"That's not—" But her protest died as a vine wound around her waist, warm and secure, making the warmth in her chest flare brighter.
"Shall I stop?" He stepped back, and the vines stilled but didn't retreat. "Say the word and they'll release you. You can pace your room, restless and alone, thinking about human concepts like love that you'll never have."
The dismissal of love should have hurt and made her angry. To an extent it did. However, something about his honesty, as cruel as it was, felt cleaner than false affection. He wanted her body, was curious about the warmth, and would take pleasure in her responses. Nothing more, nothing less.
It should have been simple, transactionary, but in her heart it felt complicated.
"Or," he continued, watching her face, "you can stop pretending youneedlove to want this. Stop lying to yourself about what your body craves."
A vine traced her collarbone, and she shivered. They were barely touching her, barely restraining, but she felt surrounded by him. By his will made manifest in wood and leaf.
"I hate you," she said, but there was no heat in it.
"Irrelevant." He moved closer again, and the vines parted to let him through. "Hate me all you want. Your body still recognizes mine. Still burns for my touch."
His hand settled over the warmth in her chest, and it pulsed in greeting. Ready. Eager. Betraying every protest her mind wanted to make.
"Shall we see what other sounds you can make?" he asked, and the vines began to move with more purpose. "What other ways this warmth responds? No love. No lies. Just sensation."
The vines moved with more purpose now, exploring with intent that made her breath catch. One wound around her wrist, gentle but inescapable, drawing her arm up. Another caught her other wrist, spreading her arms wide. She stood caught in the middle of her room, held by his forest.
"This nightshift is charming," he murmured, circling her slowly. "So modest." His hand trailed along the silk edge at her throat. "It makes me want to tear it off. To see what you're hiding beneath propriety."
"Please—"
"Please what?" He stepped closer, close enough that she felt the cold radiating from him. "Please stop? Please continue? You'll have to be specific, little thief."
The vines at her ankles began to climb, winding up her calves with deliberate slowness. Where they touched, her skin heated, that traitor warmth singing welcome.
"Your body knows what it wants," he observed, watching her face as the vines reached her knees. "Feel how it welcomes my forest? How it recognizes where it belongs?"
The vines at her wrists pulled gently, raising her arms higher, making her back arch. The position left her completely vulnerable, unable to hide behind crossed arms or hunched shoulders.
"Beautiful," he breathed. "You should see yourself. Caught between earth and sky. Held by my will alone."
His hands finally touched her properly, settling on her waist. The contact sent lightning through her, and the vines pulsed in response.
"So warm," he murmured, hands sliding up her ribs, taking the nightshift with them. "Always so warm. Malachar was right about one thing. Touching youislike touching summer itself."
The silk bunched under his hands, rising higher. Cool air hit her skin, and she shivered, but not from cold.
"When you called my darkness home," he said against her ear, "did you mean it? Or was it just the heat of the moment?" His hands spanned her ribcage, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts through thin silk. "Your body says you meant it. The way you arch for me. How it begs without words."
The vines around her legs had reached her thighs now, holding them slightly apart. Not obscene, not yet, but the promise was there.
"Shall I tell you what I thought about after? While you lay sleeping beside me?" His mouth found her throat, teeth scraping where her pulse hammered. "I thought about how beautiful you looked when you came. The sounds you made. How greedily your body gripped mine."
She gasped as he bit down, gentle enough not to break skin but hard enough to mark. The vines tightened their hold, keeping her still for his mouth.
"Would you have let me take you again?" He moved to the other side of her throat, leaving a matching mark. "If I'd stayed? Would you have spread for me as dawn broke?"
"I—" Her voice broke as his hands moved higher, palming her breasts through the nightshift. "I don't know—"
"Liar." He pinched one peak through the fabric, making her arch into the touch. "Your body knows. It's telling me right now. The way you push into my hands despite the vines holding you. The way your thighs try to press together even though my forest keeps them apart."
More vines joined the others, these ones different—smaller, more delicate. They traced patterns on her skin like ghostly fingers, finding sensitive spots she didn't know existed.
"Every inch of you responds," he continued, hands mapping her body with possessive thoroughness. "From here—" He traced her collarbone. "To here—" His hands settled on her hips, thumbs pressing into those sensitive hollows. "And all of it is mine to play with. To torment. To pleasure."
