Estevan’s throat bobbed; then he grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled, and she lifted her chin. Wasting no time, his mouth fell on her exposed throat, ravaging it with the strength of his affection.
Semras rewarded him with a soft, delighted sigh.
“If you leave me, I will pursue you,” Estevan said, nipping at her neck. “You will never be rid of me.”
His lips left her gasping. Semras kissed him again, and he greedily chased her for more. She held onto him while he grabbed her hips and hoisted her up to pin her against the nearest wall, devouring her neck with kisses and bites moved by divine fervour. Hands that were hers or his fumbled and ripped through their clothes.
The small table fell. Cups shattered on the floor.
The only thing that mattered was him on her—his hands sliding down her waist, his mouth on her breasts, his touch spreading her legs, his fingers thrusting into her core. In and out and in, and—oh.
Her eyes rolled back; her mouth opened in a silent plea. Estevan heard it in the hands that clung to his back, in the nails that begged him for more, in the writhing of her body against his.
Then there was all ofhimin her,and nothing separated them anymore.
“Forget your Lord,” Semras moaned between gasps—he drew so many out of her. “Forget your duty.”
Hands and lips explored every part of her. His teeth left marks of devotion along her skin. Brands of possession. Prayers of desire. Supplications. Each kiss, a promise he would fulfill.
“Now,” the witch breathed, “you worship me.”
He did.
Chapter 35
Sighingcontentedly,Semrassnuggledagainst Estevan’s chest. “Tell me …”
The soft caress of his fingers trailing down her back threatened to lull her back to sleep. Somewhere during the night, she had dozed off in his arms and woken in a small, cozy bedroom, their naked bodies kept warm by a thick blanket.
Estevan hummed as he ran his hands across her backside—clearly hoping to keep her warm another way. “Ask away.”
“That morning at camp, after you got drunk … was it magic or a potion that helped you avoid a hangover?”
He chuckled, and Semras admired the way his lips curled toward his cheeks. Her eyes trailed down his neck, his muscular chest, and lower, where the blanket stopped her from appreciating him past his hips. She pouted at the offending piece of fabric.
“It was one of Mother’s concoctions,” Estevan replied. “She always sends me so many things. All the carbon black I use as ink comes from her, as well as the tea I prepared for you. Such are the benefits of being the son of a witch, I suppose.” Hesmirked, gazing at her with unveiled hunger. “Now I am eager to experience the full range of what they are when wyrdtwined to one.”
Chuckling, Semras rolled her eyes. “Silly man. Now that I know you’re a witch too, a lot of things make so much more sense.”
“Like what?” Estevan traced patterns along her arm with the tips of his fingers. They left goosebumps in their wake.
“Like how you escaped my brambles when you walked into my home. You pulled the fire to them, didn’t you? I thought I messed up my weave!” Semras tapped his fingers away in playful retribution. “And how you knew when I was weaving, or when I … when I was in danger … in the inn. You heard my cry through the Unseen Arras.”
His face creased with sorrow. “Void take me; I heard it very well, and I never want to hear you hurt like that again. I slit that man’s throat so deeply I almost decapitated him.” Under her hand, tension coursed through his shoulders. “I do not think I let him speak in his own defence at all. I just saw red, and then … then he was dead. It took me minutes before I stopped shaking enough to return to your side.”
Estevan shivered, his eyes betraying a mind wandering to the memory of another night—one she didn’t want to go back to.
Propping herself on her arm, Semras took his hands in hers. “Hey … I’m fine. We are fine. You saved me, and—” She paused. “Oh, we forgot to count that in our—”
“Stop thinking about the tally. I clearly owe you more than you owe me.” Estevan brought her hand to his grinning lips. “But I have ideas of how to make it up to you for the rest of your life …”
She blushed. “You rake,” she said, slipping her hand out of his before he could kiss it. “You’re still an inquisitor, as far as I know.”
“A Wyrdtwined one—to the most gorgeous, clever witch of all. I will make it work, and if it does not, then I will choose you.” Fondness filled his gaze. When he spoke again, his voice had turned mellow. “I truly would have tried to stay away had you not wanted me. By some miracle that I still cannot quite believe, you … you do, and I am not letting you go now. Not even if the Radiant Lord Itself demanded it of me.”
A deep crimson spread over her face. To speak words like that so smoothly, Estevan truly was an unrepentant rake.
Trying to regain her composure, Semras swept her gaze over the small bedroom. Not much decorated it past a few impersonal tapestries, but it was clear that it had been carefully maintained and furnished, ready to welcome a visitor at any moment.
