"Fear." But the word came out uncertain.
"Liar." The last lace came free. His hands settled on her shoulders, slipped under the fabric with proprietorial ease. "You kissed him wearing this. Let him hold you in his gift. Mark you with his pathetic good intentions."
He pushed the dress down her arms, let it pool at her feet like spilled sunlight. The chemise beneath was part of the ensemble, dawn colors shot through with star-thread. His fingers traced the delicate straps, and everywhere he touched, cold bloomed across her skin.
But that warmth pulsed deeper, responding to his touch in ways that made no sense. The same recognition she'd felt with Arion, but darker. Hungrier.
"Everything," he said quietly, fingers hooking under the straps. "Every thread that carries his touch. His magic. His presumption."
The chemise followed the dress. She stood exposed in more ways than physical, the mark writhing up her arm like a living thing, spreading its claim across her collarbone. But worse than the exposure was the heat building in her chest, the way her traitorous body leaned ever so slightly back toward him.
He noticed. Of course he noticed.
"Interesting." He circled to face her, movements predatory. His eyes tracked over her with the satisfaction of someone reclaiming stolen goods, but there was something else there now. Curiosity. "Do you know what I find most insulting?"
She couldn't speak. Could barely breathe with the weight of his attention.
"That you let him dress you. Touch you.Kiss you." He stepped closer with each word until barely inches separated them. "But your body still knows who it belongs to. Even now, you're responding to me. Aren't you?"
"No—"
His hand shot out, tangled in her hair, yanked her head back to expose her throat. "Don't lie. I can feel it through the mark. That warmth you're trying so hard to ignore."
His mouth found her pulse, and the contact sent lightning through her. Not pain, though his teeth scraped warning against tender skin. Something worse. Recognition. The warmth flared brighter, reaching for him like a flower toward the sun.
"There," he murmured against her throat, satisfaction rich in his voice. "Your mind might play at rebellion, but your body? Your essence? It knows exactly where it belongs."
"Please—"
"Please?" He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. "Tell me, little thief… when he kissed you, did you feel this?" His free hand pressed against her chest, right over that traitorous warmth. "This heat that has nothing to do with desire and everything to do with recognition?"
Her eyes widened. He knew. Somehow, he knew about the warmth.
"You did." His smile was sharp as winter moonlight. "How confusing that must have been. To kiss one male while your very essence reached for another."
"I don't understand—"
"No. You wouldn't." He released her hair only to catch her hand, the one Arion had kissed. Brought her palm to his mouth, maintaining eye contact. "He kissed you here, didn't he? Gentle. Reverent. Like you were something precious instead of something stolen."
Without warning, he bit down where Arion's lips had been. Sharp enough to break skin, to draw blood that he licked away with deliberate slowness. The pain shot through her, but worse was the way that warmth pulsed in response. Pleased at being recognized.
"You let him put his mouth on what's mine." Another kiss to her palm, this one a mockery of tenderness. "Let him think he could claim you with kindness."
His other hand gripped her hip hard enough to bruise as he pulled her against him. Where Arion had been careful, Eliam was deliberate in his possession. But that warmth sang at the contact, and she hated herself for the small sound that escaped her.
"Oh?" His interest sharpened. "Did you make that sound for him too? When he held you so carefully?"
"Stop."
"Did you think of me at all?" He moved back to her throat, teeth scraping where her pulse fluttered. "When he touched you with all that star-bright gentleness? When he kissed you like you were free to be kissed? Or did this heat in your chest confuse you, make you wonder why you were burning for the wrong master?"
Master? But the thought scattered as he bit down at the junction of neck and shoulder—not gentle, not careful. A mark that would purple and last, that would show above any neckline. The pain was sharp, immediate, but the warmth in her chest flared and she couldn't stop the way her body arched into him.
"Perfect," he breathed against the wound. "Your mind rebels but your body yearns. Shall we see what else it yearns for?"
He stepped back to survey his handiwork, the bite at her throat, the bruises forming on her wrists, the blood welling from her palm where he'd erased Arion's kiss. His gaze tracked over her with satisfaction until—
He went very still.
