Torture, he thought, standing still in silent agony.This is torture.
If Disaris was aware of his suffering, she chose to ignore it, continuing her ministrations with gentle cruelty. She rinsed his back, then did the same for his arms before stepping in front of him.
He stared at her, trying not to pant. Surely, she’d grant him some small grace and let him finish the bath himself. The simple act of washing him, as innocent as it seemed on the surface, had left him with an erection so stiff, it almost bent him double. His hands curled into fists at his sides when she stepped closer and flipped his hair back over his shoulder. The back of her hand stroked across his nipple, and Bron lost the battle with his desire. “Mercy of gods, enough,” he said, voice guttural. “Enough.”
For an instant, he saw Disaris’s eyes widen before he swooped down, capturing her lips with his in a kiss that didn’t ask permission or gently explore. He knew the taste and contours of this woman’s mouth, had mapped it with his tongue many times in the past, felt its warm suction on his cock during hours of lovemaking.
This kiss was a reclaiming, an appeasement of a passion for her that had never burned out. And if her response was anything to judge by, she felt the same.
He lifted her in his arms, almost dropping her again at how slight she felt. She wasn’t having any of it. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms around his neck, and squeezed tight.
She returned his kiss with reciprocal zeal, her tongue sweeping past his lips to tangle with his tongue. She tasted exactly as he remembered, and he groaned into her mouth atthe pleasure of it. The frantic thrust of her hips against his cock urged him to shove aside her skirt. He mentally cursed the thick fabric that acted as a barrier even as his hands joined hers to shove clothing out of the way.
“Inside,” she gasped against his lips when they paused kissing long enough to take a breath. “Hurry.”
“Yes.” The word was hardly more than a growl, and he groaned into her neck when his fingers finally touched her bare flanks.
Her hands were just as busy, curling around the waistband of his trousers to tug them down. “Damn it, Bron,” she practically snarled when the garment refused to give way. “How tight did you lace these things?”
They both stopped and stared at each other before Disaris began to laugh. Bron pressed a finger to her lips, trying his best to stifle his own laughter. He was still desperate for her, eager to bury his cock inside her and hear her moan his name as she once did when she came in his arms.
“Commander,” a voice heralded outside the tent. “You’re summoned.”
Bron touched his forehead to Disaris’s. “Fate is a cruel mistress,” he said.
Disaris kissed his finger, then each of his eyebrows. “Blame your general. I think he’s doing this on purpose.” She unlocked her legs from around his middle and slid down his body. He bit back a moan, reluctantly releasing his hold on her hips.
“Understood,” he called out to the waiting messenger. The disappointment in Disaris’s eyes echoed his, and he stepped back, putting some much needed distance between them. “I think it best if I finish the bath myself,” he said.
Her gaze rested on his obvious erection. She smiled. “And best if I not watch while you do. I’m not made of stone after all.”She winked at him, then took a seat on the stool near the bed, her back to him.
He snorted. “You look like you’re being punished.”
“I am,” she said with an indignant sniff.
Without her nearness to distract him and destroy his reason, he made quick work of the bath, dressed, and belted on the usual array of weaponry allowed in the general’s quarters.
When he was ready, he coaxed Disaris up from the stool. Her admiring gaze never failed to warm him from his head to his feet. “Aren’t you a fine sight? Are you sure you aren’t off to court Golius?”
If it meant keeping the general’s trust and not raising any suspicions about what he planned to do with Disaris, Bron would happily court him. Then he frowned. Golius wasn’t the greatest challenge: Cimejen was.
Disaris lost her teasing smile. She stepped closer to him, lowering her voice. “What if we fail? What if I’m caught or you’re prevented from leaving camp?”
All fair questions that posed outcomes to fear. Bron wished he had answers to all of them, but he’d slapped this plan together in a matter of moments based on what he’d learned from a panicked Disaris and the knowledge they were now in a race against a man with murderous intent. He glided a finger along her jaw. “We can’t,” he said. “We won’t be.” He prayed he was right. With a thousand listening ears outside, he was hamstrung from explaining more. She would just have to remember what he’d told her as they rode pillion, and follow those instructions exactly. “Do you trust me?” It was the same question he’d asked her earlier, and now, as then, she didn’t hesitate with her answer.
“Yes.” Her half smile didn’t lessen the fear in her eyes. “Though I’m afraid.”
He folded her into his embrace, wishing he could hide her inside himself to keep her safe. “That isn’t a weakness,” he said against her hair. “Don’t worry, I won’t abandon you.”
She reared back, a line of disapproval carved into her brow. “I’ve never thought that, and never will.”
“Commander!” The messenger’s voice carried an edge of urgency.
Bron squeezed her hands. “Keep watch. Remember what I said.”
He left the tent, following the messenger to Golius’s tent. “Please,” he prayed to nameless gods. “Let this work.” For Luda, for Disaris. For himself.
He entered the general’s quarters expecting to find the usual clutch of officers and aides hovering, waiting for Bron’s report. Only Golius and a servant occupied the tent. Even Cimejen was absent, which alarmed Bron.
