It doesn’t take long for the big room’s volume to rise back to normal. I guess the Overlord would have to do something pretty huge to keep this group’s attention for long.
After a bit, I glance up and there he is. Just the sight of him makes me fluttery again. Or sick. Or fluttery. I don’t know.
It affects me.
He and Zed look like they’re searching the room. Someone by the door points in our direction. He turns, catches me staring, and starts moving.
I can’t breathe. Or maybe I can, I just don’t feel it anymore.
The tone around us changes again. I barely notice. All I can do is watch his progress as he winds his way towards us—towards me—a leopard on the prowl.
I don’t remember standing up, though my chair makes a noise that stops everyone mid-sentence.
By the time he reaches me, I’m functioning again, only now breathing is a shuddering, labored effort.
His body, now that it’s close, calls to me, the connection between us a crackling hum that only we hear. His eyes—a shocking, bright blue, even in this half lit space—turn me inside out when they dip to the faint red bite mark on my neck.
“That’s mine.”
His low voice sets off another rush of conversation. All I notice is the heaviness it’s dropped right in my middle, the excitement fizzing out to my limbs.
I nod. It’s the best I can do.
The place goes silent when he leans in close, traces his nose over the bite mark he gave me, and up to my ear, scattering goosebumps in his wake like hot sparks. “Do you want to try this?” he growls and then seems to reconsider his words. “Do you want…me?”
Oh God, he’s flayed himself open, right here, in front of everyone.
My inhalation is a ridiculous, shaky thing, barely akin to breathing. I manage a faint “Yes,” clear my throat and then say, “Hell, yes.”
He dips down again, swipes a tongue over his own hot brand and hums so low it feels wrenched from the earth. His hands cup me, grab me, pull me in and hold me close, while that big, deep-rooted body supports my fall and, oh, lord, what a fall it is. I want it to never stop. His lips skim my jaw, my cheek, then dive into my mouth, as if it’s the only sustenance he’ll ever need.
The room disappears when our mouths meet. This isn’t a kiss, it’s tectonic plates clashing, worlds shifting. I lose my footing, but what does that matter when I’m leaning into this megalith of a man?
And he’s not cold, despite the color of his eyes. He’s lava, licking hot and urgent at my lips. How can I help but melt into him? Lost to the drag and pull of a kiss that’s slowed to something so soft, my heart breaks open, right here, in full view of everyone.
I shift back for air and for a chance to see his face. “You’re beautiful.” His words are soundless puffs of warmth on my skin. Caresses, like the scratch of his hands, the sweet, dry press of his closed mouth, the slick heat of a tongue I’ve felt high and tight between my thighs.
The way he licks into me now—all sweetness and hunger—is the most tender touch I’ve felt in my life.
It takes a while for reality to set in. When I remember where we are and recognize the center-stage position we’re in, a hot flush takes me over.
Stretch you wide open in front of a thousand other people.Zed’s words come back to me in a rush, only it’s Liev who’s holding me up and baring my soul to the masses and I want it.This, I want this.
There’s talking, laughing, some light clapping around us—from my table, I would guess. I don’t care, but Liev’s focus shifts behind me for a second before landing back on my face. “Wanna get out of here?”
“Hell, yes,” I say, in no way prepared for him to bend down and haul me over his shoulder, one hand firm on my ass, before carrying me out of the dining hall, to thunderous applause.
* * *
Liev
Something’s snapped in my brain. I feel loose and wild. I’m the beast that’s been hibernating inside me, but also the man I’ve so long denied. I get out of that room full of people into the cooler, darkening night, and drop her feet to the ground. The next moment, I’m on her, pressing her body to the wall.
Each second not touching and tasting and fucking her is killing me. Like scarfing down hotdogs for ten years and getting a big, juicy steak thrown right in front of my nose and not being able to just bite into it, being forced to stop and say grace or some—
“Grace.” I laugh against her mouth. My mind’s exploding with potential. With joy. “I want to fuck you right here.”
“Just try it,” she replies, her chin raised with that already addictive hint of defiance. It’s a taunt.
