“It’s quite stimulating,” I say with an innocent smile.
He surprises me by settling in the chair beside mine, ankles crossed, blue gaze level. If I were to shift my foot a few inches to the right, our shoes would touch.
“?‘As the bedroom door shut,’?” I read aloud, “?‘the woman turned toward her lover. Wide shoulders, a broad chest, and flinty gray eyes. She inhaled, taking the musk of his skin into her lungs. His large hands curved over her backside, and her ripe mouth softened, parting for his tongue.’?”
The Frost King has gone still. He shifts toward me in his chair. “That’s not a hunting manual.”
Well, what do you know? It’s not.
Long ago, I wrapped the slipcover of a hunting manual over this erotic romance novel so Elora wouldn’t be inclined to pick it up. Wait until he hears chapter twenty. It’s positively filthy.
“?‘The kiss deepened. The man’s tongue flirted with hers, prodding her soft mouth. Her sex throbbed in anticipation of their coupling. She could all but feel his length stretching her—’?”
“Stop.” The demand cuts viciously.
I slowly drag my eyes up to his. They flare with bright, cutting emotion, the blue so vivid they shine like newborn stars.
Turning the page, I go on, fighting a grin. “?‘As she pressed closer, her hand slipped into the waistband of his breeches, and her fingers curled around his jutting cock—’?”
The book is ripped from my grip.
The Frost King stands over me, book in hand, color suffusing the pale skin of his cheeks. His chest heaves as my gaze drifts south, drawn to the front of his breeches.
He’s hard.
Every thought eddies from my head. His erection is unmistakable. It strains against the soft fabric, a well-endowed ridge, and my belly twists in response.
With some effort, I glance away from the evidence of his desire. “Ah…”
“Look at me.”
I can’t. For when I do, I’ll remember waking in the curve of his body, warm and secure. I’ll remember the network of scars marring the beautiful skin of his back. I’ll remember that sense of belonging, however treacherous, however brief.
Two calloused fingertips catch the edge of my jaw, directing it toward him. Then he flips open the book and begins to speak.
“?‘The man tilted back his lover’s head, baring her neck to him,’?” he growls. “?‘He thought fleetingly of where this would lead: his bed.The wet heat of his mouth explored the curve of her nape, the mounds of her breasts.’?” Boreas’ eyes flick to mine, as if to check that I am still listening. “?‘Lower.’?”
To my horror, I feel warmth flood my cheeks.
“?‘He tossed her onto the mattress and spread her legs.’?” There’s a pause, during which the king licks his lips. “?‘Her sex, pink and swollen, glistened from where he stood above her.’?”
Parchment hisses as he turns another page.
“?‘The man’s own desire hardened in him. The sweet scent of his lover’s perfume teased his senses, and he locked his knees to remain standing, for he wished to kneel before her, to take her sex into his mouth—’?”
My nipples peak at hearing the wordssexandmouthin the North Wind’s smooth, deep voice.
“?‘—and tease her wet folds.’?”
By the gods, I must be halfway to insanity. I clench my legs tighter together, but another pulse of pleasure darts through me. And there the Frost King stands, unruffled, placid as a frozen pond. The game’s pieces were mine to maneuver, yet he rearranged them when my back was turned.
With slow, ambling footfalls, he rounds my chair, halting behind me. “?‘He would begin slowly. Soft brushes with the flat of his tongue, which would glide so smoothly through her slick. As the heat built, he’d increase the pressure, yet skirt the bud that ached.’?” His chin brushes my ear, and a stream of warm breath tickles my skin. “?‘When she began to writhe for more, he’d press her hips down with his hands and suckle the engorged flesh—’?”
My core clenches painfully. My skin tightens with unbearable heat. His rumbling voice, the warmth of his pine-scented breath, has become my undoing.
Suddenly, wet heat slides down my bare neck, and a moan flies out of my mouth. My eyes pop wide. His tongue—
I’m out of the chair, across the room, darting through the open door and down the hall, running, not looking back, not daring to look back. Up the stairs to the third level, I turn right, and right again. Haulingopen the door to my quarters, I lunge inside, slam the door, and lock it before I do something I’ll surely regret.
