CHAPTER 20 #3
He glares at me then, and I find that I’m a little more comfortable with this variety of the male. Brooding and hateful I can handle; it’s the tender male with the gentle touch that scares me. I have no idea how to handle that version of him.
“I’m tired,” I say.
It isn’t a lie, but he certainly looks at me like he’s attempting to discern the truth of the statement.
“Fine.” The moment he says it I walk to the bed, sure that I will hear the click of the door behind me as he leaves.
“Let me check your wounds, and I’ll go.”
“You watched Caden heal me yourself,” I argue, spinning to pin him with a stare of pure aggravation.
“As healing is never guaranteed and you cannot be trusted to tell me when you are injured, I’ll see for myself before I leave you,” he says.
I’m sure I’m turning a perfect shade of red when I reluctantly nod my consent. It’s a small price to pay for his departure and I have no doubt he’ll stand here brooding all night if I don’t allow his inspection.
He strides across the room, and I’m suddenly wondering exactly what manner of night dress I have absentmindedly put on.
He cups my jaw, and I loosen the muscles in my neck, letting him maneuver my head to the side so that he can examine me thoroughly.
His thumb traces the line of my cheek where the cut was healed and his brow dips, his jaw tensing as his thumb strokes beyond the line of healing, passing beneath my lip.
My breath catches in my chest just as he looses one of his own and slides his hands down the curve of my waist until he’s untying the loose knot of my robe. He slowly parts the panels of fabric, sliding it from my shoulders, letting the silk fall to the floor and pool around my ankles.
“Fates,” he says under his breath as he grips my waist, taking another step toward me, “You are so beautiful.”
The declaration stuns me, and my cheeks burn beneath the heat of his gaze.
A quick glance down at my night dress flutters my stomach for different reasons.
Two straps secure a white gossamer slip to my shoulders, the fabric so thin I’m sure he can see the pink flesh at the center of my breasts.
The slip barely falls below my hip, revealing more than even the A’kori gowns.
I press my thighs together, wishing I’d worn the delicate scrap of lace the feyn apparently consider reasonable underthings.
His blue eyes are a fiery blaze as his thumb traces the line beneath my breast where it was cut.
Once satisfied, he continues to where I suffered the break on my side, his touch achingly slow and gentle.
I flinch under the attention of that caress, and he glares at where his hand now rests above the healed break, my flesh obscured by the sheer fabric.
“You’re still injured.” His brow draws down when he says it.
I shake my head. “Just ticklish.”
He puffs out a breath, leans his head down until his forehead rests on mine, and cups my jaw with both hands, saying softly, “I want to know that.”
“What?” I ask, breathless.
“That you’re ticklish,” he whispers, “Where you are ticklish. Where you like to be kissed.” I suck in a shuddering breath and my stomach tumbles. “How you like to be touched.”
His hands slide from my jaw, caressing the line of my neck reverently. My eyes flutter shut with a sigh when his thumbs lightly press into the vulnerable flesh of my throat. His sigh echoes my own, full of pure contentment at my reaction to his touch.
“What else do you like, mi’ajna?” The moment the words slip past his lips, my gut twists.
Before I can think, he closes what little distance remains between us and captures my mouth with his own. The harsh demand of his desire, a direct contrast to his full, soft lips. Every nerve in my body responds to him, even as the sting of his words pierce my heart.
Like a beacon beneath my flesh, lightning sparks, sending a growing flame of want to my core. Who knew a pair of lips could offer such pleasure all on their own?
I’m hardly aware of myself when my hands grasp the fabric of his tunic, my mind muddled with the male before me and the man who last touched me like this.
He releases his hold on my neck, letting me pull his body against my own.
His hard shaft presses against my belly and he swallows the moan that escapes my lips when his fingers brush against the gossamer fabric barring him from the sensitive flesh of my nipples.
He nips my bottom lip then runs his tongue along the bite to soothe it.
An action he repeats on my ear, before a set of fangs graze against the tender flesh in the crook of my neck, making me shiver.
Prior to coming to A’kori, I’d forgotten the tales that claimed the feyn had fangs, and maybe they should scare me, but a larger part of me than I care to admit wants him to sink them deep inside me.
“What else, mi’ajna. Show me,” he demands softly.
I nearly choke on the words, even as his hand follows the curve of my hip, slipping beneath the fabric of my gown, to grip my thigh. The teasing stroke of his thumb is so close to where I want him. My core clenches with yearning, a demand I struggle to ignore.
For a moment I hesitate, the ghost of a memory serving to remind me exactly how this ends. For a moment I begin to overthink everything. And then his free hand travels up my chest, sliding across my collarbone to relieve my shoulder of the strap holding my gown in place.
The strap falls to the side of my arm, taking the thin fabric with it and exposing my breast. The nipple pebbles under the cool kiss of air, and then his mouth is on it, bringing with it a molten heat that floods my core.
His tongue flicks across the sensitive skin as he nips and sucks, and I forget there is anything outside of this moment.
My hand travels the length of his arm, holding it in place, and I shift my hips, gasping when the next swipe of his thumb strums that sensitive nub of flesh between my legs. A low growl vibrates against my chest as his fingers slide between my folds, coating them in the proof of my desire.
“Foc.” His breath caresses my ear as he moves his other hand to my throat, drawing back to pin me with his eyes.
I moan when his fingers slick my nub, working me in rhythmic circles. The look in his eyes gives away far too much. There is more than simple desire behind that gaze, more than want. He needs this as much as I do.
My core contracts and the tension builds until my body feels like it will tear apart from the rising pressure inside.
And just like that, I break, falling against him as I shatter into a million shards of undeniable ecstasy.
He catches the moan of my release with his mouth, his fingers swirling lazily until he’s milked every last pleasurable shudder from my body.
I’m in a daze when he releases my neck, and goosebumps rise under the trail of soothing kisses he leaves where he gripped my throat.
My stomach pitches when he picks me up by my hips and slides me onto the bed.
I hadn’t stopped long enough to wonder what the male might want in exchange for his efforts on my behalf, and I’m not sure I’m ready to meet those expectations.
He leans forward and my breath is stuck in my lungs for all the wrong reasons.
Lifting the fallen strap back onto my shoulder and covering my breast, he grips my chin, brushing his lips against mine as he says quietly, “Tell me you’ll at least consider me as a companion.”
I dip my head in a shallow nod, not trusting my voice.
He captures my lips with his, sweetly, softly, obviously pleased with my answer.
Then he turns without another word, disappearing into the hall.
I sit in a stupor, staring at the tall wooden panels of my door, trying to make sense of everything that just occurred.
Tonight should never have happened, I should never have allowed it.
Why did I? Why did he?
The bliss I lost myself to fades all too quickly, replaced by the dread of what tomorrow will bring. He will want an answer, and while I might be able to delay the conversation for a few days, it will need to be had. I know him well enough to know that he won’t let it go ignored.
The king’s general is likely the most foolish choice for a companion, considering my mission. On the other hand, his favor will no doubt place me in front of the king the moment he returns. It’s a fine line I will have to walk if I choose this, and a single slip will cost me my life.