Chapter 33 #3
“Intolerable. You remarked that I must be just as intolerable to the fae as I am to you, during your gods’ festival in Mythos.”
I slide into the piping water feet-first, then sink down to my shoulders. Desmond finally looks at me. He swallows. His gaze skims along my bare shoulders before darting back up to my face.
My cheeks heat, and not just from the steam.
I’m all too aware of how we’re sitting mere feet apart, our bare skin exposed to the same water, our bodies hidden by nothing but a stretch of translucent cloth.
I keep my gaze away from the area right below Desmond’s waist. “Huh. I do remember saying that.”
He lowers himself from the edge and sinks into the pool until the water is up to his shoulders.
His bare legs stretch out, and his toes flex one foot at a time.
The water is too damn crystal clear to miss a thing.
“So, as a measure of your feelings toward me, is it worse to be intolerable or insufferable?”
“Intolerable,” I decide. “Congratulations. You annoy me slightly less than when we met.”
A smile dimples his cheek and stretches the little scar on his chin. “That’s quite the accomplishment, considering you’re still just as stubborn.”
With skill garnered from facing the fiercest water-wielder in Nettlerock, I splash him.
Desmond recoils. He shields himself to no avail as I splash him again. His curls darken from the water, straightening against his face, and he brushes them out of his eyes before facing me, a challenge burning in his eyes.
He draws his arms back, flattens his hands, and pushes a wave at me.
I swim back just in time and mockingly stick my tongue out at him. “You missed.”
Then he lunges. His arm locks around my waist, and he pulls me under with him. My laugh bursts into a volley of bubbles as I wrestle against his hold. His hands are warm, his calluses tickling my skin. Our sheets flow around us as I plant both hands on his chest and push.
His chest is firm, muscular and hardened by training, and I long to run my hands over every inch. My thumb inadvertently brushes his nipple, and I don’t miss the stream of surprised bubbles that leaks from his mouth.
He tucks me against him, then pins me so his body floats over mine.
I glare at him. Not fair.
Smiling even underwater, Desmond looks otherworldly with his hair floating around him like a halo, daylight framing him from above. Then he lets me go.
I break the surface and shove him when he comes up, too. “Look what you’ve done,” I chastise. “My hair is dripping wet.”
He splashes me. “How ironic, putting the blame on me when I recall you’re the one who started it.” Then he winks.
My heart skips a beat. I huff, then notice his eyes are widening as he looks me over.
“Your sheet,” he says, looking away. “It’s loose.”
I swear as I look down. It’s slid, exposing my cleavage all the way down to the peaks. I yank it up and tighten it, which is difficult given it’s soaked through. “That’s your fault, you know.” Then I splash him for retribution.
“You!” someone shouts. A goblin shouts indecipherable swears as she charges toward us. “No play in the keth!”
Desmond placatingly shows his palms. “We’re on our way out.”
“Thank you for your hospitality,” I add, hoping they’ll attribute the embarrassed flush on my face to the heat.
We step out of the pool and trade smiles as the goblin female continues to admonish us. Desmond grabs his clothes and turns away from me. The sheet drops before I think to avert my gaze, and I whirl around in shock.
For a mere second, I saw his ass. It wasn’t flat, instead just rounded enough to grab. His strong thighs are ingrained in my memory too, and I have to stare at the floor to force the image out of my mind.
I quickly dress, despite my wet body sticking to my clean clothes.
“I’m finished,” Desmond calls out.
“Me too.”
We face each other. Droplets drip from his hair, the curls weighed into subtle waves by the water. His clothes are glued to his body, hiding nothing.
What I notice most is how the points of his ears stick out, and it finally strikes me that the Hollowlands’ High Prince just took a bath with me.
His gaze darts down my figure. He swallows.
I notice that my damp clothes aren’t leaving much to the imagination either, and suddenly feel hot despite the chilly air.
I shift, crossing my arms over my chest. My mouth dries, and I feel even more exposed than when he saw me in the sheet.
What is he thinking? Why are his eyes so dark when he looks away?
“So, training?” I ask, and it comes out with a clear note of unease.
“There is something I need to take care of first,” Desmond says. “Grab something to eat at the inn, then meet me at the boulder in the field.”
Then he leaves the bathhouse, his shoulders tense and hand flexing at his side. For a split second, I feel an unbidden yearning to have our hands against each other’s bodies, exploring and pleasuring.
I swallow, not knowing if the feeling was his or mine.
Desmond doesn’t look back even once.