“What?” he whispers, finally turning to face me once more. Evander searches my expression.
“Every time I’ve had to resist Conri’s charms. Even when he is right there, exerting all his effort and magic to try and claim me, if I bring you to the front of my mind then all thoughts of him vanish.” As I speak, Evander’s expression is impossible to read. But it isn’t one of disgust. So I dare to continue, hopingthat perhaps he believes what I’m saying. “I’ve fantasized about you every single time these past two weeks. I tried to think of someone else—of my past partners, of a man I fabricated entirely in my imagination. But none of them worked. None of them could cut through the haze of his charm. Except you.”
“You’re saying…” It’s his turn to approach me. And the strong glide of his hips through the air, the sway to his shoulders, the movement is more like a prowl than a step. “That when you lie there, pleasuring yourself…that when he is whispering in your ear and attempting to exert every bit of his magic force upon you…you think of me?”
I manage a small nod. My throat has gone thick with anticipation as he condenses the space between us into nothing but buzzing heat.
“Tell me,” he commands, stopping just shy of touching me. Having him this unbearably close has me aware of every inch of exposed skin that yearns to be touched. Every hair stands on end.Touch me, I want to scream, to beg. “Tell me everything you’ve thought of.”
“I thought of…you, and me…”
“Oh, Faelyn.” He chuckles darkly. The man is enjoying this. If the torture weren’t so delightful, I might resent him for it. Evander hooks my chin with his fingers, guiding my face to his. But he does not kiss me. His lips hover just off mine. “You have to give me more detail than that, or I might misunderstand.”
“I think of you, touching me.” My words quiver slightly.
“More.” Evander’s other hand grazes up my thigh, to my hip, hooking on my shirt and slipping under it. With the heel of his palm, he smooths his hand over my waist. An involuntary gasp escapes me at the sensation of his touch. My lids grow heavy and hazy, as if I am drunk off the sensations of him. “Tell me more. Give me every, last, vivid detail.”
“I’ve thought of you with your hand where mine is as I pleasure myself. Nibbling on my ear, whispering of how you will ravage my body. You, hot and naked beside me, my hands on your length. Of you between my legs—your face and your hips. I’ve fantasized about you mounting me like a beast and relentlessly pounding into me. Taking me. And I’ve imagined you kissing me with all the tenderness of the world.” The words come bursting forth; every fantasy and half-baked daydream is rushing out of me as if this is my one and only chance to speak them into existence.
Evander leans forward, expression still unreadable. He tilts his head, cheek brushing against mine as he whispers into my ear, “And how do I taste?”
My knees have turned to jelly. I quiver, not knowing how much longer I’ll be able to stand. I doubt it will be very long, if he keeps this up. I want to melt into him. To collapse into this vortex of passion that has opened at our feet, threatening to swallow me whole.
“In my fantasies, you taste as sweet as you are forbidden.”
“And do I leave you satisfied, yet yearning for more?”
“Always,” I breathe.
He pulls away, locking eyes with mine. “Good. Then I shall have no problem living up to these desires of yours.”
I don’t have time to respond before he claims my words and my thoughts with his mouth.
CHAPTER 23
My hands areon his shoulders in an instant, gliding around the back of his neck for a better grip. Evander wastes no time in deepening the kiss. He drops both hands to my hips and pulls me toward him with breathless force. His palms skate around to my rear, groping and kneading. When he shifts, our mouths part just enough for a soft moan to escape me.
“Quiet now, no one can hear us,” he rasps against my lips, even as I am still trying to kiss him. “I don’t want there to be any suspicion. That way, I can take my time with you.”
Without warning, he leans forward slightly, takes a firm grip of my rear, and pulls up. His strong muscles contract, bulging from the shoulders that I hold on to fiercely for balance as my legs wrap around his hips on instinct. A soft yelp of surprise escapes me, both from the sudden movement and from the hot firmness that presses into my heat.
“I said quiet,” he growls, kissing me again. Evander sucks my lower lip between his teeth, biting and nibbling on it almost to the point of pain,almost. I fight moans as he releases and returns to kissing me, tongue in my mouth.
I am putty underneath his hands. He is the sculptor, and I am the clay. I want him to make me, mold me into an entity that wasmade for him and him alone. My weightlessness in his strong arms is a surrender of all my better sense. The muscles of my back relax. Pent-up tension is unraveled, pooling into my lower abdomen. Kissing him is both relief and frustration. I have had the bare minimum of satisfaction and now I want it all.
Evander drops to his knees, one at a time. My ankles are locked behind him. One hand releases me and fumbles off to the side. I’m too distracted with kissing him to pay attention to what he’s reaching for. But the question is answered when, without breaking the kiss, my back meets the ground, hastily covered by his bedroll.
He lays me down, freeing his hands from underneath me. We move with desperate haste. His shirt is off. The ties on his trousers are no match for my skilled fingers. I’ve untangled too many threads that knotted from storage to be thwarted by a few finger-lengths of leather cord.
“May I?” he whispers huskily against my throat, right under my jaw. One hand is positioned at the clasp of my cape.
Somehow, it didn’t occur to me that for him to take me, he would have to remove my greatest source of magical protection. Foolish, really. But lust is so rarely logical. When I don’t immediately respond, he shifts, dipping his chin to meet my eyes.
The world stills, holding its breath in unison with me. I study his expression. Ablaze within the molten mercury of his irises is unbridled passion, yet, at the center of that fiery tempest is a sanctuary of unspoken gentleness. The atmosphere surrounding us shivers, filling with tension, tightening with every second that slips by where we do nothing but study each other, wondering if we have the strength to cross the line and finish what we started.
“Will you hurt me?” I whisper.
A tired, slightly unhinged smirk crosses his lips. There’s an almost wicked shine to his eyes brought on by the ghoststhat dance through his gaze. Specters that I don’t understand. Perhaps these are the phantoms that relentlessly hound him, chaining him to the belief that he’s only a burden to those he loves.
