4. Yield #4
With that soft, disarming sweetness that always belied her cunning, she tilted her head and got straight to the point, her voice low and unhurried, as though she weren't straddling him in a tub while his heart thundered itself to death.
"I know you've already decided," she said evenly.
"You're planning to take me back to the High North. "
Malec choked, sputtering like she'd struck him with a blow he hadn't seen coming.
But then he smiled, dark and possessive.
Of course his clever little vixen had figured him out.
She always did. She always saw through him, past all the armor and discipline, right into the softest, most vulnerable part of him.
He opened his mouth to answer, maybe to deny it or maybe to confess it all, but she shut him up with a kiss that destroyed what little resolve he'd held onto.
Her mouth crashed into his, warm and demanding, her tongue brushing past his with a hunger that made his vision darken.
A groan tore up his throat as he lifted both hands, unable to stop himself from cupping her breasts through the wet silk.
But she pulled back so fast and so decisively it felt like a betrayal. His hands hovered where she'd been, water dripping from his fingers, his chest heaving.
"Allora," he rasped, voice raw. "You?—"
“Look,” she interrupted, her tone matter-of-fact, as if they were discussing trade agreements instead of driving each other to madness. “You want one thing. I want another. So let’s start acting like adults and compromise.”
Malec swallowed hard, trying to summon some shred of composure as he stared at her glistening lips.
He didn't trust her, didn't even trust himself, which he wasn't quite sure was worse.
But he couldn't stop. He wanted her to keep going, to strip him of all defenses until he had nothing left to give but himself.
He drew a ragged breath and inclined his head minutely. "Continue."
She inhaled slowly, her breasts rising just inches from his mouth, an exquisite torture. "I hate the cold," she said plainly. "I want to stay here. Near Surian and also…Erolyn."
His face darkened at once, though whether from the mention of Erolyn or because she hadn't said near him, he couldn't be sure.
The exclusion was a blade, and it cut him so cleanly he almost didn't feel it at first. He leaned back, sulking like a wounded boy, his eyes narrowing.
"Is that the only reason you want to stay? " he asked, voice low and petulant.
A muscle jumped in his neck. She was playing this game, and he didn't like where it was going.
But he wasn't about to be bested in his own bath.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, and he exhaled shakily.
"What do you offer," he asked, voice gone husky, "if I do allow you to stay?
In this place where every Awyan would be eager to hunt you, trap you, sell you to the first decaying royal with enough coin to buy my silence? "
She let go of his wrists, a smile curving her mouth as she leaned forward, bending so close he could feel her breath against his chest. And then she bent further, her tongue flicking out to lap up a droplet of water that traced the groove of his sternum.
That did it.
Malec's hands snapped to the edges of the tub, his knuckles whitening as a savage groan tore out of him. His hips thrust upward, lifting her weight as water sloshed over the rim in a tidal wave. She gasped at the sudden movement, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she steadied herself.
"Malec," she breathed, and the sound of his name on her lips, here in this moment when she'd come to him willingly, sent a bolt of pure need through his spine.
She was here. In his arms. Of her own choice.
The realization made him dizzy with want.
All he could think about was the weight of her in his lap, the heat of her against him, the way her body fit against his like she'd been made for this exact purpose.
"Malec, are you even listening to me?" Allora's voice rose to a high pitch, cutting through the haze of his desire.
He blinked, trying to focus on her face instead of the way the wet fabric clung to her curves. "I... yes. You want to stay. Near Surian."
"And?"
"And... Erolyn." The name came out like gravel.
She sighed, a sound somewhere between exasperation and amusement. "That's not the point I was making."
But his hands were already sliding up her sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts, and his mind was fracturing into a thousand pieces of want. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, almost to himself. "You came to me. You're here."
"Malec." She grabbed his face between her palms, forcing him to meet her eyes. "Focus. I'm trying to negotiate with you, and you're not hearing a word I'm saying."
He had the grace to look sheepish, though his hands didn't stop their slow exploration of her body.
"I'm listening," he said, though they both knew it was a lie.
How could he listen when she was pressed against him like this, when every nerve in his body was screaming for him to claim her, when she'd walked into this room of her own free will and climbed into his bath?
His head tipped back, eyes nearly blown wide and dilated, his breath coming in ragged shudders as he fought down the soul-binding's demand to take her there, hard and without mercy. His lips slightly open and closed again. By every star in the sky, he was unraveling.
"I... I would need to think about it," he stammered, mortified to hear how weak he sounded.
Allora's smile dimmed. She drew back with a small, disappointed shrug. "Then I suppose I'll let you think." She shifted her hips deliberately, sliding off him as if she'd merely stopped by for polite conversation.
Panic flared hot in his gut. He lunged, one arm looping around her waist, hauling her back down with a wet growl. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"
She laughed, that delicious, sultry sound he both loved and hated. "You don't seem interested in conversing," she teased. "So I'm going to leave you to your bath."
He huffed, frustrated beyond sense, his mouth brushing her throat as he spoke, "I was thinking about it."
She perched back on his thighs, smirking down at him like the wicked little goddess she was. "Well then. Let me know when you're finished thinking, Commander. I'll get back to you."
A feral laugh rumbled in his chest, half defeated, half in awe. "You are not playing fair," he rasped, his voice dark and ragged. "I do not like this game anymore, little canariae."
He tried to steal another kiss, but she turned her face just enough that his lips grazed her cheek. He snarled softly, his patience fraying to tatters. "Name your price," he whispered, every word thick with hunger. "Tell me what you actually want."
Allora didn't waste time with more teasing. She looked him straight in the eye, her voice husky with purpose. "You know what I want. I already told you. I want to stay here," she said, every word deliberate. "In the Capitol. With Surian. For good."
Malec's chest rose and fell, his breath uneven.
He swallowed hard, forcing the pleasure fog back just enough to think.
Gods, she was serious. Of course she was.
She always was when she cornered him like this.
He rubbed a trembling hand over his jaw and sighed, trying to summon the cold logic that had once been his greatest weapon.
"Allora, you know I can't just?—"
But she was already moving. She shifted her hips again, and his words died in his throat. The thin wet gown clung to her body as she lifted herself just enough to free him, and then her hand was there, closing around his aching length.
Malec's entire body jolted, hips jerking up reflexively into her palm. "Ah—fuck—" A ragged groan burst out of him as his fingers clamped around her thighs. The world behind his eyes turned white with need. Mercy, she was touching him, finally, after weeks of nothing but memories.
"You were saying, Lord Malec?" she whispered, her voice dark honey poured into his ear.
His eyes squeezed shut, another curse slipping past his clenched teeth as her hand began to move.
"Mmmh—" Slow, deliberate strokes wrung every ounce of control from him.
He was panting now, undone, his hips lifting in time with her rhythm.
"Nnh—gods—" A low, guttural moan rumbled from his chest with each stroke.
"Well?" she murmured, her breath warm against his cheek.
Well... what? He blinked, dazed, trying to remember what they'd been talking about. All he knew was the fire licking up his spine and the molten throb in his gut. He opened his mouth, but no intelligible words came out, only a strangled sound.
"What... what did you want again?" he rasped, his voice cracking on the last word.
Allora stilled her hand, her palm resting against him, and he nearly wept at the loss. Her eyes flashed with irritation. "You're still not even listening," she accused, her tone clipped.
He grunted, desperate, as he cupped her face in both hands and pulled her down into a kiss.
The moment her mouth met his, he stopped being careful.
He poured everything into the kiss, hunger, relief, and the staggering force of his love.
When she kissed him back, truly kissed him instead of manipulating him, dangerous hope flared inside him.
Perhaps she was beginning to understand.
He belonged to her. She was his. This was how it should be.
But the illusion broke as quickly as it came. She wrenched her lips away, her palm slapping the water beside his head as she glared down at him, her chest heaving. "Goddamn you, Malec—answer me!"
Shit. What did she need? An answer, yes, that was it. Just say yes, any answer, anything to make her keep touching him, to banish the ache clawing him from the inside out.