“I don’t know…” I dragged the words out, slow and dangerous, my fingers walking up the front of his shirt one button at a time. “I think I need you to be more specific. You want to worship me? Sounds like a lot of work.”
Varyth’s jaw twitched. “Isara.” A warning. A plea.
I grinned. Bit my lower lip like Iknewwhat it did to him. Because I did, and I was going to use every weapon I had. “You sure it’s me you want? I mean, Fenric does have that charming smile?—”
His handssnappedto my thighs, grip bruising as he yanked me forward so I was flush against him, every inch of his body screaming restraint that was rapidly fracturing.
“Don’t,” he growled against my neck, lips brushing skin. “Don’t say his name while I’ve got you like this.”
My breath hitched. “Why not? Worried I’ll compare?—”
His mouthdevouredthe rest of the sentence.
And Ilet him.
Gods, I welcomed it.
I barely had a moment to register the shift before Varyth suddenly spun us around. The world blurred. A gasp caught in my throat. My spine met stone.
One of Varyth’s hand braced against the wall beside my head, the other cupped my breast through my tunic.
My hands worked hastily at his shirt, yanking at buttons, baring skin. I pressed my palms flat to his bare chest, nails scraping down, hard enough to leave lines of red.
Varyth’s hips drove forward, grinding into me with a curse so raw it cracked.
“Isara,” he groaned, my name shattering on his tongue. “We need to stop. Now. Before I?—”
His words died the second I moved. Rolled my hips against his, challenging that control with every inch of my body. Varyth’s mouth collided with mine again. His kiss was a storm. There was no space. No breath. Justhim.
My nails scraped down his chest again, following the lines of muscle, and he shuddered. A full-body tremor that betrayed how close to the edge he truly was.
His hand slid beneath my shirt. Rough, calloused fingers ghosted over my stomach, and then higher, finding my breast with possessive certainty. His thumb brushed over my nipple, and I whimpered, my body arching into the touch.
A deep, satisfied growl rumbled in his chest, his breath hot against my throat. “You feel that?” he whispered. “How your body begs for me?”
Yes.
I arched into him, lost in the sheer force of him. Of this.
My hand slid lower, unstoppable now, knuckles brushing the hard lines of his abdomen. Gods, he was wrecking me.
But I would drag him down with me.
And gods, the sound he made when I palmed him through his pants—filthy, desperate, trembling at the edge of total surrender.
That was the sound I’d waited for.
“Isara,” he growled. Desperate. Starving. “Fuck, Isara.”
I grinned and tightened my grip, stroking the hard length of him through the fabric, watching his composure fracture.
His hips bucked into my hand.
“More?” I whispered, licking the shell of his ear. “You want to fall for me, Varyth? I’ll make you crawl.”
His breath hitched, harsh and broken, when my hand curled harder around him, stroking him through the thin barrier of fabric like I knew exactly how to shatter him.
Varyth’s eyes were wild—silver nearly devoured by black, feral heat blazing as his gaze dropped to my lips, my throat, lower.
