“Vorik?” she whispered. “Are you going to leave?”
He’d been halfway to touching his mouth to hers but paused. “What?”
“To go back and challenge your chief for leadership of your tribe?”
“Not right at this moment.”
“But soon?” Did she sound distressed by the idea? She’d once said she thought he would be capable of leading a tribe—probably more capable than he himself believed—but now that he was here with her, maybe she liked having him by her side. Maybe she wanted him to stay.
“I don’t know. I want to keep you safe and help you get your throne back.” Heespeciallywanted to keep her safe and caught himself tightening his arms around her, the need to protect her as great as his interest in her anatomy. “You’ve been attacked twice in the short time since we landed. You’re at great risk.”
“You’d be at great risk too if you went back to your people.”
“I would be, yes.”
“So it would be unwise for you to do so.”
“Yes.”
“I think… you might feel compelled to try to help them anyway.”
Vorik sighed. She did know him well.
He looked in the direction Wise had gone and sighed again. “Yes.”
Syla wrapped her arms around Vorik’s shoulders and kissed him, a tinge of desperation making her grip tight, her body already aware that she might lose him. When she’d come out to check on him and tell him about the sleeping accommodations, she hadn’t intended to spy on the second half of his conversation with Lieutenant Wise, but when neither had seemed aware of her peeking around the corner from the end of the alley, she hadn’t announced her presence. It had touched her that Vorik had said she was wonderful, and it heartened her that he was the same person with his men as he was with her, but dread had crept into her when Wise had spoken of how Vorik returning and challenging his chief for leadership of his tribe could change the future for boththeir peoples. Right away, she’d realized that he would feel compelled to attempt that, even if it killed him. Even if itdidn’tkill him, it would take him away from her. Maybe forever.
Tears threatened to flood her eyes as she kissed Vorik. She didn’t want him to leave. She’djustgotten him, damn it. Hardly any time had passed since he’d stuck a sword in Jhiton and walked away from his people. But if he made the choice to return to help the stormers, she would have to let him go. She would have to support him in that endeavor. How could she honorably do anything else?
At first, Vorik seemed surprised by the emotion in her kiss, the tightness of her grip, but her intensity swiftly ignited his passion. Soon, he kissed her back with equal fervor. He pulled her against him with one arm while his other roamed, his strong fingers rubbing her back, then trailing to her waist and up herside. Even through the fabric of her dress, his touch tantalized her, arousing awareness and exquisite sensation.
He was already aroused, something their clothes couldn’t hide, not when they were so close. As they kissed, Vorik catching her lower lip and sucking, a wave of desire shot to Syla’s core. She reveled in his touch, already growing breathless as she gripped and stroked him with her hands while tasting him with her mouth.
It crossed her mind to suggest the room, especially since wind gusted through the town, promising rain soon, but they would have less privacy in the glassworks. And they would have to part long enough to walk there. It was only a half block away, but as Vorik leaned Syla back against the wall, the hardness of the bricks capturing her on one side and the hardness ofhimon the other, she knew he didn’t want to stop for that long.
“The dragon watches the sky?” he asked as his hand shifted down her leg, pushing up her dress.
“She won’t let anyone… attack us.”
When his fingers brushed her through her underwear, she pressed into him, always eager for his attention, but she also wanted to give him a reason to stay. Even if she knew he couldn’t—shouldn’t—a part of her wished she could be so enticing that he wouldn’t be able to leave her.
She slid her hand to his groin, tracing the outline of his cock, grazing him through the fabric of his trousers. He thrust toward her, almost involuntarily, as if his penis had a mind of its own.
“Syla,” he rasped with need.
She kissed him again as she found the button for his trousers, then freed him, catching him and stroking him with her bare hand. His heat was palpable, the pulse of his blood, of his desire. He thrust into her grip again, groaning against her mouth. When he lifted his hands from her to plant them against the wall to either side of her head, the muscles of his arms—of his entirebody—quivering, she knew he could think of little more than how good her touch felt. And she knew how to make it even better.
As she lowered herself to her knees, she briefly regretted not suggesting the room—and a rug—but he would love this. It would make him want to stay. With one hand around him and the other sliding higher, nails scraping over his taut abdomen, she took him into her mouth. He groaned again, need and desire mingled in his voice, her name in the mix.
Hearing it with such need pleased her as much as it aroused her. He’d helped her in the mine, in the storm god’s laboratory, and in the sea battle against his own people. Every time she’d needed him, he’d come to help her, and she wanted nothing more than to reward him.
Her spectacles bumped against him, and she removed them, impatient. She made herself set them carefully against the brick wall, though she wanted to fling them aside, to hurry to remove any obstacles between them.
Then, sucking, licking, and stroking, she took him in and out, matching him as his thrusts grew faster, fuller of need. She would take him like this every night if he would stay with her, if they could be together forever.
If only she could command him to stay. She was the queen. Why couldn’t she give that order?
But he wasn’t her subject—he was a wild dragon rider from the enemy people. All she could do was give him this.
