Slowly, his knees met the ground, and he chanced a touch of his hands behind her calves, noticing how her feet had pointed, knees almost lifting as though she were tensing every fiber of her being. She didn't protest at his touch, though the knife was still there, reminding him of her power over him.
Dorian looked up at her as he pressed his lips to her calf and then trailed up to the bend at her knee, closer and closer to the apex between her thighs. He paused at a hover there, and his gaze fluttered as he restrained himself. He wanted to rip her pants off, take her in his mouth right there, make her scream his name for every person in Dahrkenhill to hear.
His lips brushed the seam, and her thighs jerked.
"Tell me you don't want this, Reverie," he uttered, looking up at her.
The blade didn't move from beneath his chin. But the dilation in her eyes and heave in her chest made his muscles sing. He turned his head to kiss the inside of her thigh, still holding her eyes. He saw her swallow, watched her tongue dart out over her dry lips. He nudged between her thighs again and then dragged his tongue along the seam.
"Tell me you don't want me to devour you here."
Her hand was in his hair, and he thought she would jerk him off her. But she merely ran her hand through the now shagginess of his black locks, and he looked up at her again. His teeth tugged on the fabric, and her mouth visibly sagged.
"Tell me you want this," he whispered again, pressing his lips between her thighs. "Tell me you want me to kiss you here—“ he kissed the seam “—To have my tongue send you over the Edge—“ his tongue dragged up that fabric ridge again, his hands tightening around her thigh and calf. “—To take you right here on this table for everyone to hear."
There was a quiet pause, and then—
"Yes."
A low groan emitted from him, and his heart skipped.
Fuck, he hadn't expected that.
He had to pause a moment to let that word register. Her hips pushed forward, and he tugged that seam between his teeth again. All he had to do was burn that fabric, and she was his. He could have her. Take her.Claimher. Make her scream his name loud enough for every other person in that damned town to hear.
It took every bit of restraint he had to do what he did next.
He stood.
She ogled at him, mouth sagging, and he pressed his palms back into the table on either side of her hips.
"Here I thought you wanted to make good on your claims," she managed, her free hand grasping at his shirt as he towered over her.
The corner of his lip quirked, and he leaned forward, close enough that he was sure she thought he would kiss her, but he paused.
"I want you to beg for me as you're making me beg for you, Reverie," he growled. "I want you to feel on edge and unable to restrain yourself as you make me feel. Completely surrendered and fighting your instincts. When that happens, I'll taste every inch of you and keep you on that edge until every muscle in your beautiful bodyshakes." His nose dragged along her cheek, breath tickling at her ear when he spoke his next words.
"You willshatterbefore me."
Her lashes lifted to his, and she grasped his shirt tighter. "Big words from a fire Prince."
Dorian reached for his pipe. He pressed it between his lips and inhaled a long draw as he continued to hover. The herb swam in his body, and he placed a finger beneath her chin to tilt her head back.
"Promises from your King."
The silky smoke dragged out from his mouth as he spoke, and he watched Reverie's mouth open. His lips brushed hers as she inhaled it.
The sensation of her lips so close and watching her inhale that smoke nearly sent him back to his knees. But Dorian pushed off the table, pausing only to watch her catch herself from falling over in his absence, and he forced his feet to walk away.
Had he stayed any longer, he would have ignored his own words. He would have thrown her back on that table and done exactly what he'd promised.
The herb filled his lungs, and the remainder of the night became a haze.
A haze of mouths and naked bodies. Of an unfamiliar room and unfamiliar women. He was consumed by the whiskey and smoke that numbed his pain and deterred his wandering mind.
A haze he only remembered glimpses of the next morning when he woke outside in the snow. Body blue and begging for warmth. Someone, not Corbin, helped him to his feet and wrapped a fur around his shoulders. He hardly got his legs to move, but the person helped him to the Temple and up to his room where he fell into his bed.
The only glimpse of the person he got was an axe on their side.
