"Wait—" One of War's people. "We haven't finalized—"
"You have your answer."
He doesn't lift me this time. He walks, and I walk with him, his grip on my wrist unbreakable. The doors part in front of us and then we're in the corridor and the noise of the war room cuts off behind us.
My heart is pounding.
"Koshin—"
"Don't."
His voice is rough. Scraped raw.
I shut my mouth.
The corridors blur. Left, right, a staircase I don't remember taking. His chambers appear in front of us and the doors swing open without him touching them.
He pulls me inside.
Sets me on the edge of the bed.
Steps back.
I'm breathing too fast. My skin feels hot. The room is dim, curtains drawn, lamplight catching his face.
He's staring at me.
"Koshin—"
He drops to his knees.
He drops to his knees.
Just—drops. In front of me. His hands find my thighs, pushing them apart, and then he's leaning forward, turning his head, pressing his cheek against my lap. The weight of him settles there. His face turned sideways on my thighs, eyes closed, one arm wrapped around my hip to pull himself closer.
One breath. Two.
His whole body is shaking.
I don't know what to do. I don't know what just happened, what any of this means, why my chest is tight and my hands are trembling.
My fingers go to his hair. Through the dark strands. Pushing them back from his face.
He makes a sound.
And then he lifts his head and his hands slide to my thighs and his mouth presses against me through my clothes and the breath punches out of my lungs.
"Koshin—"
He doesn't answer. His fingers hook into the waist of my trousers and pull. Down. Off. Gone. The fabric hits the floor and his hands are back on my thighs, spreading me open, and his mouth—
God.
His mouth.
Hot. Wet. His tongue drags through me, one long stroke, and my hips jerk off the bed.
Great. Fantastic. This is how I die. On my back in a god's bed with his tongue in my cunt. What an obituary. What a way to go.
