Chapter 26 #3
“We aren’t waiting on the Ascendancy,” Zevrial said. “We’re using some of the Starshells we’re…acquiring to make more weapons. Not just daggers. Swords, spears, arrowheads, axes, anything that’s sharp enough to cut. We plan to distribute them to the general population.”
We?
“Who will still have no training,” I challenged. “An inexperienced person with a weapon is more dangerous to themselves than to anything else.”
“We have a solution in mind,” Zevrial stood. “Now, I told Sarina to stay in the Fitness center for at least the next two hours, so let’s not waste anymore time. We should still have another thirty minutes or so.”
That figured. He was the type to command someone to do something and just expect them to do it. Just like he was trying to end this conversation now. Which twin had he given the message to? It did explain why Sarina hadn’t returned yet.
He unclasped the bottle of dark liquid from his waist, shaking it a bit. My breathing hitched as his weight sank into the bed beside me. He smelled like a summer storm at night. I fought the impulse to inhale deeply. “What glyphs have you decided on?”
“You’ll find out,” he gave me a dark secretive smile. Butterflies took flight in my chest. For better or worse, I trusted him.
“What…what do I need to do?”
“We have a few options, since you’re a woman,” he murmured, glancing surreptitiously at my chest. He set the ink bottle down on the top blanket, unscrewing the lid.
“No.” I felt unsteady. My emotions were balanced on a singular strand of hair, ready to tilt and fall to either side.
He was my instructor, and no matter where I chose, it would be inappropriate for him to see it, to touch it; even if it was to assign me a Skinscript glyph.
The problem was, the closer he was, the less I cared about how inappropriate our behavior became.
He shifted and tingles raced down my arm where our skin briefly touched. “It would be safer to have it as hidden as possible,” I said at last, touching my inner thigh. “Will it hurt?”
“Only a bit.” He reached for the hem of my nightgown and slowly dragged it up.
My heartbeat was smothering me. I put my hand on his, stilling it. “Just…give me a minute.”
He pulled my hand to his chest, knowing eyes locked on mine until both our heartbeats calmed.
“I’m just giving you some Skinscript tonight,” he said, voice low and soothing. “Nothing more.”
Disappointment shot through me. My treasonous body wanted more, even as I nodded. “Just Skinscript,” I heard myself repeat. I didn’t sound like myself. I sounded breathless. “Okay.”
His eyes were almost luminous in the dim light. He kept his right hand pinning mine to his chest as he moved the other, still holding my nightgown, up and up until it was at my waist.
I shivered, but not from the cold rush of exposed skin.
He moved his left hand down, fingertips brushing against my inner thigh as he gently pushed my legs apart. Desire licked its way down my spine. My heart drummed against my hand on his chest. I took a deep breath.
The entire time, his eyes hadn’t left mine.
He flicked his gaze down, and he drew in an unsteady breath.
The heartbeat beneath my fingertips hammered, and mine mimicked his against my ribs.
It wasn’t just me. He let out a low noise, looking back up at me.
His pupils had swallowed most of the color of his irises in darkness.
“Hold still,” he ordered. There was a roughness to his voice I’d never heard before. It made lust pool down toward my middle.
He took another deep breath, dipping his index finger into the shining ink. No brush, just raw skin. Slowly, torturously ardent, he pressed it into the crease of my right inner thigh, dragging it into a pattern against my skin.
My focus zeroed in on the firm touch of that finger against me.
I forgot how to breathe.
His fingertip was so warm, and the feeling of it against me, so close to where I wanted it, was so deliciously decadent that I had to bite down a soft moan.
I didn’t know if it was him, or the ink, but this was magic.
True magic. Soft sensations were rushing through me too fast to track, swirling into a sensual fire at my core.
A sweet burn accompanied everywhere he touched.
Again and again, he dipped his finger in for more ink and painted magic on my skin. I fought not to tremble under the overwhelming feelings welling up in me.
When I remembered to breathe again, my blood was humming in my ears, heartbeat so fast in my chest and against my palm that it almost felt like it was vibrating. I panted several shallow gulps of air in.
The moment when the first glyph fully formed, that same almost-painful heat from the cliffside settled into my skin like it belonged there. Like it was coming home.
His finger lifted. The midnight ink he’d stained it with had vanished. His skin was pristine again, as if untouched by the dark stain.
Zevrial tore his gaze away from my center then, letting it slowly drift up to my face.
His cheeks were flushed, pupils dilated and lips half-parted as he watched me.
A fundamental part of me relished seeing him like this, the effect I was having on him.
Or maybe seeing the effect he was having on me, reflected back through him.
He trailed his hand across the top of my panties toward my other leg, watching my face as he did. Dampness spread from his motion.
His voice was a low soft rumble under my hand, still resting just above his heart. Right on top of the glyph we shared. “Still just want Skinscript?” It was a plea when it left his lips.
I could barely concentrate enough to form words around the effect his proximity and touch had on me. The heat of his hands, the hint of his petrichor fragrance, the seductive glint in his eyes.
I wanted more than Skinscript.
“No,” I whispered. An almost feral grin lit up his face.
“Only yes means yes.” He moved his hand away from me, dipping it back into the ink.
Again, he dragged that finger so painstakingly slowly against my other side.
So tantalizingly close. Every touch lit up that fire growing inside me, brighter and brighter, until I thought I might combust. I stifled a moan, my hand beginning to tremble against his chest as I fought to hold myself still.
“Almost done,” he murmured, dipping his inexplicably spotless finger into the inkwell again before pressing it back.
I was throbbing, aching for more. His calloused fingertip was a gentle and coarse friction against my sensitive skin, so careful and arduous. Dark eyes flicked up to mine for the briefest moment before he returned his attention to the task.
Every inch of me was flushing with heat. I was so desperately hot, I would surely burn alive.
The second glyph fully formed against me, even hotter than my skin. It soaked into me with the same sense of comfort as warmed bathwater. My mouth parted, as I breathed heavily.