“Not really,” I admit.
What I’ve always loved about sparring, in addition to the release it provides that temporarily rids me of my demon, is the simple fact that in the ring, everything else fades away.
He nods. “I can speak with Awri. You can stay in her room if you prefer.”
I stuff down a cringe. She’d already begun to bruise when the general pulled me out of the ring and it seems unlikely she will enjoy sharing a room with me once the pain really sets in. The general also implied she is sharing a bed with someone. Both very good reasons not to interrupt her evening.
“Caden is on his way to heal her now,” he says. And I’m sure the words are meant to be a comfort, but they only serve as a reminder that when I let my guard slip, I’m far too easy for the general to read.
He begins to draw away, taking my silence and hesitation for my answer. I surprise myself when my arm shoots out and I grip his wrist, holding his hand where it still rests on the line of my jaw. My lips curve up at the end, pleased with the shocked look on his face when he notes the reaction.
“You said no expectations,” I remind him, and myself, of his promise.
“No expectations,” he agrees, “If you want to talk, we will talk. If you want to sleep, we will sleep.” He tips his head down until his lips brush against my own when he speaks the last, “If you desire more, it will be my pleasure to serve at your every whim.”
There is time for me to push away, time for me to refuse him. But not enough time to think about the consequences and all that can go wrong before he leans in and captures my mouth with his. His hand cups the back of my neck and I part my lips in offering, an offering he’s eager to accept, caressing my tongue with his own.
He doesn’t press for more, and maybe I wish he would when his lips reluctantly leave mine. I should be relieved. I know I should. I would be wise to lead the male on with nothing but crumbs until I end his king and board a ship home. Now, with his encouragement that I train, I have no need of the male to keep my demon from painting the fabric of my dreams.
“I prepared a bath for you,” the general says, and I quirk an eyebrow at him. “I thought you might like to wash after your lesson.”
He isn’t wrong. A bath always sounds like bliss after a hard day of training, I’ve just rarely had the opportunity to indulge.
The air is thick with fragrant steam when he leads me into the washroom, my hand in his. The pungent haze swirls about when he closes the door behind us, keeping it contained.
“Is that jasmine?” I almost moan out the question.
“It is,” he says, standing behind me, working at the clasps of my cuirass.
Pink petals litter the bath, swept in lazy circles by the churning current. When he pulls the leather from my chest I suck in a deep lungful of air, my body relieved from the weight and its constriction.
The general takes a knee, unlacing my boots. The act utterly unnecessary and completely intoxicating. I can’t help but marvel at the view,wondering just how few he has taken a knee for in his long life. He strips them from my calves, throwing them toward the door as he raises himself to stand in front of me.
I’m sure I’m a mess. Dress plastered to my torso by dry sweat. Hair filled with a fine layer of dust and more than a little dirt on my face. None of that stops his gaze from tracing the lines of my figure appreciatively, lingering on the swell of my breasts before rising to my lips and falling on my eyes.
“Would you like company?” he asks.
My stomach dips and my eyes flick to the tub. It’s certainly large enough for two, maybe even five or six. But what is he really asking?
“Just company?”
“You decide,mi’ajna. Just tell me what you want.”
Mi’ajna.I swallow the words, pointed barbs that tear at my heart before sinking to my gut. With great effort, I force my mind to shed the weight of every thought that threatens to consume me. Instead, I focus on this moment and all that the male before me is offering.
I decide? I decide that I’m a coward. The idea of baring my body to him is the sole reason I want to decline. What appeal could there be in my weak mortal form when any number of females, boasting the ethereal beauty of the feyn, will gladly fall into his bed. Yet more than his words ever could, his eyes tell me that there is plenty he finds alluring, feyn or not, and I muster my resolve.
He is offering to give me something, anything, certainly more than I even know. I tell myself that despite my morning of sparring I should take him up on his offer, just to be safe. It’s a selfish lie, but if I’m going to be sleeping in the male’s chamber, I need to be more cautious than ever about keeping my demon in check. A weak excuse, between Kishek’s brew and the privilege of sparring in the mornings, but one I latch onto desperately.
I lift his tunic over his head, letting it fall to the floor in answer. He hooks the waist of my leathers with a finger and tugs me closer, loosening the laces and falling back to his knees as he peels them off my legs. Rising slowly, his hands snake up my calves in unison, onto the curve of my thighs, over my hips, and past my waist. Slipping beneath my dress they follow my sides, up my neck, bunching the fabric over my head, the dress falling into apile of silk at my feet.
My cheeks heat under the intensity of his gaze, the blush growing deeper when he speaks in a reverent tone. “The fates must favor me.”
His voice is full of awe, and it’s a wonder to me that something as simple as the female form could inspire such a thing in the male. My hands begin to shake when I loosen the laces of his leathers in turn, and he steps out of them with ease. I’m careful to keep my eyes on his face, sure I’ll lose my nerve if my glance strays lower than the muscular lines chiseled into his hips.
Taking my hand, he leads me down four marble steps carved beneath the surface of the water. The water ripples at my belly when my feet land on the floor of the bath, lapping against my breasts and pebbling my nipples. The bottom of the tub slopes gently beneath my feet, growing deeper toward the cascade of water gushing from between two thick golden veins imbedded in the stone.
The general leads me toward the flowing water and all I want in the world right now is to sink beneath the surface and soak in the heat. He seems to have other ideas about how I will spend my time here when he pulls the tie from my wild mane and unplaits it with surprising ease. He tips me back until my loose spirals are drenched in the deluge of hot water spurting from the wall. The male obviously has no clue how long it will take to dry.
