His forehead dropped to mine. “I need to hear you say it,carella.”
How could he even speak so clearly right now? “Yes.”
Eyes blazing, he lowered his mouth to my neck, nipping and suckling, whiskers scraping my skin in a way that sent waves of fiery heat shooting to my toes. Deft fingers lifted the hem of my tunic and slid onto my belly, caressing, tracing over my ribs and drifting higher and higher until reaching a part of me that no one else had ever touched. Even there, he just continued to stroke my skin, the gentle exploration a stunning contrast to the way he owned my mouth—the way he moved and carried himself and fought. My hands drifted to his shoulders, reveling in the strength there, grateful that every dimpled scar beneath my fingers hadn’t killed this man.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered as calloused fingers played with my flesh, the ache in my lower belly intensifying.
So are you.
His lips were on mine again before I could speak the words. Harthonwasbeautiful. He was strong and brutal yet gentle and caring, scarred and ruthless but selfless and honest. It was the kind of beauty that could ruin a person.
His fingers pinched, and I nearly lost my breath with the pleasure that pulsed between my legs. I ground my hips into his, both surprised and emboldened by the long, hard ridge there. He pulled away with a low curse. His hand abruptly left my skin and settled my tunic back in place. A denial, a plea for more, flew to my lips. Pride was all that staunched it. Still, I shook my head as his breathing slowed, desperately wanting him to return.
He reached up to stroke my cheek. “The things I want to do with you,” he rumbled, taking a breath that sought control.
“Do them,” I answered, still on fire, eager to let him do whatever it was he wanted, no matter what I’d think of it tomorrow.
With a look of regret, he closed his eyes and rolled off of me. I just managed to hold in my protest. His hands didn’t leave me, though, traveling down to my waist to scoop me into his front. He pressed an achingly tender kiss to my cheek as I tucked my hands into his chest, and something within me began to crack a little.
“Why did you stop?” I asked, confusion swirling as I settled into him. We’d hardly begun. He’d just admitted that he wanted to do more, and I’d welcomed it.
“There are too many reasons why we shouldn’t keep going,” he said, sounding like he was in pain.
That was a terrible answer. “I’m not fragile,” I reminded him, because that seemed to be where his concerns stemmed from.
“I never said you were,” he consoled softly, lips moving against myhair. “But if I keep you awake all night, you won’t be as strong as you normally are tomorrow, and these days, you need all the strength you have. We all do. Sleep, Etarla.”
Harthon keeping me awake all night would certainly involve more than just kissing and touching. My heart kicked into gear again at the thought, all too exhilarated by it. As if doing everything with him at this moment, with no promises or meaning attached, would be perfectly well and good if he wanted it. Excellent, even.
Reason fought through my haze of desire for a voice. And like a bucket of freezing water, it told me that taking things further would complicate things more than I knew.
I’d never really thought of sex, never yearned for it with anyone. I didn’t even know Iwouldyearn for it until Harthon had given my body emotions of its own just now. But what I did know was that people did foolish things for it, because of it, and in the absence of it. The older men and women in my village were always far too loud when they gossiped, and they’d taught me this much.
I couldn’t afford foolishness.
But I wasn’t even sure if it was something I could control. Back when I had tried, I’d never been able to fully convince myself that I didn’t desire Harthon’s kiss. And that was before he’d set me ablaze, before he’d caressed me like I was something precious and nearly lost his well-trained control.
Comradery and attraction, nothing more.
I rolled my eyes at my own thoughts and curled deeper into the man in front of me, deciding to save my troubles for tomorrow.
* * *
I awoke to a hand muffling my mouth, the room nearly pitch black. Harthon’s familiar scent was all that kept me from struggling againstthe hold.
“Not a sound. We’re about to be attacked. They’re climbing to your window, and we should expect more outside your door. Pull the blanket up and pretend to be sleeping,” he said quietly but quickly, silently slipping from the bed a moment later.
The remnants of sleep washed away on a rush of panic.How many of them? How did he know? Have they killed our guards?
My muscles itched to run, but I pulled the covers up and curled onto my side, facing the window. Harthon was crouched beside the glass, his knives strapped around his bare torso. Even in the middle of the night with his feet bare, he looked fully in control, fully prepared to attack.
I dutifully closed my eyes.
And listened.
Over my racing heart, the regular creaks and groans of the Citadelwere suddenly like ominous omens, warning of danger. A scraping sound from the window, like metal sliding across stone, drifted through the air. Then it happened again, and again.
Hooks from whatever was being used to climb.
