CHAPTER 19 #2
Or maybe, I think as faint silver-gold light flickers beneath my palm, it’s what they should fear.
Because whatever is locked inside me, whatever door Thorin touched today, I can feel it now. I know it’s waiting, ready for me to open it.
And this time, I am not sure I want it to stay closed.
* * *
A tug in my chest stirs me awake. The wall sconces have dimmed to a faint blue glow. It must be late. I look up, and he’s there—or maybe I’m imagining it.
“Thorin?” I call, squinting at the figure sitting on the settee. No one answers. Training must have me hallucinating.
I turn to roll over, but a sharp intake of breath stops me. I'm on my feet in an instant, crossing the room. The curtains are drawn, hiding his face, but I know he's there. I can feel him. I always feel his presence.
“At least say something instead of sitting there like a predator.”
“I was very impressed with your training today.”
His voice is low and smooth, and gods...
my heart flutters at the sound of it. I hate that I've missed how gentle he is with me at times. Before I can answer, he moves, and the room brightens as a single torch flares to life. The room is lit just enough for me to see his face. The face of a monster. Gods, it’s beautiful.
“Why are you in my chambers?” I ask, my voice quieter than I intend as I move closer.
He sits up, his gaze drifting over me, lingering from head to toe.
Heat creeps into my cheeks as I realize I'm wearing a sheer black nightgown that leaves little to the imagination.
I rake my fingers through my sleep-tousled hair, suddenly conscious of every loose strand and every inch of exposed skin.
“I decided I would come and make sure you're alive. After watching you today, I know you must be exhausted. You expended a great deal of energy.”
I nod, crossing the room toward him. Exhaustion had claimed me almost the moment Talia and Grace finished scrubbing the dirt and sweat from my skin. I'm surprised he came after what happened earlier, but I don't have the energy to argue. Besides, a part of me wants him here.
I wince halfway to him, and Thorin is on his feet in an instant. Before I can protest, he slips an arm beneath my knees and another around my back, lifting me with effortless ease.
“I can walk, Your Majesty,” I murmur, bristling at the gesture. “I don't need special treatment.”
“Thorin,” he corrects sternly, setting me carefully onto the settee.
Our eyes lock, and I watch silver begin to swirl through his irises. The ache in my wrist pulses again. I roll it absently, trying to ease a pain my magic couldn't heal. His gaze drops immediately to the movement, lingering there.
“Did you twist your wrist?” he asks quietly.
“Perhaps.” I shrug. “It’s probably still sore from my training with Mazelle.”
He reaches for my hand without warning, his fingers wrapping gently around my wrist as he lifts it to examine it.
Every instinct tells me to pull away. I don't want him touching me like this—so carefully, so intimately—but my body refuses to listen to my mind.
His eyes never leave mine as he brings my wrist to his lips, pressing a featherlight kiss against the aching skin.
My breath catches and heat floods my cheeks as I tilt my head, watching him press another lingering kiss to the same spot. My magic stirs beneath my skin, restless... almost expectant, as though it has been waiting for him.
“Why?”
“They say kisses from a king are healing.”
“No one has ever said that,” I reply, laughing despite myself.
I don't want to laugh with him. I don't want this to feel so easy. Yet here we are.
“Thanks for that. My entire arm will probably fall off now.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. My gaze lingers there for a heartbeat before finding his eyes again. He reaches up, his fingers brushing a loose curl from my face.
“Beautiful…” he murmurs, winding the curl gently around his finger.
“Thorin—”
His hand slides to my cheek before I can finish. I lean into the warmth of his palm before I can stop myself, my breath catching as I notice his eyes have turned completely silver. He closes the distance between us until his lips hover beside my ear.
“I can hear your heartbeat, Lyra,” he whispers.
“How unfortunate for you, then. The sound must drive you insane.”
A quiet laugh rumbles in his chest. “Oh, it is absolute torture.”
His lips are close enough that one more breath would bring them against mine. I don't give him the chance. I close the distance myself, sliding a hand to the back of his neck and pulling him into a kiss so fierce it feels as though my entire body has caught fire.
I don't even have time to think about what I'm doing, and I barely notice the persistent ache in my wrist.
Mine.
The thought echoes through my mind, but I dismiss it because it isn't my own. It's probably a concussion from being thrown to the ground so many times this week. I try to shove the thought aside, but then I hear—rather, feel—my magic answer.
Yes.
I have no idea what that means, and I don't question it. All I know is that Thorin's hands roam over my body, and every part of me aches for the gentle graze of his fingers against my skin. I climb onto his lap, capturing his lower lip in a kiss as a soft moan escapes me.
“You smell delicious,” he murmurs.
My body is practically vibrating for him and I don’t question it.
I place myself gently atop him, taking his bottom lip between mine as I suck, moaning as his fingers trail up my thighs until one finger is making slow circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves.
He presses down gently, just enough pressure to make me gasp.
His every movement, the unwavering eye contact, is enough to drive me insane. No more teasing. I want him now.
“I hate you, Thorin,” I whisper breathlessly.
His expression turns positively devilish, and it’s enough to undo me.
“I’ve never heard anyone lie so unconvincingly.” He continues the slow circles, adding just enough pressure to make my body react.
He’s teased me long enough. It’s my turn. Slowly, I lift the sheer nightgown over my body, never breaking eye contact. His breath catches, and his gaze moves over me with unmistakable hunger.
“Beautiful. You are fucking exquisite, Lyra,” he says, and the rough edge to his voice makes me grind closer on him.
I press my sex against his length and inhale sharply.
Gods, he’s huge. I don’t know how he’s going to fit, but I want him to break me.
I want him to claim every part of my body.
The moan that escapes my lips is enough to alert any guards on duty tonight.
I couldn’t care less. I stroke his length, panting as the friction from rubbing my clit against the head of his cock builds in my stomach.