CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
EMMERY
Emmery swore under her breath after her seventh failed attempt to fasten the corset clasp. Not even her flexibility could save her now, as she contorted her arms into all sorts of ridiculous angles.
Apparently tonight’s affair required this scrap of an outfit to blend in. Never before had she worn sheer thigh-high stockings, narrow heeled shoes, or a corset. Every fiber of her being craved to set this damn thing alight.
She eyed the skimpy, scarlet dress on a nearby hanger like a venomous snake.
Next she’d have to wrestle herself into that series of wraps and translucent fabric.
While the frilly black undergarments left half of her backside peeking out, at least the matching corset only revealed a sliver of her Shadowheart, and the tip of the scar on her left breast. Although her cavae and zvezda sat on full display.
On the eighth attempt, her shoulders begged her to surrender and toss the corset out the window.
A soft knock at the bathing room door made her jump.
“Alright in there?” Still a bit rough from sleep, Destonne’s teasing tone bled through the wooden slab. “We’re losing the night, angel.”
At the sound of his voice, her cheeks flushed.
After they’d returned to the room and slept side by side on their bed, they’d woken up tangled together like they often did, drawn by some antagonistic, cruel force.
She tried to shove the image of his sleeping boyish face out of her mind.
How someone so wicked, could look so innocent in rest baffled her.
And of course he’d bathed and readied himself in half the time she’d spent wrestling with this outfit.
“Yes,” she grumbled. She planted her hands on the counter and stared at herself in the mirror. Several swipes of her thumb cleared an unsightly smudge of black kohl beneath her eyes, but if a bird soared through that window and claimed her hair as its home, she wouldn’t be at all surprised.
“You don’t sound sure,” Dez pushed. She could practically see him lounging against the doorframe, his perfect lips twitching in amusement. “Do you need help? I can cover my eyes if you’re too shy.”
A sigh wrestled free from the deepest chasm of her chest. “I’m not shy. And I doubt you could work this asinine contraption with your eyes closed. These damn hooks are…” She whined a dejected noise. “They’re impossible.”
“I happen to be very good with my fingers.”
Her stomach fluttered in a jumble of butterflies and heat as she imagined what those beautiful hands could do.
“Let me help,” he said. “Can I come in?”
The kohl smudged further as she rubbed her eyes and swallowed a scream. At this point her only choice would be to skip the corset and reveal her body through the gauzy dress. Wouldn’t that be a sight?
“Fine,” she huffed in defeat. “But keep your snide comments to yourself.”
She shut her eyes just before the door creaked open, like she could hide behind her closed lids and her body wasn’t indecently exposed.
As the door clicked shut, Dez’s footsteps halted and he hissed something under his breath.
Emmery’s cheeks burned impossibly hot, but she managed to crack an eyelid open. She expected to see him biting back laughter or donning that familiar bored mask, but when she lifted her eyes to meet his, Dez was, of all things, blushing.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, and cleared his throat. “What—uhm, what did you … you needed help with something?”
His eyes locked on hers with respectful intensity, as if to keep from wandering, but his effort bloated the air, thickened it, as each ticking second weighed on him. A small smirk pulled at Emmery’s lips to see the King of Asaella reduced to a bumbling, pink-cheeked mess like any other man.
Emmery spun to face the mirror and gestured to the damn corset barely secured by two hooks, before she braced her hands on the cool, pale marble.
Surely at any moment her breasts would win the battle and spring free.
She’d have paid to see Dez’s reaction. In the mirror, it already appeared he might keel over at any moment.
“I can’t reach these,” she said, her voice weak as he took her in.
His gaze slid over her in a wash of unmatched heat, and she felt it—
Gods, she felt it everywhere. The nape of her neck, slope of her shoulders, the dip of her waist, the swell of her backside, down the length of her thighs to the tips of her feet, as if he couldn’t bear to miss a single detail.
He followed the same path back up, and as he did, he stole all the air from her lungs.
With caution, Dez approached, maybe unsure of the boundaries.
In the mirror Emmery caught a glimpse of his eyes screwed shut and face twisted in pain.
Then, almost in an embrace, his hands slowly bracketed hers on the counter.
And he bowed his head over her bare shoulder like he wanted to press his lips there. To taste her skin.
“It’s a little complicated,” he said hoarsely, not looking at the corset.
“Are you sure you can handle it?” The teasing question came out brittle.
“Fairly sure.”
Her mouth grew suddenly dry. “What did you whisper under your breath when you walked in? Did you call me a clown?” Her cheeks reddened further as he met her eyes in the mirror. Dark fire consumed his gaze, a whirl of midnight embers, smoke, and a temptation of shadows.
The sensitive skin of her shoulder and neck pebbled beneath his soft laugh. “A clown? No, no. I said…” He cleared the thickness from his throat. “Vera da mieste.”
“And that means?” Her breath hitched as he secured the first clasp. Blood streamed down his temples and the thorns wrestled beneath his skin, each brush of his fingers deliberate.
“It’s Sellidic slang.” As he traced the line of her spine, heat trailed his touch. “I need you to stand up straight.”
She removed her hands from the counter and rolled her shoulders back, but he bit back a small smile and licked his lips. “No, angel, I said straight. Though I love the delicious curve of your backside, I need you to tuck in your hips.”
Not sure how to take that comment, Emmery frowned at him in the mirror. As if he couldn’t wait a moment longer, his beautiful hands slid along the lacy undergarments and tilted her hips how he wanted them. Her eyes widened as her imagination sprinted to all sorts of dangerous, sinful places.
“Ah, that’s better,” he hummed.
As he worked the next clasps, the corset squeezed her lungs and waist taut, and the caress of his hands set her nerves alight. Her world narrowed to his uneven breath on her shoulder, the steady trickle of blood he swiped away, and, after he fastened the last clasp, his lingering hands.
“It’s definitely tight,” she said breathlessly. She couldn’t get air in her lungs, but she couldn’t blame the corset. Her swollen vestige echoed each pound of her pulse, and she knew he saw it along with the rampant thoughts written across her face. Maybe the same fantasies he’d hinted toward.
The nape of her neck tingled as his fingers wandered from the corset to the waistband of those frilly undergarments, and the tip of his forefinger playfully dipped beneath.
When he grazed the edge of her scar, she sucked in a breath.
He paused in either a silent ask for permission, or maybe to test the limits of their never-ending game. In answer, she leaned into his touch.
“What does ‘veer di meata’ mean?” she practically panted.
“Vera da mieste,” he corrected, then chuckled low in his throat. Gods, she loved that sound. She would bathe in it if she could. “In rough translation it means ‘Damn me to the deepest pit of the Hollow.’”
Her words faltered as he traced the sliver of exposed skin between the corset and those tiny undergarments. His eyes held hers in the mirror, and she remained suspended in his gaze, afraid to miss a second.
She could have easily withdrawn or asked him to stop.
And he would have.
She knew he would.
But damn it, she didn’t want him to.
“Why would you”—she swallowed and her eyes fluttered closed for the briefest of moments—“say such a thing?”
“I needed to repent for all my wicked thoughts after I walked in and saw you in … that.”
The corners of her lips curled. “I thought you didn’t worship the gods.”
“I don’t,” he said simply. “But the sight of you made me want to pray.”
Though teasing consumed the statement, heat pooled in her belly and her racing heart begged him to fold her over the counter, slide his fingers lower, tug those silly undergarments aside, and—
Fuck.
But she could play too. In fact, she had him in the palm of her hand as she caught his wandering eyes again.
“I’m not even wearing the shoes yet.” She nodded at the heels tossed on the floor beside her. “They complete the whole ensemble.”
Dez laughed softly, then swallowed. “I, uhm, quite like the stockings.”
She stretched onto her toes, bent at the waist, and, in a slow, deliberate, and downright diabolical dare, brushed her backside against the heat of his arousal—thick, hard, and all for her.
It traversed a line they hadn’t crossed before.
Sure there had been playful touches, lingering glances, insinuation of desires, but never this.
His fingers pressed into the soft flesh of her hips, as if he would give in, and drop to his knees to show exactly how she quietly unmade him.
With a sweet smile, Emmery pretended not to notice, and retrieved the stick of kohl. Clumsily, she traced a line on her lash line and wished she could summon some untapped talent. Wished her hair cooperated despite her fight with that blasted pin for twenty minutes.
“Do you—” His grip on her loosened. “Do you like that?”
“The kohl?” She scrunched her nose in the mirror, feeling like someone else entirely. “Not really.”
Dez plucked it from her hand and tossed it behind him without a care where it landed. “Good. You don’t need it. In fact”—he took her by surprise and spun her, then grasped the backs of her thighs to lift her onto the counter—“you’re perfect without it.”