Twenty-Five #2
He raised a brow at my quip, but the stiffness in his shoulders didn’t relent.
He seemed to be counting my breaths, watching my every move to see when the wine would take hold.
As if the very thought gave it life, a delicious heat began to unfurl from my center and lazily flow outward.
It was as slow-moving as lava and just as scalding, and yet I couldn’t get enough of the fire.
My skin flushed and my eyes fluttered closed, a surprised gasp pushing through my lips.
Rorik cursed quietly, and I peeled open my eyes to find the space transformed.
The room was the same and yet . . . not.
Colors intensified to hues I couldn’t begin to describe, and I felt, rather than heard, the low rumbling sounds of the room.
The lilt of voices and music meshed in an orchestration of desire that sang in my very bones.
Even the low lighting felt more intimate; the layers of darkness and quiet splashes of light were an erotic tease for the eyes.
I felt everything. Every breathy exhale. Every pounding heartbeat. Every stare and every whisper. And I wanted more.
My gaze slanted to Rorik.
Fuck, he was beautiful. His attire seemed to move and ripple like ink-black water, clinging to every hard cut and groove of his muscles.
The collar of his shirt was undone, and his bare skin was a feast for my eyes.
But nothing was more tantalizing than the color of his darkened amber eyes.
They looked more like warmed gold, spilling through his gaze and swallowing me whole.
A full-body shiver raced through me. I wanted to lose my hands in his burnished hair, wrench his head back and drag my mouth along the length of his neck before slipping my tongue between his parted lips.
“Stars, you’re stunning.” The words seemed to bubble from nowhere.
Heat simmered in his stare. “You’ve told me that lie once before.”
Ah, yes. Back at the fete all those months ago, when he’d danced with me and demanded I tell him a lie. A good one. Too bad it had been a damning truth that left me drowning in a maelstrom of emotions. “I remember. You didn’t have a problem touching me then.”
“I don’t have a problem touching you.”
At that I laughed. I found myself drifting closer to him, my feet moving without much thought or direction from my brain. “You’ve backtracked every chance you’ve gotten since I returned to Fernglove.”
“I don’t want you to feel obligated to me because of .
. . this.” At that, a tender stroke of awareness slid through my mind, as if he’d gently glided his finger along the invisible heartbond connecting us.
My body nearly went limp at the velvety caress, at the mental kiss of his power against mine.
“I feel no obligation. But if you don’t want me near.
” My body revolted at the very idea of being with anyone else, but the last thing I wanted to be was an obligation, either.
Already I was shifting, turning out toward the crowd.
So many bodies tangled together, seeking release.
Douselle Kiss was a siren that demanded to be sated, and if not with Rorik, then . . .
“It’s more than that.” Pain raced through his eyes, but it was gone in a flash. Yet I knew if I asked about it, he’d deny it. Just like he’d continue to deny whatever this was between us.
Stars know he’s not going to do anything about it.
Although Seville was nowhere to be found, her words rattled through me with quiet clarity.
Courage or wine or some amalgamation of both pulsed through my blood, and I positioned myself between his spread legs.
So, he didn’t want to deal with our emotions.
Then fine. I could work with that. Sex could be just that: sex.
And even more so in our case, because physical intimacy would only make it easier for me to control his power.
Bracing both of my hands on his corded forearms, I leaned in closely.
“Tell me you haven’t thought about it. What it would feel like,” I murmured.
He clenched his jaw. Unclenched. “Edira . . .”
“If you’re not interested, that’s fine, I suppose. There are plenty of other options here.”
There weren’t. Not in my eyes. But he didn’t need to know that.
“That would be the single most asinine thing you could do.” A growl simmered from his chest, and he white-knuckled the armrests. “I’d end up murdering someone.”
A rush of excitement pulsed through me at his admission, and I inched closer. “You can’t have it both ways, Rorik. You can’t want me and deny me. Pick.”
Silence louder than the music and the moans filled the space between our chests, but I would not break.
I would not budge. A flurry of emotions filled his stare, each one more confusing than the last. Longing.
Hesitation. Fear. Worry. After several breaths, they all disappeared beneath his familiar teasing grin.
And then he let some of his glamour fall away, revealing beetle-black eyes practically flowing with rivers of gold and sharpened fangs that seemed eager to bury themselves in my skin.
Mischief filled his expression. “If you can make me leave this chair, I’m all yours.”
Stars, I loved that look. It felt like ages since I’d last seen it. He was a master at playing games and he knew it, and damn if I didn’t love the thrill of it all. The push and pull. The test to see who would break first.
His words released me, and I wasted no time climbing into his lap.
My sheer robe pooled around us, and my bare legs pressed against his thighs.
Even through the fabric of his slick pants I could feel the hard cut of his muscles.
The sensation filled me to the brim, and my mind went wild.
I wanted to know how strong his legs were, if he could hold me upright while barreling into me.
How long we could stay pressed against a wall without him faltering.
Rorik watched me closely, his dark eyes never leaving my face.
Fuck, Edira. Your desire . . . His thoughts bled into my mind, and the heat coursing through our heartbond nearly burst into flame.
I feel yours, too. I shifted closer, bringing my hands to his chest. Another trill of magic flared to life beneath my fingertips, and an errant moan escaped from the back of my throat.
Rorik’s body tensed in response, the tautness only sending the wine’s effects down another rabbit hole of ecstasy as I felt every muscle flex.
Every. Muscle.
He began to harden beneath me, and an insatiable hunger drowned out all other needs in my body. I shifted my hips again, poising the apex of my thighs expertly over his length.
And yet, Rorik never moved. His hands remained gripped on the armrests; his black gaze fixed on my face. Lust coursed through his expression, but he didn’t yield to it.
“You know, it wouldn’t be so bad if you just gave in.” I nibbled at the lobe of his ear and watched as gooseflesh rippled down his neck.
“It would undeniably be the best night of your life.”
Fuck, I wanted his mouth all over me. “Then why not? We’re hardly making a scene off in the corner like this.” With deliberate slowness, I dragged my nose along his throat, pausing only to let my tongue graze the sharp edge of his jaw. A heady and tantalizing sound rumbled from his chest.
“A scene?” His gaze momentarily flitted to the room full of Evers. “Edira, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you like the idea of an audience.”
A peculiar jolt of excitement shot through my core. “I’m certainly not opposed. Besides, it’s what we’re supposed to do, right?”
I moved to kiss him, but he simply grinned. “You haven’t convinced me to leave this chair yet.”
Right. The chair. His wicked challenge made me want to riot, but if it was a game he wanted, then I’d participate. And I’d win.
Slowly, with deliberate intention, I rolled my hips against him. “I wonder how much it will take.” Again, I ground into him, and he let out a throaty chuckle coated with heat and lust.
“I don’t think you’ll win this one.”
“And why is that?” I asked.
The devilish curl of his lips had me breathless. “I have better control than you.”
My own need warred with my desire for mental—and perhaps physical—torture, and my hips set a steadier rhythm of their own accord. Wetness gathered in my undergarments, and the delicious friction from the fabric and Rorik made focusing on anything other than my own building want near impossible.
But I could still play the game. I would still play. With ease, I slid my robe off my shoulders to reveal the gilded bustier. My nipples pearled beneath the silken fabric, and the swell of my breasts heaved as I continued to grind against him.
Rorik’s gaze darkened, and then a vibrant flash of gold streaked through the ink-black depths of his eyes.
A rough, low sound simmered from somewhere deep in his chest, and a sudden splintering cracked through the air.
A quick glance at his hands revealed his grip on the chair had nearly destroyed the now creaking wood beneath his tense fingers.
My mouth watered at the display, and my hips moved faster.
I wanted that pressure across every inch of my body.
I wanted him to grip me with such wanton desire that I was left with bruising, with tangible proof that his need for me matched my own want for him.
I craved him in a way I’d never craved anything before, and perhaps it was the wine or the lust-filled air, but I wanted to claim him as mine for the entire world to see.
If only he’d have me.
Right as my need began to mount, I stopped. Rorik hissed his displeasure, and I smirked. I slid off his body and headed toward the throng of intermingling bodies. A dangerous threat filled his gaze.
Edira . . . His thought was a warning.
I, of course, didn’t heed it. What? I’m here to do a job, Rorik. And I’m going to do it well.