I lean down and give it a long, slow stroke with my tongue, and he groans. His reaction pleases me—emboldens me.
I feel powerful.
So I hold his shaft in my hands, wrap my lips around the head, and take him all the way into my mouth. I love the taste of him, the smell of him, the sounds he makes as he arches his back in pleasure.
His hands slide through my hair, grasping and pulling as I suck his cock and work his length, savoring the salty, sweet taste of him. Every sigh and moan he makes drives me wild.
It feels satisfying to give Dietan pleasure. He’s been through so much pain that making him feel good is a small victory.
“I need you,” he cries as I take him deeper into my mouth. “Aren…please…I need to be inside you.”
I stop and shake my head, a naughty smile on my lips. “We’ll get to that later. Don’t you worry,” I say, then go back to sucking him.
But then he’s tugging me up and away, and I let him. “Sorry, love, but I’m terrible at waiting.”
“Is there anything you’re good at?”
“This,” he says, and in one powerful motion, he tosses me onto my back, shoving my legs apart with his knees.
“Oh—I…” I didn’t expect that. He’s so strong, and so demanding, it makes me melt and burn at the same time.
He kneels between my legs and pull my hips toward him so I’m perfectly aligned with his cock. He pauses for a heartbeat at my entrance.
“Don’t make me wait,” I warn.
And he doesn’t.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Aren
Breakfast is a temple-wide affair.
Meals are sacred in the House of Healing, and everyone is invited to share in the bounty. Siena explained when I first came that all the food is free, gifts to honor the goddess and her healers from the faithful and the grateful among the city’s denizens.
In the dining hall, platters piled high with warm bread, fresh dates, and ripe persimmons are laid out alongside carafes of wine and tea. Dietan and I peruse the selection. I decide on a piece of fruit. Before I can even reach for it, I hear a door slam open and stop short.
Siena rushes into the chamber, eyes wide and bangles jangling. Footfalls pound on the floorboards above us. She runs right up to us. “You need to hide. They’re coming. Downstairs, now.”
“Downstairs?” As far as I can tell, we’re on the ground floor, and there’s nothing below.
She ignores me, and without a word, breakfast is forgotten as acolytes and disciples shove tables and benches aside. Siena kneels and pulls back the rug underneath our feet, revealing a hidden door in the wooden floor.
“Help me,” she says, and two of the nearest healers tug on the handle, prying it open to reveal a staircase. “Go!”
“What about you?” I ask.
“They aren’t looking for me. I’m just a kitchen girl, a dime a dozen. They only care about you and the prince,” she says with a shake of her head. “And my veils will keep me hidden.” She pulls them forward, covering her face completely.
We don’t need to be told twice. Dietan leads us downward into the darkness. Behind us, the hatch slams closed with a loud thud that echoes through the underground chamber. He finds my hand in the dark and squeezes it. I’m too terrified to even whisper, and for a moment there is no sound but our breathing.
Above us, we hear footfalls on the floorboards, some heading away, others drawing nearer. Then a thump, followed by a soft rolling sound that means the acolytes have rearranged the rug, then the scrape of chairs and tables sliding back into position. The chatter and clink of silverware sounds once more, as if nothing is amiss and no one is hidden beneath their feet.
I hold my breath.
Then we hear it: a door creaking open, raised voices, and heavy boots clomping into the dining hall. I strain to listen over my pulse pounding in my ears. Dietan gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. He leans down to whisper, “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”
I squeeze back. But it’s him who needs protection, I want to say. It’s he who’ll be killed—or worse, tortured and killed—if the king’s men find us here.
