Chapter 52
ISI
The air between us hummed like a live wire, charged with something I couldn’t name without shattering.
My pulse came too quick, too loud; I was certain he could hear it, that his ears could track the frantic beat like prey.
The thought both terrified me and sent a flush racing down my neck, because some traitorous part of me wanted him to know how undone I already was.
His eyes caught mine, steady as moonlight on water. There was no mockery in them, only a gravity that pulled at me.
“Look at me,” he said.
I almost laughed. Not because it was funny, but because I stood on the edge of trembling, and laughter was the only thing that would hold me together.
He took my wrist and brought it up, pressing my palm to his mouth, the brush of his lips against the heel of my hand making my belly tumble. My skin tingled as though he’d sealed a vow there, one I didn’t yet understand.
“You don’t have to be afraid,” he said, his voice thick as velvet, though he didn’t release me. “But I want you to be honest. Don’t hide from me.”
The dare in his tone sparked heat low in my belly. I’d spent years hiding behind clever words, magic, and my father’s expectations. To be seen this way, to be laid bare… It was a terror more intimate than any enemy’s blade.
“Then don’t let me hide,” I said softly.
The corners of his mouth curled, utterly dangerous.
His gaze burned into me, all fire and restraint, as though he held himself back by sheer will.
Water lapped around us, warm and slippery, carrying the scent of soap and him, and I braced one hand on his shoulder, my nails digging in enough to make him hiss.
My other hand drifted over my body, hesitant at first, then bolder, tracing the valley between my breasts and down the slick plane of my belly.
“Like this?” I asked, my voice rough, unsteady, carrying a challenge.
He nodded, but I caught the hitch in his breath, the way his body stiffened under mine. My fingers circled one nipple, and I pinched lightly at first, rolling the peak between my thumb and forefinger. The sound he made—a low, ragged growl—sent a jolt straight through me.
He wrapped a hand around himself beneath the water, and I shivered. He was so intent, so utterly consumed by the sight of me.
I tightened my fingers on my nipple, tugging harder, using a small twist that made me gasp, the sound echoing off the stone walls.
The water sloshed as I shifted, pressing my hips against nothing but the promise of him.
My other hand joined in on the neglected breast, kneading both, my breaths short and jagged. Each movement made the peaks harden.
“Does it feel good?” he rasped.
“Better with you watching.” A tremor ran through me. My hand drifted lower. I hesitated for a heartbeat, my fingers hovering on my thigh, before I dipped them between my legs. I parted my thighs wider over his, and heat pooled deep, my body aching for release.
“Fates…” he groaned.
I stroked my clit, gliding my fingers in circles, teasing, coaxing, and the gasp that tore from my throat was an acknowledgement of how much I wanted him, how much I needed him, even as I fought falling over the edge.
I met his gaze, daring him to see every tremor, every twitch, every flush that ran across my skin. The fire in his eyes made me shiver and ache at the same time. I pushed my fingers deeper, pumping them in rhythm with the sway of my hips, letting him see how unrestrained I could be.
“Eyes on me,” he said, low and rough, slowing his hand enough to make my self-control coil tighter. I snapped my gaze to his, and his golden eyes darkened with need, reverent and hungry.
I obeyed, pressing and sliding, letting my fingers trace the places I knew would not only bring me pleasure but make him groan.
Each movement, each whimper, each shudder seemed to feed him, but he held himself back, watching me, letting me own this.
The thought of him holding himself back just to let me feel everything made me burn hotter.
I circled my nipple again, twisting it, tugging while arching my back, water sloshing with every movement. My fingers went back to my center, plunging deeper, rubbing, stroking, pressing until my body began to coil, trembling in the heat of my touch.
He groaned, and I could tell he was undone by watching me, by the way I so willingly surrendered. That knowledge made my pulse spike, my breaths coming in sharp, hot bursts. I didn’t want to stop. I couldn’t stop.
The warmth of the water slicked against my skin, making every movement more electric, more desperate. His molten gaze held mine, every bit of him captivated by me. The fire in his eyes made my pulse spike; I was completely exposed, and he loved it. Or at least, I felt as if he did.
I let my fingers roam again, circling my nipples, pinching, twisting enough to make myself gasp.
The sound came out broken, needy, a confession without words.
He responded with a low, rough growl that vibrated through the water and through me, and my hips moved instinctively, pressing against nothing but the heat that pooled low, aching for release.
I could feel him beneath me, his hardness pressing through the water, aligning with the curve of my body. The awareness made my breath hitch, and a delicious flush ran through me. I was naked, dripping, trembling, and utterly daring myself to let him see every tremor, every shiver, every gasp.
“Fates, Isi…” he murmured, his voice rough and low. “You’re so beautiful.”
I swallowed against the lump in my throat, daring myself to admit how much I wanted him without saying it.
My fingers went lower, sliding slick through the water, pressing against my center, and I let the gasp escape.
I knew he felt it. Knew he’d seen it. Knew he’d taste it in the taut line of his jaw and the way his shoulders stiffened.
I pressed my fingers deeper, twisting them, stroking, letting the heat coil tighter with every shift of my hips.
Water sloshed around us, carrying the sounds of our mingled breathing, my small moans, the soft splash of water.
My other hand continued stroking my nipple, each tug sending lightning straight to my core.
He kissed my shoulder, trailing his mouth across and down my neck, brushing against the sensitive skin enough to make me shiver. I gasped, letting him watch, letting him see every raw inch of me. I wasn’t ashamed. I was daring myself to be seen, and the danger of that made my blood sing.
I tilted my head back, arching into him, giving way to my pleasure.
My fingers pressed harder, stroking, circling, sliding slick through the water, and the gasp that tore from me was an admission.
The edge of restraint was razor-thin, coiling tight inside me, and I wanted him to see it, to feel it, to know exactly how much I ached.
I rocked against my own fingers, water rippling around us, slippery and warm.
“Good girl,” he whispered, his voice rough, and I shivered again, parting my lips in a soft moan. I pressed back, letting him feel the need that pulsed with every thrust of my fingers, every shuddering rock of my hips.
He continued to stroke himself, pacing his hand to the thrust of mine.
The way his jaw tightened, the way his breathing hitched, and the way his eyes darkened made me want to give more, to be bolder, to let him witness every flicker of heat and want.
I let myself melt into the sensation, let my fingers plunge deeper, harder, let the slick water amplify every stroke.
The fire had begun to coil, tighten, and I teetered at the brink, every nerve alive, every pulse screaming for more. And still, I held myself shy of collapse, daring myself to stretch the moment, to let him see how utterly I could surrender and still remain bold, still remain me.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he groaned, his strokes on his cock turning punishing.
He gripped himself tighter, and it was all I could do to stave off the edge clawing its way through me.
The heat of the water and the slick glide of my hand was torture, sweet and brutal.
“Grind harder, Isi. Feel it build, let it coil tight inside you. Whimper for me again. Let me hear how close you are.”
I released a string of soft, desperate cries as I rocked with abandon, my fingers plunging deep, my palm rubbing circles over my clit while my other hand kneaded and pinched my nipple, rolling it until it turned red and swollen.
My body shook with the effort of holding back, my thighs trembling around his.
“I’ve thought about this from the first moment I saw you,” he growled.
“Same.” I kept my gaze fused to his, every grind of my hips a silent plea for more.
His gaze darkened.
“Enough, woman.” His voice scraped like gravel over stone.
He circled my wrist, urging my fingers away from my slick heat.
I gasped at the loss, my body clenching on nothing.
But he was there in an instant, replacing my touch with his own, driving one finger inside me.
Two. Then three, stretching me with a wild thrust that made me cry out, my walls clamping down hard.
I was so ready, the water doing nothing to dilute my arousal as he plunged his digits deep, hitting a spot that made me jolt.
While I ground against him, completely abandoned, he pumped them in and out, running rough circles over my clit with his thumb, matching the rhythm of his other hand on his cock.
He stroked faster, and the ache inside me was a roaring fire I could barely contain.
“Look what you do to me,” he rasped. “Look. Only you, Minx. Only you.”
I gazed down at his cock with a sly smile. “Only fair, Trew. Only fair.”
“You’re going to take my cock so well, little minx.”
As he continued to plunge his fingers inside me, I let my head fall back. A guttural moan tore from my throat, my hands working my nipples in frantic pinches.
He leaned in close, breathing hot against my skin by my ear. “Come. Now. For me.”
I shattered, my body convulsing around his fingers in shuddering waves, my inner muscles milking him with fierce, rhythmic pulses that nearly dragged me under.
A raw, keening cry ripped from my throat as I bucked my hips against his hand, water surging over the tub’s rim in frantic splashes.
I clawed at his back as my entire frame trembled, lost in the storm of release that he’d commanded.
“Amarissa.” His own orgasm crashed through him, his cock jerking in his fist as he shot into the churning water, spilling out in hot pulses that left him groaning.
We collapsed together in the water, my body slumping against his, boneless and spent, pressing my cheek against his heaving chest. He kept his fingers buried inside me as aftershocks rippled through my core, those sweet, fluttering clenches that drew out soft whimpers from deep inside me.
I trembled in his arms, my breaths coming in fast, ragged bursts that matched the thundering of his heart.
He held me, stroking gently, easing me down from the heights until my body finally stilled, the tension melting away like mist in the sun.
Only then did he slip his fingers free and kiss my temple.
“I’ve got you, Minx,” he said.
This was what love looked like. It wasn’t only fire and passion, but this gentle time that came afterward.
He reached for the soap again, lathering it between his palms before gently washing me, trailing suds over my shoulders, down my arms, across the swell of my aching breasts.
Even between my legs, rinsing away what was left of our passion with slow sweeps of his hands.
I sighed, my eyes half-closed, letting him care for me while tracing lazy patterns with my fingertips on his skin.
After, he gathered me up, water cascading off us as he stood and carried me from the tub. He set me on the thick woven rug, grabbing a plush towel to pat me dry, starting with my legs and working up, lingering on the curves. I watched him with a soft, sated smile.
He snatched a tunic from the hook, the softest one, worn thin from years of use, the fabric like a whisper against skin, and tugged it over my head, guiding my limp arms through the sleeves one by one.
I stared up at him, slightly stunned, a half-smile curving my mouth, my body humming with remembered pleasure.
“There,” he said after. “It looks better on you anyway.”
“It’s mine now.”
“It is.”
He grabbed another towel, carefully drying my hair, squeezing out the water before running his fingers through the damp strands. I leaned into him as he combed and braided it from the crown of my head to the tip low on my back. Every twist felt like a promise, binding us a little tighter.
Turning me, he cupped my cheeks, tipping my head back to meet his gaze.
“Will you spend the day with me?” he asked.
“Doing what?”
“I’ll show you.”