?
Well, he’d kept me there when I begged. He was too polite to shove me off. But he wasn’t saying anything, and nerves made my hair stand on end as I breathed into the humid space between my arm and the rock.
Was I supposed to say something? That hardly seemed fair, when I had a dick that was still half hard in my hand, a mess I was trying to keep off Andreas’s trousers, and—would a “good lad” be too much to ask for?
Andreas cleared his throat, and that was my cue to get off of him.
Every single part of me wanted to sink back down on his lap, maybe let him brush his callused hand along my spine or comb his fingers through my hair for a little while. But I wasn’t that much a fool.
Andreas wasn’t my lover. I wasn’t even sure he liked me all that much.
Not wanting to murder me was a far cry from being friends.
I pushed up on my arms and slid off his lap to the side. As I stood, I tried to search his face, but I only got his profile.
He’d turned his head just enough that he could avoid meeting my eye without being outright rude about it. The most I could tell was that his lips seemed firmly set.
Had I taken advantage of him? He seemed far from pleased, which—I supposed he hadn’t come too, but I could remedy that if he gave me the smallest encouraging smile.
I hadn’t meant to press him, but he’d been there, looking, touching.
For moons’ sakes! His fingers were inside me. How could a man blame me for anything that happened with a finger up my bum?
I’d had a natural response to—to—
All right, I’d thrust against his leg like a dog in heat until I’d come, yes, with his finger up my bum.
The whole thing was confusing, not least the part where—
Well, I didn’t want to upset him. Take advantage. Make him uncomfortable.
Sure, he was a dragon and could roast me if he wanted to. Or eat me. Or claw my heart out. But I was a mage. Perhaps I wasn’t the most impressive to have ever walked Llangard, but I was more than passable.
Shame crept up my neck in a wave of heat. This was one of those moments I regretted my red hair and pale complexion. I’d never been particularly good at hiding my embarrassment. If I’d been out of line to press for more, the last thing I wanted was for Andreas to read it on my face.
I turned away too, looking toward the springs. At least if I were in the steamy water, I’d have an excuse for my flush.
“Just, ah, give me a moment, and I’ll—um . . . ” Already, I was stepping my way over smooth rocks toward the pools. “I’ll just be a minute.”
I bathed quickly, splashing myself to speed the whole process up.
With the air outside as cold as it was, I couldn’t quite stomach cleaning my hair, but it hadn’t been that long since the last time I’d washed it, and it was still in that well-behaved window where it was wavy rather than frizzy, coifed rather than oily.
I’d leave it till I had more time, or more clothes, or—
I wasn’t sure. Right then, it was impossible to imagine ever washing my hair again, because it felt like there was no way for my circumstances to change for the better.
Andreas didn’t trust me, and I couldn’t think of a single reason for him to.
We’d killed his sister. Maybe not me, precisely, but I certainly wouldn’t have spoken up when I was back at court, knowing how it’d irk my brother to hear my voice.
I hadn’t known dragons, hadn’t had a reason to think they were so like us.
Perhaps now, I would go back and try to do something, if I had the chance, but I didn’t. It was too late, and who the hell was I to curb generations of strife and hatred? A fop. A hedge knight at best.
I hadn’t done a single thing for dragons when I had any power to do so, and it felt horribly fair to have lost my chance to be decent.
The others—Harri, Bran, and Gareth—they might like me, at least a little bit. They liked how loose I was, at the very least, and probably that I smiled easily and didn’t ask them to think too much about whether or not they could tolerate me, ethically.
There was no avoiding it with Andreas. He was the one I’d raised my sword to, and the one who’d spent the whole evening I was with his friends glaring across the campfire.
He was also the one whose flesh and blood had been killed by mine.
Maybe it was best for me to go. I couldn’t go back to Atheldinas, but there had to be somewhere.
We were at the edge of the sea. If we could find me a boat, Andreas could send me rowing out into it, and I’d either find land, or it wouldn’t be their problem anymore.
If it were high summer, I might’ve suggested it, even convinced myself that it’d be a grand adventure, but it was too cold out. I’d be miserable and freezing right up until the moment it stopped feeling so cold and I died.
I’d heard that happened to the mages who trekked after dragons into the Mawrcraig Mountains. It was when the cold disappeared that you most had to worry.
No, I couldn’t set myself afloat and hope for the best. There was nothing else for it; I’d have to apologize.
I’d summon the courage on the uncomfortable walk.
I just wished we had some wine to help me along.